Scooby Doo idea: Daphne Blake as the weird rich kid whose parents signed her up for a shit-ton of rich-kid extracurriculars like polo, fencing, and all of this other shit so they wouldn’t have to deal with her/bolster her college resume. She puts a lot of effort into actually being good at all these extra-curriculars bc she’s competing with all of her ~super successful and talented~ sisters for attention and ends up athletic as hell and socially stunted and like…really aggressive and competitive and never quite satisfied with anything she’s doing. The only other ‘High Society’ kid who can put up with her is Norville “Shaggy” Rogers —an anxious stoner with freaky strict parents whose only friend prior to Daphne was his equally anxious rescue dog—Daphne’s been beating up Shaggy’s bullies for years. Then there’s student council dweeb Fred Jones who’s always been groomed to be this ‘leader’ by his parents and is always pressured to go to these youth leadership things and stuff and yeah he’s pretty good at directing group projects, but really Fred’s kind of shy and more interested in engineering, forensics and maybe criminal justice and he’s been friends with this chick Velma Dinkley in engineering club who’s brilliant but she’s also tactless, awkward and very bitterly sarcastic to cover up for the fact that her book smarts far outweigh her social skills.
So then there’s this mystery downtown and all five of them show up and there’s a mutual, “Oh hey it’s you: The weird kid from my school. What are you doing here?” and everyone goes around. Fred’s like, “Oh I knew the owners of this place and they said they might have to close down because of this ghost and I told Velma about it and Velma thinks we can get to the bottom of this.” And Shaggy’s like, “Scoob and I didn’t want to be home right now and we honestly didn’t know about the ghost but hey Daphne’s here so we feel safe enough to hang out and maybe Scoob can sniff out some clues or something.” And then everyone turns and looks at Daphne and Daphne’s just like, “I want to fight a fucking ghost.”
Norville Rogers flopped with all the grace of a rag doll on to the beaten up couch that sat parallel to the screen of the tiny television set. Fumbling slightly, he pulled a spliff from the left pocket of his brown bellbottoms (which, he would admit, were not a stylish choice, but they were much comfier than those stupid skinny jeans that everyone seemed to be wearing nowadays), and his flip top lighter from the right. As he went to light the joint, his giant Great Dane, Scooby (short for Scoobert) Doo, padded down the stairs from the kitchen to his master’s basement bedroom, followed by a shout of “Goddammit Norville! Your dumb dog got in the fridge again!” At the cry, Scooby looked over his shoulder up to the kitchen with an expression that seemed to the young man to be filled with disdain over being referred to as a dumb dog. As if to accentuate the point further, before he flopped, in a similar way Norville himself had done a few moments earlier, down beside his master, he released a most indignant huff. The self-confessed hippy let out a small snort of laughter at his dog’s disdain before he called up the stairs.
“Sorry Mom! I, like, really thought that baby proof lock would work!” Well, it would have worked, if Norville hadn’t forgotten to lock it after he’d finished making his sub. Speaking of which… “Aww, Scoob, no!” The purebred looked up guiltily from where his muzzle had been buried in the remains of the foot long sandwich. Norville groaned. “That was, like, the last of the pastrami. Man, I’ve been looking forward to that all day.” At the young man’s distress, Scooby stood and dumped what was left of the sandwich on to his friend’s lap. Looking down at the half decimated, drool covered sandwich, Norville sighed and rubbed between Scooby’s ears. “Nah, it’s OK, man. You can have it.” Scooby’s eyes seemed to light up at this (sometimes, Norville swore that the dog understood English) and in an instant the sad remains of the sandwich were gone. Leaning back against the sofa, Norville Rogers lit his spliff, turned on the television and un-paused Donnie Darko.
He would admit, he kind of spaced out about 15 minutes in, the whole thing about the time travelling jet engine always confused him a little bit, and just sat, listening to Scooby’s soft, rhythmic panting. His hand travelled down to that space between Scooby’s ears again, and he began to rub there again. Scooby, enjoying the attention greatly, decided that his master’s actions were permission enough for him to join him on the two-seater couch. The dog jumped up and straight over the arm rest and straight on to Norville’s lap, winding him.
“Scoob! No! Aww, c’mon, dude! We’ve already talked about this Scooby! You’re not a lap dog! You’re, like, a Great Dane! You weigh, like, 200 pounds!” He gasped as he tried in vain to wrestle the large brown and black dog from his stomach. He was met with a lick across the face. He looked at the dog, mouth pressed in a thin line. “You just licked inside my mouth. You’re disgusting.” The weighty Great Dane sprung from his lap back to the floor, almost catching him in the groin as he did so. “And sometimes, Scoob, you’re kinda an asshole.” Norville swore that if dogs could smirk, Scooby was doing.
The familiar tune of ‘Mad World’ came from the television, and Norville stopped the tape, and stood, stretching his long limbs with a slight groan. He looked around his room, at the faded posters on the walls ( a couple for Jimi Hendrix, one for Paramore, and four for Pizza Hut), at the pile of laundry in the corner (which he swore he would do…soon. Probably), his unmade bed with the plain red sheets and the large dog bed beside his bedside table (the one with the broken alarm clock and the picture of Scooby in his dog bed on the day he’d arrived at the Rogers’ household as a gangly puppy). Deciding that there was very little for him to do there, since he didn’t have his X-Box anymore (long story involving a Chihuahua, a burrito, his cousin Betty-Lou and a scream mask), he turned to Scooby Doo.
“Hey, Scoob, you wanna, like, go for a walk?” Scooby’s ears pricked up and he let out a single, eager ‘woof!’ of agreement. Almost immediately, Scooby was up and on his back legs, snapping enthusiastically at his choker lead, which was on the window ledge. It was just out of his reach, as Norville had placed it a little further back than he normally did. Scooby turned to his tall, shaggy owner and let out a rather demanding bark. Norville chuckled at his buddy’s impatience. “OK, OK, chill out man. I’ll get it, just give me one second to put my shoes on.” Not bothering with socks, Norville grabbed a pair of beaten-up, pre-tied sneakers and pushed them on to his feet. Scooby sat back on his haunches, his tail thudding against the wall every few seconds as it wagged furiously. For a moment , Norville was distracted by the almost hypnotic movements of his dog’s tail, but he quickly shook himself out of it. Standing up swiftly, he grabbed the choker lead and slipped the loop around Scooby’s thick neck. As soon as this had been done, Scooby took off, pulling his master behind him, up the stairs and out of the (thankfully already open) backdoor, nearly knocking Wendy Rogers over as they went. Norville looked anxiously over his shoulder as he was pulled through the doorway.
“Like, sorry Mom! Just taking Scoob for a walk, back soon, love you!” And then they were on to the streets of Coolsville.
Back in the Rogers household, Wendy Rogers stared after her son and his dog, and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Then she turned back to the almost empty fridge, which now contained a pack of grapes and half a pot of cream cheese.
“Just what the hell am I meant to make from that, huh? Dumb dog…”
So, I enjoyed writing this part. The Shaggy/Scooby dynamic is fun to write. Also, Shaggy is not Shaggy yet. Right now, he’s still Norville. Once again, Scooby Doo and everything affiliated with it doesn’t belong to me. Next part’s going to be Fred, then Velma, and then there will besome actual plot *le gasp*. Anyway, hope anyone that is actually reading this enjoys it.