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Oh Hell-y Night	By : megabsupreme Category: +M through R > Real Ghostbusters Views: 3812 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Real Ghostbusters, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-PART 1
- 2-PART 2
- 3-PART 3
- 4-PART 4
- 5-PART 5
- 6-PART 6
- 7-PART 7
- 8-EPILOGUE
- 1
- 2
Summary: It’s not always whether you win or lose; it’s how you define the winner!

Description: Het + Oral, CD
Timeline: Hell Night (October 30th), 1990

Disclaimer: This story is of my own creation and therefore my intellectual property, but I do not own the Real Ghostbusters nor do I profit from their use in this story. My purpose is one of philosophical fulfillment: I write, therefore I am.

Author’s Notes: This story was in response to the Hetskateers January 2004 challenge, issued by the incomparable Kelinator, who was also my incomparable beta. I focused on the Halloween party that the RGBs apparently threw every year for the neighborhood kids. Well, a cartoon wouldn’t show an adult party . . . but I would! So I made up an adult party on Hell Night that began at midnight every year, so that it could still technically be called a Halloween party. Two parties for one holiday . . . sounds like a Peter Venkman idea! LOL
I love a party too; it’s about time I expressed that in a fic! *g* Enjoy, faithful readers!

Ghostbusters Central – NYC
So never judge a book by its cover
Or who you gonna love by your lover
Love put me wise to her love in disguise
She had the body of a Venus
Lord, imagine my surprise

Dude Looks Like A Lady
Dude Looks Like A Lady
Dude Looks Like A Lady
Dude Looks Like A Lady
The band’s lead singer sang yet another Aerosmith song in the hopes of getting Janine’s attention, as he’d read in an article that it was the secretary’s favorite group. But the object of his affections was oblivious to anything about him, save for his voice, as she was dancing up a storm and having a blast. She couldn’t stop laughing long enough to pay him any mind, especially when she was looking at her very unlikely dance partner . . . herself!

For this year’s Hell Night Party, the denizens of the firehouse had decided to dress up as each other. So they’d cut six straws into three different lengths and then plucked them. Each pair, matched by straw length, would switch identities for the night. The switches couldn’t have been funnier if they’d been planned.

Winston and Egon were the swarthiest and fairest members of the Ghostbusters, respectively. They had drawn the longest straws. Winston was sporting a plain pink shirt and khaki trousers with Egon’s suspenders, a bowtie, a pale blond wig and a pair of glasses with window glass, while the physicist was wearing a more casual form fitting cotton t-shirt, black jeans, and Nikes. He’d also slicked his hair down and used a washout hair coloring gel to make it black. Janine had convinced him a month before to get contact lenses, but he’d never worn them until that night. He hated them, and he thought his pale features combined with the hair color made him look like an extra in a bad vampire movie. Winston, on the other hand, felt that he looked like the negative of a photo, but he wasn’t as miffed about it as Egon was.

Ray had drawn the short straw, figuratively and literally. When he’d pulled out a pair of green sweatpants and a green sweatshirt, Peter had decided that this was not enough of a costume. So the Ghostbusters’ first Hell Night prank consisted of holding Ray down and pouring green mood slime all over him. He was now trying to have a good time, but he kept floating off the ground or passing through the floor every few minutes. Slimer, on the other hand, was wearing a Ray mask and one of the occultist’s jumpsuits, so it looked like a yellow-eyed Ray had no legs and was eating all the food at the party, including the food in people’s hands.

And then there was Peter and Janine. They were dancing and having fun now, but Peter had been really self-conscious at first in his make-up, mini-skirt, red wig, and heels. But Peter Venkman couldn’t be kept down at a party, so he quickly got into the swing of things, and was now comfortably dancing with Janine, who was wearing his sweats, sneakers and a brunette wig. More than a few men at the party had commented on how great she looked even without makeup. Peter said it was just the contact lenses. But he didn’t really believe that.

So all things considered, the song was more than appropriate and Janine thought it was their attire, not the singer’s infatuation with her, that had fueled its being played. After being ignored yet again, the young man announced that he and the band were taking a break. He then went outside to light up a joint and sulk, while the band mingled and tried to finagle some food away from Slimer.

“Now what?” Janine asked Peter. “We don’t have a stereo. How are we supposed to keep people from getting bored without music?”

“Oh, ye of little faith. I’ve got a million party games stored in here.” Peter tapped his temple with a red fingernail. Janine snickered at the perfect manicure she’d given him. “And you call yourself a ‘Peter Venkman’ clone!” She stuck her tongue out at him and he blew her a kiss from between very red lips, which was a very disturbing visual image.

“What’s he up to?” Winston asked as he handed Janine a glass of Peter’s spiked punch.

“Beats the hell outta me. He says we’re gonna play a party game until the band comes back.”

“Humph,” Egon grunted. “I wonder if it will have anything to do with alcohol.” His sarcasm was more then evident, as he was certain that was exactly what it would involve.

“I hope not,” Janine replied. “I’m already pretty tipsy from this damn punch he made.”

Peter stood on Janine’s desk and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Is everybody having a good time?”

“YEAH!” the crowd yelled back and started applauding and catcalling.

“Awright! Are you ready for a drinking game?” The screams and yells of approval were all the answer he needed. Peter had had a brilliant idea that would combine keeping the party going with preparing for the kids’ party the following night. He got down off of the desk and went to the other side of the file cabinet. He came back with a box of Halloween decorations for the children’s party. “Okay, here are the rules. Each Ghostbuster grabs a bunch of streamers, twists them together and hangs them across any expanse he can reach.”

“I’m a girl, Peter!” Janine yelled.

“Considering your attire and my genetics, I say we’re all men tonight!” All the guests cracked up. “So before I was so rudely interrupted by that drunk dude in the corner . . .” Another burst of laughter. “I was saying that each Ghostbuster twists together streamers and hangs them. But there’s a catch.” Peter strutted and switched his way over to the bar and grabbed a stack of small plastic cups and a few bottles of tequila. Everyone in the room cracked up and several women whistled at him. “You have to do it with a shot glass of confetti on your head. Spill any confetti and you have to throw a handful up in the air and say, ‘Happy Hell Night, Halloweenies!’ and do a shot of tequila before you can try again. Screw up the sentence, and you have to take another drink and try again until you get it right. We each have to hang ten of them. Everyone else, place your bets on the winner! There’s prizes for everyone who guesses right. I call it Tom-festoonery.” He made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm as if he were Moses coming down off the mountain to impart wisdom to the masses. “What say you, party animals?”

The guests went up in a cheer and Peter’s game was under way.

After half an hour, Egon and Winston were neck and neck for first place. Neither had taken so much as one drink and they both had hung nine festoons. Ray was refereeing as he quickly found out that he couldn’t touch the streamers without getting stuck to them. They were going to give prizes to the people who bet on him, but no one had. Apparently, the guests had already figured out that he’d have this problem. On the other hand, Peter and Janine were losing miserably. Peter kept dropping his cup because the high heels threw him off balance. Janine had lost her balance three times while standing on a chair to hang her streamers, and two tequilas was all it took to doom her for the rest of the game. After those shots, she was no longer able to control her lips and she screwed up the sentence so many times, she’d drank almost an entire bottle of Cuervo Gold by herself by the time she was done.

Janine’s 1st confetti drop: “Happy Hell Night, Halloweenies!” Chug. Grimace. Cough.

Janine’s 2nd confetti drop: “Happy Hell Night, Halloweenies!” Chug. Grimace. “Ugh!”

Janine’s 3rd confetti drop: “Happy Hell Night, Halloweeners!” Chug. Grimace. Victory yell.

“Do it again, Janine,” Ray ordered. She stuck out her tongue and poured another shot.

“Happy Halluh . . . beanie-weenies!” Chug. Grimace. Hau smi smirk.

“Again, please.” She frowned at Ray for not thinking her slurred nonsense was right, and then poured herself another shot. She took several deep breaths to clear her head.

“Happy Easter, hallowed halls!” Chug. Grimace. Giggle.

“Try again.” She poured another shot then thought better of it and poured four more.

“Hello Happy Whoziwhatsits!” Chug. Sputter. Guffaw. Chug new glass. Grimace. Silly grin.

“Still not right.”

“Come on, Melnitz! You’re wearing my clothes for fuck’s sake, now act like it!” Peter cheered as he finished his last festoon, taking third place.

“Peter is a tool!” Chug. Grimace. Giggle. Snort.

Ray had to chuckle himself before issuing his ruling. “I’m sorry, Janine. Maybe you should just forfeit. You’re never gonna get it right and you’ve lost anyway. I don’t want you to get sick.”

She ignored him. “Peter Piper picked a peck o’ peppered pickles . . . picky poopy . . . pissy puppies . . . ah, skip it.” Chug. Grimace. Hiccup. Giggle.

“Perhaps, Raymond is right. I think you should stop now,” Egon warned her.

Janine grabbed the last shot she’d poured and stumbled over to Egon. She patted his cheek with a limp wrist, practically slapping him.

“Yippie-kiyay, motherfuckers!” She scrunched up her face in confusion, and just shrugged. “I’m drunk.” Chug. Grimace. Hiccup. Stumble. Groan.

“Janine?”

“Okay, you win.”

She slouched up against Egon, who helped her to her desk chair. The people who’d bet on him and Winston got Ghostbusters logo boxers from Peter. Some guests put them right on over their costumes. They weren’t all male.

“Huh,” Winston said. “And I thought Janine was drunk!”

Peter sat on the edge of Janine’s desk and demurely crossed his legs. “You’ve . . . uh, taken to being a . . . *hic* . . . chick awful . . . something,” she taunted him blearily.

“Well?”

“Well *hic* what?”

“I’ve taken to being a chick awfully well.”

“That’s what I sa

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yup. I have a newfound respect for women. High heels are hell.”

“Glad you un’erstan’.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m adding foot massages to my date repertoire.” He watched her nod out and then raise her head up too quickly. She groaned and clutched at her head. “You all right?”

“Mm hmm. Jus’ a li’l drunk, tha’sall. Thanks t’yer stupid game.”

“You’re just saying that because you lost.” He grinned at her.

“Am not,” she replied with a threatening glare to the one of the three Peters she thought was really him.

He patted her on the head. “It’s okay, little loser. Better luck next time!”

“Screw you, Venkman!”

“No thanks, although I think that singer wouldn’t mind taking you up on that offer.”

As if on cue, the singer came back inside. He saw the guys all standing around Janine’s desk. Being nosy, he wandered over to see what they were doing. “Hey, what’s wrong with Janie?”

Egon raised a curious brow. “Janie?”

“Yeah! It’s my nickname for her. I figured since she likes Aerosmith so much, you know . . .”

Egon frowned, but did not respond.

“She’s just a little drunk,” Winston answered stiffly. “She’ll be fine.”

Just to cast reasonable doubt on his statements, Janine yanked off her Peter wig and threw it on the floor. “This thing is hot. Stupid hot.”

The singer shrugged and took the stage again. He and the band played several songs and the partygoers danced wildly. Janine rocked in time with the music, but was content to stay in her chair so the room wouldn’t spin. So the guys stopped being overprotective and finally left her side to rejoin the party. After all, she seemed to be fine.

That is, until her singing secret admirer decided to sing a tribute to her.

“This next song is for Janie Melnitz. Let’s see some dancing, pretty lady!”

And he started singing Janie’s Got a Gun.

Janine stayed in her chair no longer. She immediately jumped up out of her seat and got on her desk. She kicked off Peter’s sneakers and stripped off his socks. She swung the socks around in the air like helicopter blades and screamed, “WOOO HOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” She threw them to two men in the crowd of onlookers.

She slowly gyrated her hips and slid the sweatpants down and stepped out of them. Winston’s mouth went dry when he saw her long legs exposed all the way, and Ray’s eyes were like saucers at the sight of her rear in nothing but pink satin panties.

Janine then yanked Peter’s sweatshirt over her head and yelled, “I’ll show you some festoons!”

Peter smirked and thought, ‘I think she meant bozooms. Very nice, Red!’ Janine’s breasts were encased in pink satin, and they glistened with sweat. Egon stood rooted to the spot, watching in amazement as she made a gun with her index finger, pretended to shoot it at him, and then sucked it into her mouth. He, like his colleagues, realized that he had a fetish for a part of Janine’s anatomy. He couldn’t help imagining those full pouty lips pressed against his, or traveling down his body, or wrapped around a certain part of his own anatomy.

Peter was the first to snap out of it. He tried to run over to her, but he tripped and fell in the pumps. This pulled the others out of their lusty stupors and they ran to his aid, trying unsuccessfully not to snicker in his face. They rushed over to Janine’s desk and Winston tried to grab her, but she danced out of his way. Peter reached for her, but she got on the chair and then leapt to the file cabinet. It didn’t help that the band was still playing the song and Janine was now singing along with her fan, belting out the bridge.

Run away! Run away from the pain_________________
Run away! Run away! Run away!
And that’s exactly what she did. When Egon and Peter tried to corner her, she tripped Peter in his heels and ran from them, still singing and laughing.

Janie’s got a gun! Janie’s got a gun! What did her daddy do___! It’s Janie’s last I.O.U.___!
Finally, Ray used the mood slime to float over her head and land in front of her. She collided with him and stuck to him. The two tumbled to the floor and Egon helped them both up. He and Winston pd thd them apart and Egon threw Janine over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She struggled a bit, but at the catcalls and whistles from the partiers, she was soon cooperative, giving them all a thumbs-up and laughing. Egon started up the stairs with her, and Peter yelled up to him, “Hey, Egon! I never knew you were so good at picking up chicks!”

Egon turned and looked Peter up and down. “You’ve got a run in your pantyhose, Venkman.”

Peter looked down and found the run. “Aww shit!” He looked up to give Egon the finger, but his friend had already crested the stairs and was gone.

“That’s not very ladylike, Pete,”

Peter laughed. “Shut up, Ray.”
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Oh Hell-y Night