"Today the illness continues as..."
"As you can see, we are witnessing ever more cases of..."
"Oh God! Oh God they're here! They're he-!"
Enraged Vyvyan flung the television remote in to the TV and began to kick the filthy, ruined couch. Mike wandered into the living area and watched with some interest before enquiring what had gotten Vyvyan so distressed this time.
"There's nothing on telly except for the ruddy news! Nothing else! No 'Top of the Pops,' no 'The Good Life,' no 'Rainbow!' Just news, news and more news!"
"Well, well, well," Rick bounded down the stairs and ran into the living room, disregarding the fact that he was interrupting a conversation, "have I got some news for you guys!"
Vyvyan let out a roar of pure, unadulterated anger before lifting up the couch and hurling it at Rick, sending the screaming couch and Rick flying into the kitchen wall. Whilst the couch fell back on to the floor looking relatively sound, Rick slowly peeled off the wall and landed on the couch unconscious, bruised and slightly bloody.
"That was very impressive!" cried Mike with genuine interest at Vyvyan's antics as the punk sunk down into a kitchen chair his energy momentarily spent. "But all those shows you listed are shows you really hate."
"But I hate the news more Mike!" he argued, "come on, you know me, you know how much I hate the news. It's all Rick's fault, every time I watched it he would go on and on about Thatcher and her attempts of suffocating the common man from his natural anarchistic ways, and in typical Pavlovlian manner I've come to associate the news with Rick's incessant bull-shit, and now I hate the news as much as I hate Rick!"
"That is quite a problem," agreed Mike, "But I'm afraid that I want to catch up with the news." He opened up a newspaper and began to read before, "hang on...this newspaper from days ago! Where's today's paper?"
"The paper boy hasn't been around for a few days," shrugged Vyvyan, "neither has the post man. You never noticed because you were shacked up with that girl, but we think they've ran off together, maybe to go live in France where no one will judge their weird relationship."
"Maybe," answered Mike vaguely because he wasn't really listening, "I'm goin' the corner shop to get a paper."
"Pick up some vodka while you're there," Vyvyan took some money out of Rick's back pocket and threw it over to Mike, "I'm gonna need it with all this 'news' malarkey."
Suddenly Neil burst through the front door looking more harassed than usual. "Quick guys! Get wood! Get stuff to put behind the doors and windows! Quickly!"
"I'm sorry," said Mike calmly, "but have we somehow gone into an alternative universe where you, Neil, suddenly start telling the rest of us what to do? Right, see I definitely need the paper, I can't keep up without it and life with you guys is difficult and confusing enough already."
He made to go to the front door but the wild-haired hippy stood in his way, waving his arms about his head and crying, "no Mike don't do it! It's crazy out there! Some seriously heavy stuff is going down. Look some lunatic even bit me," he showed them a nasty mark on his arm that looked like it was steadily turning green, "I think they were trying to eat me but after one bite they backed off."
"I'm not surprised," called Vyvyan, "you probably taste like really horrible, really smelly, really off lentils."
"You're the only one who is even a little bit nice to me," Neil said, ignoring Vyvyan and grabbing Mike by the shoulders, shaking him slightly, "please don't go out there man!"
"Watch the merchandise," Mike swept the hippy's hands of his shoulders, "I can handle a riot. It's par the course in this neighbourhood. I also can handle a little bite or two, the ladies tend to get a bit wild around me. It's fine. All part the parcel when you're as cool as I am. Now then, you need to move."
Rick meanwhile slowly came back into consciousness, vaguely hearing the sounds of an argument, but firstly hearing someone crying. He looked about, (hoping that the weeping was from Vyvyan so that he could point and laugh at him) but then to his dismay he realised the couch was crying. He looked down at it questioningly and it explained, "Vyvyan threw me...I thought we were all friends! I put up with your horrible bottoms being on me every day; the least you could do is not throw me around!"
Rick patted it cautiously in what was a sort of comforting manner before sitting up and asking what was going on.
"Oh Neil is keeping us all hostage." Explained Vyvyan calmly. "He won't let Mike out to buy the paper."
"Really?" said Rick, that dangerous, wild-eyed glint in his eye. He stood up and began to do that strange jolting style walk up to Neil, bobbing slightly on his feet and nodding so quickly one would think he was on some sort of crack-high, "weally Neil? Weally? Is this what it has come down to!? Is it weally?! Now you are FORCING us to stay with you? It's bad enough that you HOIST your personality on to us evewy day welentlessly with your insuffewable whining but now WE CAN'T EVEN LEAVE THE HOUSE?! How dare you! HOW DARE YOU!"
"Great," sighed Mike, "now you've got him started!"
"No Rick man, you don't get it, I'm doing this for your own good. You can't go outside!"
"NEO-NAZI FASCIST!" Rick screamed, no longer listening to what anyone had to say for he was now being The People's Poet, doing what he was born to do; standing on his metaphorical soap box and screeching his ill-thought out opinion over everyone else's words, "CAPITALIST PWO-THATCHER COMMUNIST SCUM! You think this is ART? DO YOU? The pop-culturalist satirist's proletariats have you fooled! Fooled! You suck from the BOR-JWAY-ZEE teat everyday like the media-mesmerised vampire whore that you are! Aesthetically challenged you now plan to make the rest of us suffer at the hands of your ludicwous whims! I WON'T LET YOU DO IT! Webellion-quasher! Society-led, middle-class demon-spirited hate mongewer! Hoarder of the door! Spawn of Thatcherite stink-evil!"
"I'm sick of this," announced Vyvyan bluntly before getting a genuine early seventeenth century cannon out from under the kitchen sink and blowing a hole through the living room wall just behind the television.
Mike let out a little cheer and wandered through it, announcing that he'd be back in ten minutes while Neil cried out in horror.
"No you've doomed us all Vyv, you've doomed us all! Oh heavy man, heavy!"
With the hole leading the outside, the boys could now hear the endless droning of their former neighbours. "What's the band this week?" asked Rick, "they don't sound very good. I think we're losing our touch."
"It's not a band, it's our neighbours, it must be Christmas and they must be singing carols," said Vyv before sticking his head out the hole and shouting, "shut up you lot! You sound bloody awful!"
"Stop it man," whimpered Neil, "they're attracted by sound."
"They've all got their arms out in front of them," said a bewildered Rick, "is this some sort of new dance move? They look stupid! Like a pack of brain-dead zombies!" He laughed loudly and haughtily, because Rick always loved it when he could mindlessly mock others.
Neil, being the most intelligent person in the house at this moment, finally gave up trying to convince them to listen to him and ran upstairs to his bedroom, locking the door and repeating 'heavy' to himself like some sort of holy mantra.
The boys watched the people outside. All of them were pale, almost gren-skinned, with blank, dead eyes. They were also all heading towards Rick and Vyvyan.
"Can you see those girls coming up to me?" said Rick with pride pointing to some limping girls who ambled towards him, their deadened eyes focused on his scalp, "that's because I am cat-nip to the ladies! In fact, that's what I wanted to tell you about earlier..."
"I think there's something wrong with them."
"The girls. Well, everyone," Vyvyan looked around at the encroaching hoard, "we aren't throwing a party!" he yelled, "piss off! Look Rick they aren't even listening. I think they're sick or something."
"You are such a liar Vyvyan! You're just jealous because some sexy girls aren't into you." He reached out to one of the girls, a pretty blonde who was drooling heavily as she groaned the groan of the damned, put on his best charming smirk and smoothly asked, "soooo, what's your name?" He pulled her arm, which came off with a wet POP!
Rick stared at it without much reaction.
"There's definitely something wrong with them!" cried Vyv running back indoors as Rick's brain finally stopped being shell-shocked and let out an almighty, girlish shriek flinging the arm back into the crowd before running into the kitchen.
Vyvyan pulled the cannon over and aimed it at the zombies, "I fought in the English Civil War don'tchya know!" cried the cannon bravely in a very proper English accent, before spewing cannon fire on to the streets, laughing now and then in between at the destruction. Vyvyan patted it fondly, feeling a kinship with it at that moment.
Rick, meanwhile, had decided to be useful and was hiding under the kitchen table, hugging his knees and rocking backwards and forwards.
"Rick! Get over here and help me kill some of these bastards!"
Rick shook his head in response and began to suck his thumb.
"Fine," said Vyvyan resolutely, "that leaves us with only one thing to do. I don't like it, but it's the only chance we have."
To be continued.
A.N. Hm. Yep. I wanted to do a Young Ones fanfic ages ago, but I struggle a bit with getting their personalities right. I'm also very unfamiliar with doing 'wacky' story lines. So this is out of my comfort zone, but I really like The Young Ones. Sometimes Rick can say his R's, sometimes he can't. I found that in the show it varied.
I hope I did ok :/
If this is well-received then I'll finish it off. I think it'll be around 2-3 chapters, roughly. Also, the pic used is by xnafu and can be found on Deviant art. Just type in The Young Ones and it'll pop up on the first page.