Blue Light Productions presents

	"Let's get smiting?"
	Emily stared in disbelief, her brown trenchcoat billowing in a sudden 
draft. She was not staring at the Hordes of Righteous Demonic Evil, not 
at the flowing tendrils or teeth. She was staring at her brother, a 
short, slim teenager. And yes, he was wearing goth makeup. Look, it's a 
viable fashion choice, all right? Standard, he would say, demon hunting 
gear. Right down to the black trenchcoat that was a size too big for 
him. "Well," mumbled Luke, looking down at the floor and momentarily 
forgetting the demonic Hordes.
	"I refuse to banish that Horde if you're going to run around saying 
things like 'let's get smiting.' Especially if it's in that horrible, 
fake accent of yours. You're from New Jersey, Luke. Not London." Emily 
folded her arms, a pouting expression upon her face. The draft had begun 
to pick up, and now her auburn hair was billowing. Mildly picturesque.
	There was some dissension amongst the Demonic Hordes; milling about, 
shouting, and making snide remarks about certain protagonists gumming up 
the works. Apparently, some of them expected more pummeling, and 
cursing. Lots of cursing.
	"Shut up," growled Emily, finally turning toward the demons. "Give us a 
blessed," she emphasized that last word, causing the demons no end in 
discomfort, "Minute. And YES, I know I'm using a tone of voice on you 
because otherwise I'd be collapsing from fear or something!"
	The demons looked at each other. "Gah," responded one demon, quietly. 
	"Look, all I'm saying," said Luke, now almost hiding behind Emily. 
Those demons had big teeth, man. "Is that we need some kind of battle 
cry, all right? Lots of them have one." He gestured toward the doors of 
the LNHQ's cafeteria, as the two stood in the remnants of the kitchen. 
"And, er, can we kind of finish this up? I don't like the way that one's 
eyeing me up."
	Emily slapped her forehead. "I don't care if lots of them have one. 
It's silly." She kicked a can of peas, that had been dropped during the 
initial arrival of the Hordes.
	"Ngh," said another demon, and gestured toward its wrist. Emily got the 
feeling this meant they were on a schedule.
	"Fine, fine," she said. "Oh, just...beGONE already? Asparagus or some 
other word of equal mystical might."
	Nothing. No bombastic expulsion of brimstone, no teleportation effects.
	"Joy," mumbled Emily. "Asparagus," she said. Not in a normal tone of 
voice. In the tone of voice which explains, quite amicably, that the 
words spoken in it are, despite everything you've ever heard to the 
contrary, words of cosmic importance which are suitable for removing 
unpleasant demonic infestation. And there was a "POOF," without much 
fanfare. Well, there was some light screaming. And then the demons were 
gone. "Good. Good. Great. Joy. Are we finished, then?" She glared at 
Luke, who kind of jumped.
	"Oh. Yes. Right. No battle cry. Right. Right," he muttered, the draft 
disappearing. All that billowing, naturally, stopped. "Er..."
	"What now?"
	"No smiting at ALL?"

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Blue Light Productions Presents
TEENS IN TRENCHCOATS,
episode the second,
"Demon Hunters Shouldn't Smite. Period."
by Ben Rawluk, last seen in Plaid.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

	Oddly enough, the corridors all seemed so...dark. This thought had sort 
of popped into Luke's mind as the two wondered down one of them, Emily 
walking briskly and he sort of meandering in a grim manner. Apparently, 
no one ever bothered to change the light bulbs.
	"So, what's so bad about smiting?" Luke carefully looked across at his 
sister. "That's what demon hunters are supposed to do. I know."
	"And how do you know that?" Emily looked at him, pointedly. "We've been 
demon hunters...what? Two weeks..."
	"Three," corrected Luke, glumly. "An' I read it in a book."
	"Do you believe EVERYthing you read? Smiting...smiting makes us sound 
like a bunch of Biblical types, or something. And after the last guy, I 
hear, who was one of those around here...well. I'd like to avoid that 
kind of reputation. It's bad enough that we have to run around fighting 
monsters." She came to a halt, turning slightly to face the perfectly 
ordinary door they had come across. "Here we are," she said. "The man 
who'll know what we should do."
	"I think I've heard of him," said Luke. After a moment of careful 
brooding, accompanied by the appropriate shadows being cast across his 
face. "Occultism Kid. Now here's a demon hunter. Sacrificial blood, 
arcane pentagrams, dusty books, runny candles..."
	"I get the picture," said Emily, and gingerly tapped on the door. No 
screams of the damned; a good sign, to be sure. Just silence. "Maybe 
he's not in..."
	"Try again," said Luke, flatly. "This guy's supposed to be amazing."
	"High praise," came a voice from behind the door. "One moment, please. 
Got to tidy up for company, you know how it is." The sound of scraping. 
And a crackle of fire. Smoke. A dripping faucet. Then more silence. 
"C'mon in." The door swung open, greeting the pair with a tale figure in 
a white trenchcoat, appropriately silhouetted for effect (No doubt by 
magic, Luke thought), who gestured emphatically for them to step 
through. "You're the new demon hunting kids. Stomper mentioned you'd be 
coming by."
	"Er...hello?" Emily stepped inside Occultism Kid quarters, moving her 
head from side to side, trying to fix on something comforting. It was 
all blood and occult symbology, though. "I'm Emily. This is my brother, 
Luke..."
	"Hi," said Luke, a broad grin forming across his face, breaking the 
brood. "I'm a fan."
	"Mmn," said Occultism Kid, "I gathered. I'm afraid I don't get out as 
much as I used to. In the early days. Before all the newer demon 
fighters and occultists...The misfits, you folk, people like the Occult 
Heroes...showed up. And the magic's no help. Takes a lot out of you, 
y'know?"
	"Well, not really. We're kind of new to this."
	"Ah. Sure. MAKE me feel like an old man," smiled Occultism Kid. He 
fixed Emily with a stare. "You're quite...strong, you know that. Lots of 
manna, there, I suspect." He turned, glancing toward Luke. "Unlike you. 
You'll never get the hang of magic, I don't think."
	"What?" Luke's mouth hung open. "I...I won't? Never?"
	"No. Sorry, but you have a disruptive quality to you. Don't touch 
anything, you might explode something." He smiled, though. 
Good-naturedly. "Now. You two specialize in demons?"
	"It's all we've faced," said Luke, quickly.
	"So far," said Emily. "He seems intent on making it our career decision 
or something." She narrowed her eyes, "And what does having a lot of 
'manna' mean?"
	"A natural affinity for magic. Most people have a little of it, but 
you're quite strong already. With the proper training..."
	"Oh. More studying. Joy," grimaced Emily.
	"Do you have prophetic dreams, Emily?"
	"Ha?" Emily looked confused. "What, like seeing the future? N-no, not 
as such..."
	Occultism Kid shrugged, and moved slowly over to the side of the room. 
"Anyway, you'll learn you have to face more than a few bat winged 
demons. Especially in this place. Wearing trenchcoats. Practically 
wearing the magical equivalent of 'Come smite me,' you know."
	Luke grinned at the word 'smite.' Emily frowned. "What can we expect?"
	"Oh. Well, excusing this younger generation's perchance for bloody 
melee involving brimstone cocktails, hellfire, and demonic hordes...all 
kinds. Vampires. Hauntings. Elder Gods demanding bloody sacrifice on a 
daily basis."
	"Sounds fun," said Luke.
	"A real party," mumbled Emily.
	"Yes, well. Around here, you'll probably have to deal with a haunting. 
More than one or two ghosts floating about, you know what they say. I'm 
getting a little old, but I've been doing my best to cool any 
practically offensive ectoplasmic displays, and I've been busy dealing 
with a few occult problems elsewhere. And the Misfits, for all their 
joyful strength, are probably clawing their way out of whichever Hell 
that Perdition's decided to drag them into this week."
	"Perdition?" Luke looked up.
	"Yes. Lovely girl. Archetypal Demonic Attitude on Legs, though."
	Luke nodded, slowly.
	"So, how do we figure out these hauntings, then?"
	"Let me see." Occultism Kid squatted down by the bookshelf, and began 
to rifle through some papers. "You're natural affinity will probably 
draw some activity toward you. You can probably just ask some of the 
nicer ones to leave, before they cause any kind of imbalance. You may 
have to banish one or two of the nastier ones...a bit like getting rid 
of a demon, I suppose."
	"Ah," said Emily, "That's it?"
	"Good heavens, no," said Occultism Kid, with a slight smile. "This is 
merely an introduction...a prelude, if you will. We have a lot to go 
over. But later. Oh, one other thing. Not all the ghosts...not all the 
ghosts are a good idea to mess with. One of them...bitterness 
aside...should probably just be left to his own devices. Some kind 
unknown element is holding him on this plane of reality."
	"How do we know which one?"
	"If you hear any Jerry Garcia vocals filling your head...you'll know."
	Luke stared. "Isn't he that guy from that band? Mom's got a bunch of 
their records?"
	Occultism Kid considered this, "Maybe you should consider locking him 
in his room while you go hunting, Emily..."
	"Should?" Emily smirked, "What do you think I've been doing since the 
start? If he wasn't so good at picking locks..."

	The lobby of LNHQ. Oh, don't look so scared. You know what it looks 
like. Big. Well-furnished. Usually being cleaned up after the latest in 
a long line of battles or cosmic entrances which shred the wallpaper and 
generally do their crater-making thing on the floor. And across from the 
glass doors which have been replaced several hundred times...without 
hyperbole, I might add...is the receptionist's desk. Mahogany, covered 
with piles of paperwork and a small, efficient workstation for the 
receptionist on duty. Fred, for the moment. Crystal, at times. Or Kyoko. 
Or one of the others. Those receptionists, they know their business. 
They ignore everything, deny everything, and generally try to avoid 
looking up when the supervillain du jour pops in to obliterate all of 
creation.
	Look, it's their JOB, all right?
	Sadly, Fred was looking up when the door opened. "No big deal," you 
say. "Just a door opening. Nothing sinister about that." Amateurs. A cat 
pawed its way in. A black cat, no less. Which, I'm sure, is what you 
expected, no? They're always black. Hush, it's occult. Luke'll be happy. 
Emily will be busy wondering why the hell a black cat's important. Or 
any cat, for that matter. So, we'll just stick to the cat, which had 
just wandered in.
	"A cat," said Fred, nonplused. "How odd. I wonder if Panta's been 
devolved or something. At least it's not wearing spandex, I suppose."
	The cat jumped on to the desk, and stared at Fred with dark, rippling 
eyes.
	Fred stared back. "Er?"
	"Dahling," purred the cat, in musical tones, "Would you be so kind as 
to direct me to the demon hunters? The children playing grownup, in 
their trenchcoats."
	"...I...I..." Fred tapped on the screen. Demon hunters, demon hunters, 
think fast. Oh. Those two. Makes sense. "...Oh-occultism Kid's room. 
Suh-second floor."
	"Thannnnnk you, dahling." The cat jumped off the desk, and disappeared 
down the corridor. Fred continued to stare after it.
	"Right. More paperwork, less looking up."

	More stalking down the corridors, thought Emily. She walked beside her 
brother, slowly down just enough for him to keep pace while still 
brooding. And it was still dark; shadows seemed to be cast everywhere, 
flooring like liquid across their faces and across the walls. "Well, 
that was different," Emily said, after a moment. "We have homework, I 
guess. Find some ghosts." Luke looked over at her.
	"I can't believe I'll never be good at magic!" A pout. Emily sighed, 
inside.
	"Oh, stick with me. Maybe manna rubs off?"
	They continued walking, in silence. "So," said Luke, "We got to find 
some ghosts. How?"
	"He said they'd come to me...us."
	And then there was a voice. It was sweet, filled with honey. "Maybe you 
should try a more...pro-active approach," said the voice. Out of the 
corner of her eye, Emily could have sworn she saw a small, black cat. 
But it was gone, in a rush of activity. A girl, with porcelain skin, 
wearing a black halter-top and jeans, stood before them. She smiled 
serenely, strands of her gorgonic, black hair flowing before their eyes. 
"I can help with that. I'm good with the undead."
	"Um," said Luke. "A vampire slayer?"
	"Not hardly, dahling," said the girl. "Witch, after a fashion. A 
demon...hunter."
	"Really come out of the woodwork, don't you," said Emily, folding her 
arms in her usual fashion. "Popping up just after we join, huh?"
	"That was coincidence, dear. They sent me after the other newbies."
	"Ah," said Emily. What, she thought, was happening? She didn't believe 
the girl, it was a lie for some reason, but...but, for some intangible 
reason, the doubts just faded with the girl's eyes on her. "I'm Emily," 
she said after a moment.
	"A lovely name," said the girl, "I'm Ravencroft. And you, Mister 
Big-Strong-Trenchcoat? What do they call you?"
	Under the white face paint, you could tell Luke was blushing. "Luke."
	"Oooh," said Ravencroft. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
	"Riiiight," Emily mumbled.
	"What was that, Em?"
	"Nothiiiiing."
	Ravencroft smiled. "Now, you want to find ghosts? Dears, you've come to 
the right girl. We'll help you tap your hidden potential." Emily looked 
at her oddly.
	"We've known you what...less than a second? And you suddenly decide 
you're going to delve in the nether realms, or whatever, with us? What 
makes you think we trust you?"
	"Well." Ravencroft's hands moved to her hips. "I'm unbelievably 
trustworthy. I shall not tell a lie, and all that jazz. I can solve your 
problems and make you the most famous trenchcoaters to ever walk these 
hallowed halls, or ANY hallowed halls, for that matter."
	"...wow," said Luke.
	"I don't know," Emily muttered. Something was gnawing away at her 
defenses.
	"They'll forget all about that crusty, old Legion of Occult 
Heroes...wherever they've gone. And the Misfits? Ancient history. Right 
down to the prehistoric fishbowl..."
	"Er, what?" Emily raised an eyebrow. "Fishbowl."
	"...nevermind, dahling. They'll remember you guys. And me, of course, 
because we're a team. A team of mighty trenchcoaters and demon hunters, 
rogues and rapscallions the lot of us."
	"No we're not!" Emily took a step back. "We don't know anything about 
you, you don't know anything about us. You could be lying."
	"I just SAID you could trust me, didn't I?"
	"But that's a catch-22..."
	"Trust her," whimpered Luke, "She's sooooo cool, Em."
	"Hush." Emily scowled at her brother. "You've put him under some kind 
of spell."
	"Nahhhh. Just a little glamour. Maybe. Look, you want proof?"
	"Yes," hissed Emily.
	"You want to find ghosts? I'll give you a ghost."
	Those big, pools-of-nothing eyes blinked, twice. She snapped her 
fingers. There was a horrible screaming sound, echoing throughout the 
corridor. "Gyeek," exclaimed Emily, grasping her ears. "That sound..."
	"What?" What?" Luke looked around. "What do you hear?"
	A twinkle of white, sort of floating in front of the group. A burp. 
"Screams," said Emily. "Don't you hear them?"
	"No," said Luke. He glanced over at Ravencroft.
	"Don't worry, dahlings. Luke's just not RECEPTIVE enough."
	The burp of white expanded quickly, Emily's eyes widening as she 
watched. First it was a trenchcoat, vaguely transparent. Followed by a 
tie-dyed t-shirt, the psychedelic colours flowing magically. Then a 
skeletal, unimpressive figure filled in, transparent as well. "You mean, 
he can't see that?"
	"See what?"
	Ravencroft grinned, darkly. "Nope. Poor boy. Has no clue." And then 
Emily heard music, quiet and serene. "Emily....Luke, I suppose, as well. 
I'd like to introduce to you...DeadHeadMan."
	"Narf," said the ghostly figure, who was too busy trying to lose a 
lunch that just wasn't there, to do more than barely attempt to look up. 
"Poit."
	"Why's he sound like Pinky?" Emily narrowed her eyes.
	"Who sounds like Pinky?" Luke strained to see something, but failed 
miserably.
	"Him," said Emily, pointing to the empty space in front of the group.
	"Transcendental bus passes do that," smiled Ravencroft. "Are you all 
right, dearie?"
	"'m fine," said the ghost, in a voice that was all echoey. "Who're you 
all?"
	"I'm Ravencroft. This is Emily. And Luke. Only Luke can't see you."
	"Story of my life."
	"Um," said Emily, stepping forward. "I think we're supposed to get rid 
of you, DeadHeadMan. Send you back to the afterlife, that kind of 
thing?"
	The ghost looked up, a contorted smile appearing on his lips. "Really? 
Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He floated forward. "I've been waiting 
around forEVER. And that Occultism Kid guy said it couldn't be done..."
	"Oh. You're THAT ghost?" Emily tilted her head. "He told us to leave 
you alone."
	Luke had sort of started to lean against the wall, looking vaguely 
bored. "What's going on, now? Is he gone? He...she...it?"
	"No," said Emily. "This guy's still here. What do we do, Ravencroft?"
	"We say we'll try and find a way, Em." A smile, darker. Showing teeth. 
"Just because some crusty old sorcerer who doesn't know right from left 
can't send him away, doesn't mean we can't. First step on our quest for 
fame."
	"Oooh," said Luke. "Syndication."
	"Does this mean you can't free me?" DeadHeadMan frowned, slightly. 
"Nice to meet you, just get my hopes up, why don't you."
	Emily slapped her forehead. "Okay, Ravencroft. You pulled DeadHeadMan 
here. Any ideas on how to get rid of him?"
	"Yes," said the ghost, "Any ideas?"
	"Well, dahlings," grinned Ravencroft. "The answer is obvious! We must 
steal...the Net.crominicon! Then we can do it!"
	"...Ha?" DeadHeadMan crossed his intangible arms. "This is going to 
take awhile, then?"
	"The what?" Luke perked up. "What's a Net.crominicon?"
	"How is that obvious? Kind of coming out of left field, since no one's 
ever mentioned it. To. Us.Why do I get a feeling that finding some 
bizarre mystical item from who knows where is going to crop up again and 
again?"
	"Oh," said DeadHeadMan, "That. Occultism Kid's got it in his quarters."
	Emily stared.
	"So, where do we find this...whatsit?" Luke, obviously.
	"Weren't you listening? He just said," muttered Emily. "Oh. Right. 
DeadHeadMan says it's in Occultism Kid's quarters. If he has this thing, 
Ravencroft, we hasn't he used it on DeadHeadMan, then?"
	"Um," said Ravencroft, "He's stupid?"
	"Nah, Occultism Kid's cool," said Luke. "I'll go back and ask him for 
it..."
	"No," said Ravencroft. "He'd never give it up. We must, as I said, 
steal it. Just think of all the spells you can learn...all the demons 
you can hunt...with the Net.crominicon in your hands!"
	"Ah," said Emily, "It's a power hungry thing?"
	"Excuse me," said DeadHeadMan, "Can we speed this along? If it's not 
going to happen, then I'd like to get back to my regular routine of 
being bored and floating around, unnoticed."
	"Shan't take us too long," said Ravencroft. "Just a little thievery."
	"Is this such a good idea?" Emily glanced back in the direction of 
Occultism Kid's quarters. "I'm sure he'd be glad to give us some help, 
with it. He probably knows all about it..."
	"Nah. Stealing's what magicians do. Especially when wearing 
trenchcoats. Plagerizing spells, stealing spell components, kidnapping 
familiars, bonding themselves to daemons..." Ravencroft smiled. Luke 
smiled back; the argument of 'how things were done' won him over.
	"Merciless scavengers of the unknown," exclaimed Luke, with a bit too 
much glee. Emily felt the urge to slap her forehead again. "Smiting 
demons left and right!"
	"Luke," said Emily, quietly. "Why'd you use that word?"
	"Which?" Ravencroft looked between the two. "Merciless?"
	"Smiting. Luke, we've talked about this already. Twice."
	"Ooooh," said Ravencroft, "Angstful tension between the teammates. 
Bonus."
	"Hush."
	"Look, am I going to get helped any time soon?" DeadHeadMan began to 
tap his forearm.
	The two girls looked at each other. Luke just looked confused. "What? 
What?"
	"...shoot me," muttered Emily.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=NOTES FROM THE 
AUTHOR=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

	I'm know. Sorrysorrysorry. I just couldn't resist DeadHeadMan. He's 
permanently embedded into my brain. I love the floating dead. 
Ravencroft...Ravencroft is...different. Or not. Put another checkmark 
under the "Goth Style" column. And try not to run away too obviously. 
Thanks to Jen Whitson for putting up with my procrastinating and 
laziness. And inspiring me. Inspiration also derived from Jesse Taylor 
("SMITE!"), Gina Donoghue, etc. etc. Annnd, I hear we get the return of 
Thesaurus Lass and Entropy Kid. Classics in the making.
	Um, right.
	Emily, Luke, Ravencroft, and DeadHeadMan are copyright 1998 to Ben 
Rawluk. Me. Fred's...Public Domain, last I checked. Yes? Been around 
forever, that one. Occultism Kid, even longer...copyright to Josh 
Geurink, wherever he's wandered off to. Josh? Hi? Please send comments 
of what you thought, to poetic_wraith@hotmail.com ... I can assure you 
they'll be greatly appreciated. Yesyesyes. Indeed.