This all comes from the amazing hand/head of Neku! http:// neku. (no spaces)
She posted some mind blowing art (Link at end of story) of Sam and Bee via AU since...well, all stories are turning into one another! Heh. I tried giving it a shot, pretty much setting up the whole thing for many, many chapters to come! Enjoy!
It was hard to decide which one he liked better;
the Black model with the red bikini that had that little sea shell hanging off where the cups connected straddling the costume 2004 limited edition Knucklehead motor and handlebar chopper, or,
the Asin model with just a school girl's platted skirt that just barley covered her intimate area. She got a few bonus points cause she was shirtless while she was leaning over the navy blue hood of the 2009 Corvette Convertible... on the other hand she lost those points cause her silky black hair just happened to cover up her perfectly round breasts.
"Aw, come on Sam! For crying ou- Hello? Hello? Sparkplug's Sparkpl-" The force of the phone being slammed back on the receiver made the said holder of the name jump in his chair. Precious magazine almost falling out of his hands.
"I swear to almighty merciful God, Sam, so help you if that was the Adams' account."
Suddenly Sam was having a very hard time getting his attention to focus on his not too happy father. Kind of hard to go from super model whispering 'I want you Sam Witwicky' through her ruby wet red lips to a heavy, balding, oily, frowning man already mouthing 'Dead Witwicky Walking' while running a very nasty and dirty rag over dirty large hands. Hands that were ready to ring out his skinny little neck.
"Hmmm? What? Oh. OH!" The mess of curly hair bounced slightly as Sam shot out of his lazy posture of sneakers propped up on his dad's desk to being as alert as a chipmunk who swore he just saw a very fat cougar roaming about.
"'Oh'? That's it? You're running the business into the ground and all you can give me is an 'oh.' Seesh." Sam shrunk back into his chair as much as he could before his father shot him the look. The very look he hated most, 'I'm-not-going-to-punish-you-but-I'm horribly-disappointed-in you'.
"He'll call back." Ron shot up a dirty eyebrow as Sam snapped his magazine back into place like some sort of busy tycoon. A lazy smile came across angry features when the teen carefully brought his feet back up into a desirable position. When his son figured it was ok to go back to his ladies, Ron shoved his feet back to the ground receiving an 'ooff' from his only son. "You just don't get it do you?"
"I get that you have the cheapest spare car parts this side of universe, and I get that a cheapskate like Mr. Adams will call back." Oops. Wrong thing to say. The eldest Witwicky sourly ran his hand through his hair and head, trying to sooth out his pounding headache that was slowly turning into a tumor. He was sure of it. Probably not the smartest thing to do though, as Sam smirked to himself, when Ron's bald spot was now black when he locked his hands on his hips.
"Family, Sam. Family and business. You put your business for your family first before the family business which is your family. And that very family should be your business first and for more. anyhow."
It was Sam's turn to cock up an eyebrow. He didn't need to ask, for his face already was screaming 'WHAT!?!'Sometimes trying to make sense of what his dad said made his eyeballs bleed. Ron laughed it off, shrugging. "You'll get it later. I hope. You know you're mother- Umm...you know what?" He quickly changed the subject when he saw Sam's face and eyes drop for a moment. Sam never did like talking about that subject, so Ron thankfully changed it. "Just please! Please pick up the phone next time it rings instead of having me run in here almost breaking my neck when I stepped into the puddle of oil in the garage I didn't see when you're not a foot away from it. What'da say champ?"
Sam eyed the poor phone that was probably now damaged from his dad's fit. "Fine. Now if you excuse me, page 57's blond beauty is a-calling." Just his luck that the phone rang when he said 'calling.'
'Dammit.' Sam thought to himself when he gave his dad a huge fake ass smile, and a thumbs up before answering the phone as sickly and sweetly as he could, "Sparkplug's Sparkplugs! Sam speaking! Try saying that five times fast! Ha. Ha. Ha. How may I help you!?" Ron smiled at his son. His very hard working (yeah right, who was he kidding). Well, at least he loved him and Sam answered the phone with the motto Ron had taught him. He knew that his teenager hated saying it, but it did make the whole conversation run more smoothly. The smoother the call, the better the business. Ron left Sam to deal with Mr. Adams, knowing even he can't screw up the old man's account that badly.
When Sam found out his dad had left the room out of the corner of his eye he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He dropped lazily back into his chair, head resting on the top trying to see if he could see behind him without falling over himself and swivelling back and forth on his feet.
"Yeeeeeess Mr. Adams. Your stupid muffles are still here." He gave the box marked so a swift kick out of boredom. "Huh? I said super. Yup. Yup...Yeah, still twenty bucks and fifty two cents. What? No, I'm not trying to rip you o-." Sam let out a very dragged out sigh as suddenly the deal was going badly over fifty two cents.
"Here, here. Mr. Ad...listen. Yeah. Look, Mr. Adams, Mr.AdamsMr.Adams, I'll make you a deal. Twenty bucks. That's it. ...yeah. You heard me right, only two tens,"
Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose when his elbows banged the desk top in a thud. "Right twenty dollars, plus tax. Tax? Well, cause I like you, only fifty two cents." There was a silence over the phone. And for a second Sam was worried that Mr. Adams had hung up. And in that case, Sam would have to buy the mufflers himself and tell his dad Mr. Adams came by early to pick them up just he had done many times over the years. Thankfully though, Sam got an ear full of an old man laughing and going into a rant about how a good business man he was in the 1940s.
Sam removed the end piece from his mouth, "Freakin' geezer." and then promptly put it back. "Yes! Yes sir. Great. Yes, nice doing business with you too. See you tomorrow then...Bu-bye."
Sam flicked the phone away as if it was suddenly diseased.
Family and business, huh? Well, he would be doing the family a favor if the business did go out like a spark. A happy remembrance of light, before anyone could really recall it. The boy's hazel eyes traveled over to the box again. After having a staring match with it for what felt like forever, he flipped through his magazine. Something was lost though, and page 57 didn't hold any interest for him. Sure the blond with curls that looked like a red riding hood hooker with a basket of tools would have been fun to oggle at, but Sam suddenly wanted to see what that old man of his was trying to fix now.
"Sorry blondy. I'll see you later tonight, promise." Pushing the chair out from the desk, he waltzed over to the other side of his dad's shop into the garage, a poor car at Ron's mercy. The Witwicky's never did really get along with appliances, and that just made Sam wonder just why his dad was a grease monkey in the first place...
"Need a hand pop?"
"I need a miracle." The car let out a whine before a disgusting sound of metal hitting metal was heard and smoke filled the garage.
"Good job dad. I can totally see why they dubbed you 'Sparkplug' in high school." Ron smacked Sam.
Well there it is. For now...kinda. I might even re-do this part. Just testing out to see how it comes along via very cool AU plot lone. http:// community. livejournal. com/beexsam /47955.html? view 928339#t928339
That's the link (Get rid of the spaces) to see Neku's KICK ASS art from where this story came from. It's all her idea, I just helper um...write it! I'll see how she likes it, and if she does...then um...more later! Thanks.