# A Fang In The Flesh Part 1

II. Living in a (secret) society?
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The chapters I've had to read up on were dry and boring as they come. Object-oriented programming. As if I've had any idea what an object was. Or programming, really. We've barely been given the "Hello World" example on the first week, and it's been just non-stop jargon and documentation reading since. I've always been told that game development was the most hands-on course on God's green Earth, but I guess the lecturer didn't get the memo on that.
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There was another hour till eight, our de-facto dinner time. Yet I could barely keep my eyes open. I needed something to get my mind out of the dull world of abstract class polymorphism. I needed it real bad. Maybe, I thought, I could persuade Fang to ditch studies for the day. Even if not, teasing her for a bit would lighten my mood.
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It became kind of a tradition by then. I'd sit by my desk over a boring book, and Fang would lay in bed behind me. Then I would say something clever to the likes of your everyday shitpost, and Fang would retort in a form of physical violence. Her methods varied, though she always made sure that I was within reach for a bump on the head or kick to the back of my seat. Really, it would have been an accomplishment in itself to not be in arm's reach in this tiny room.
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Were you to stand in the doorway, our little kingdom would reach a whopping three meters in front of you, around two meters in width. There was a bunk bed on the left next to the door - we usually shared the bottom bed -, and two desks on the opposite side. Each with a small cupboard above them. Behind the bed stood a small fridge, more than enough for the two of us. Plus a door to the bathroom, which we shared with the neighboring room. Some dino dudes neither of us knew, though they were absent most days anyway. The rest was filled with laundry and Fang's equipment, plus a TV on the windowsill.
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On said TV the original X-Files would be playing in about an hour, our choice of series for the week. It was nothing special. With it being so old - nearly as old as the two of us put together - most of the "twists" were stunningly predictable. I wasn't impressed, to say the least. Fang seemed to genuinely enjoy it though, something I never would have suspected. Then again, hers was a police family.
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Still, Fang showing interest in conspiracy level stuff even /x/ would laugh at surprised me on some primordial level. I'm not exactly sure why. Her entire being was pretty much a synonym to the word "rebellion", so a show about the man holding the little guy back could easily get to her. Well hey, each to their own. I'll be the first to admit that a show with Gillian Anderson can hardly be boring.
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Appealing as it would have been to fantasize about the enigmatic agent Scully, I've had a girlfriend to annoy.
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"Hey Fang, make me a sandwich?"
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"Yeah sure right after you suck my dick, assweed."
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Her tone, much as her kick, was lacking in interest. I'd bet she didn't even look up from her laptop. Clearly, my approach didn't pluck the right cord. In other terms, I wouldn't have gotten a single (you).
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"C'mon, you'll need the practice after you got your degree."
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"Knock it off dickwad!" Another kick, this time with more effort.
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I turned to her, resting my arm on the back of the chair. Seemed like I was right, sort of. She was holding her phone instead of her laptop, though her face was glued to the screen. From that angle I couldn't tell what she was looking at, but she sure was engrossed with it. Contrary to my boring ass classes hers were mostly interesting, so I couldn't rule out the possibility that she was actually studying.
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I kept watching her for a while as she tapped the screen with her slender fingers. She was mostly the same old Fang that I became to know past year. Torn black attire that complimented her body, pale scales and equally pale hair cropping a face that always seemed to sport some manner of disapproval. Frankly, the only difference was that she started to let her hair grow longer. I've also suspected that she forgo her punk-goth makeup in favor of more traditional lashes and lipstick. They were so faint though that I couldn't really tell.
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"What?" She snapped at me, finally tearing her eyes from the screen.
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"What what?"
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"Why are you looking at me?"
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I opened my mouth to tease her some more, maybe slip in a compliment, but ultimately decided against it. Maybe I was too tired, maybe it was fate. Could have been, actually. In hindsight, it was probably my very next question that led us down a path that, well, were I to know here it lead I would rather have jumped out the window. Without hesitation. And we lived on the sixth floor too.
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"Whatcha doing?" I asked, shrugging nonchalantly.
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Fang went silent for a few seconds, flustered. I've been with her for long enough to know that she was debating whether to lie or not, likely caught doing something embarrassing. In the end she turned her phone in my direction, mumbling under her breath but not looking at me.
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"I'm on FIC."
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I had no idea what that was. The screen showed a list of... something? A bunch of entries with stock photos of happy people out having a picnic, working in a field, gathered in a forest, stuff like that. They all looked oddly religious too. I couldn't make out the text from that distance.
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"What's that?"
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"It's the Fellowship for Intentional Community." She said, handing me her phone.
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I didn't get it. At all. Was she looking for a party or something? A place to have a gig? We've been holed up these past few weeks so it would have made sense that she had itchy feet. Cabin fever. Whatever. Except that list didn't exactly look like the kind to have parties on it. I knew that Fang came from a religious family, so maybe it had something to do with that?
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I started scrolling through the list, looking for an explanation. It definitely didn't include frat parties or anything remotely connected to them. "Community of the 8th Star", "American Buddhist Shim Gum Dino Association", "The Chruch of Inverted Faith", "Mongolian basket weaver and gay bathhouse enthusiast communion". It went on, and on. Just what the hell was I looking at?
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"It's a website for cults and shit." came Fang's explanation "Like, there's some nutcase yoga whatever stuff and co-housing, but some of these are definitely cults."
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"You wanna join a cult?"
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"Do I dook like menial labour with no life goals?"
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Well, she was getting an arts degree afterall. I didn't answer, expecting her to continue. The entire situation baffled me to no end. Sudden interest in the paranormal and now this. Has she been spending time with Stella?
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Fang snatched the phone out of my hands, setting it down on the bed, then looked at me with a determined, even excited expression. She was now sitting on the edge of the bed, wings slightly spread behind her and tail wagging.
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"I want to start a cult."
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She said it in such a deadpan tone that I couldn't help but laugh in her face. Now THAT clearly annoyed her, prompting a series of kicks into my chair till my laughter subsided.
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"You? A cult? Seriously?"
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"Yeah, why not?"
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Why not? Really? Not considering how hilariously retarded the entire premise was, she was still only a student. Not even a popular one. She could hardly lure people into her thrall. She had no income either, so financing an entire community might prove challenging. And whatever would their goal as a cult be? Praising VVurm Drama?
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"Sure, sure." I decided to entertain her idea, oblivious to the grim mistake I was making "So uh, how's that gonna work?"
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Upon my question her eyes lit up.