I was interested in the 1920s, and therefore...this happened.
I actually like it. Duh. So, I'll try to update as often as I can.
Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom, or the song "Ain't We Got Fun".
--Phanny
Samantha Manson, of the Ebony Avenue Manson's, had always been a rebel.
On June fifth, 1913, when Samantha was born, her parents had had only the highest hopes for their daughter. The rich, influential family to which the girl belonged were the trendiest, most straight-laced people you'd meet in the upper level of Amity Park, Illinois.
Not that anyone went to said town all that much. If you were heading to Chicago, you'd drive right through it after one glance at the Pits. Not even a stop to fill up those nice cars they had now.
The Pits were the lower half of the city. Only those good-for-nothing bums were welcomed there, Samantha's mother had told her. She was the one trying to get the rumored speakeasy in the Pits shut down for good. Samantha never saw the point.
The family she belonged to was good to her, but not in the ways she needed. Samantha grew up lonely, her parents always on business and no friends that held her interest, and became rootless and wild as she grew older. Now, at fourteen years old, she knew what she had to do.
And that is why she found herself where she was told never to go. Garbage littered the ground beneath her feet as she past building after decrepit, pathetic building. She tried to count how many of the homes and boarding houses were boarded up and "for sale". It would have been easier to count those that weren't. And the ones that were clearly had people still inhabiting them.
Samantha walked towards the source of the sudden explosion of sound on the streets. A large pool of light had filled part of the street: an open door.
"Out, ya no good bum! Come back when you learn some respect, boy!" The rough, gravelly shout echoed in Samantha's ears as she watched a tall, roughed up man run out of the light, escaping the empty bottles of beer that shattered as they missed their target.
Only when the door closed did Samantha dare to move again. The closer she got to the lively building, the louder the muffled shouts and laughter got, and the stronger the smell of smoke and alcohol became.
Bright light spilled out through gaps in the boarded up windows as the voices of men (who's slurred tones ensured Samantha that they were undoubtedly drunk) and music blared from the building, almost drowning out the giggling, light voices of the few women who were also there.
Taking a deep breath, Samantha stepped towards the door and opened it, hoping for it to go unnoticed. She didn't notice any pause in the festivities, and so she pulled herself inside as inconspicuously as possible.
"What do you think you're doin' in here?" Samantha was face to face with a rough-looking, blonde-haired, violet-eyed boy of about her age. "You one of them uptown girls?"
"N-no," Samantha stuttered, "I-I'm just…new in town." After a moment, she got her bearings and smoothed her expression. "Lookin' for a place to unwind. Problem?"
"Yeah, there's a problem, you--" The boy was pushed aside gently.
"Dash, step aside," A much smaller boy said, his blue eyes staring at Samantha, "I got this."
"Fenton, I swear…" Dash began to back away, back towards where he had left his girlfriend sitting.
"I got this." 'Fenton' hissed more firmly, and Dash casually sidled away. "So, then," he turned to Samantha once more. "New in town, eh? Where ya from, then?" He eyed her suspiciously, though his voice was friendly.
The boy had black hira and blue eyes, and Samantha could have sworn she had seen him somewhere before. Only when he cleared his throat did she realize that she had become distracted, and that he was awaiting a reply.
"Oh, uhm, Chicago." Samantha refused to meet his eyes. The boy leaned casually against a wooden support beam as his gaze remained trained on her. "Just got in."
"Obviously," the boy said with a snort, "you wouldn'tve come here unless you had no clue where you were going. Or are you looking for a pick-me-up? That's what we got here."
Samantha looked around, seeing in full what the place had to offer. A woman was singing a rather nice rendition of "Ain't We Got Fun" on the small platform that was obviously supposed to serve as a stage. Men sat around with women next to them, women on their laps, and in some places, both at once. At the bar, large, sometimes dirty mugs and glasses were passed around, filled with beer and wine of more varieties than Samantha had ever seen, not that she'd seen much alcohol at all. Prohibition had banned it, and before she was twelve, she hadn't known of any places that possessed it.
"Shall I show you around?" The boy bowed in mock courtesy and took her hand. "My father's the innkeeper, y'know."
"There's an inn here?" Samantha asked, and the boy frowned.
"It's upstairs. Geez, I know it ain't much here, but it's not that bad." The boy looked at her more closely, "say, what'd you say your name was?"
"I didn't say." Samantha told him smugly. He quirked a brow and she sighed, thinking. "It's…it's Sam."
"Huh. Sam." The boy put his finger to his chin in thought. "M'kay. Name's Danny. I will be your guide for this evening. The phone don't work, toilet's no good, and don't touch Old Man Jenkins because he thinks everyone's a stripper and you'll get some unnerving requests from him."
"Thanks for the advice." Sam told him, looking around warily. "What d'you call this place?"
"For whatever reason," Danny began after a moment of thought, "people keep calling it The Ghost Zone."