Owning the Neighborhood
"Wait, hang on a sec." Rhiannon braced her shoe on the seat of a bench. The nylon laces of her newest boots tended to untie themselves. Not wanting her footwear to fly off during a kick, she double-knotted them and tucked the ends. "I should've just glued the soles on the old ones." She tugged her cargo pants down and caught up to her friend. Because of conflicting schedules, they didn't patrol together -- or beat one another up for fun -- as much as in Las Vegas. She missed it. Tonight was a chance to catch up and see if they could get into any trouble.

At his side again, Rhiannon stuck her hands in her pockets. Only two blocks from her apartment, not much had happened in the way of conversation yet. "So hey." Her elbows swayed forward and back. "You gonna entertain me with stories of Connor's New Social Life while we look for things to kill? I could like that. Especially if it's tragic." She smiled.

"When isn't it tragic?" the Destroyer cracked, his tone only half facetious. "The last woman that came near me turned out to be a damned succubus. It wasn't exactly romantic. I'm starting to think all women need to have warning signs around their necks, different ones for different situations. It'd save me a lot of time."

The night was clear and warm, and for once there was actually little troubling his mind. "I don't know, I guess things are looking up, griping aside. I took Clemence to dinner and we had a good time. It takes some of the pressure off to not be constantly worried about what she thinks of me. It gets tiring after a while."

Connor's narrow shoulders went up and down, the light fabric of his T shirt making a whispery noise against his back. "So, yeah, I'm doing okay."

"Warning signs, huh? I wonder what mine would say." She tipped her head back and looked at the residential skyline. "That probably depends on which ex you ask." Accidentally, Rhiannon kicked a piece of broken concrete. It skuttled into a crack in the sidewalk and settled alongside a clump of grass. The sound it made seemed louder than normal, but then again, there was zero breeze. The warm, sticky air made her thankful for going without sleeves.

"By the way. You must've skipped the succubus part on the phone. I would've remembered that." Rhiannon gave him a look-over. He wasn't dead, so that was a plus. "I realize this may be personal, possibly even pervy, but how the hell did you get out of that? And please tell me you at least got some before you got out of it."

"Shut up," Connor said through a snorting sort of laugh. "What was really creepy about it was the guy who looked just like me, the one with the tranquilizer gun. He's the one who ran her off, probably saved my life. Guess it's just as well he didn't stick around, though; it'd be weird to thank yourself."

He pondered that for a second, that somewhere in the unknown there was another him running around. It gave him the heebie-jeebies. "What's new with you, anything?" he asked the brunette. "Now that you're back among the living and all."

Rhiannon eyed his profile. "Your lack of explanatory details is noted. Interesting."

At the next corner, she turned left, navigating closer to Lincoln Park. A traffic light painted the asphalt greenish-black, but no cars came down the street. "Truth? A very bad thing happened." As she thought about it, the Slayer's shoulders climbed towards her ears, and her fists balled in her pockets. "This spooky calm thing I've got going on is resolve. There's a vampire I need to take care of. Deanna. We've been fighting for years and I haven't managed to take her out, which up until now has pretty much been my problem. Now she's gone and thrown down the gauntlet. She beat the shit out of my friend Jennie. I can't back down from that."

Rhiannon took a deep breath. "Anyway, I'm tired of things always getting interrupted, and of being afraid she's actually better than me. So, I'm going after her. It's funny. Once you decide to do something that might actually get you killed, you just... feel quiet inside."

He darted a quick look at her, then just as quickly looked away again. "She okay? Jennie." He'd heard a few bits and pieces about the younger Slayer from Rhiannon, knew how much his friend had put into training the girl and teaching her things to keep her alive. To have any vampire interfere with that, much less one you already hated, was something you felt down in your guts and bones.

"I'm guessing she's pulling through, otherwise you wouldn't even be here now."

She rubbed the side of her neck. "Yeah, but I can't even get her on the phone. Her dad's got everybody screening for me, or anyone who even sounds like they could be me. He thinks the whole thing's my fault. He's partly right." She shook the bad feeling away and swung her arms. Rhiannon's fist smacked into her palm. "Whatever. That's my story, me or the redhead. I thought you should know." She hopped off the curb and crossed the last street separating her neighborhood from Lincoln Park.

"Hey, Connor. Did you ever have an arch enemy?" Rhiannon realized they never talked about his, just hers.

The unfairness of it had Connor's mouth drawing down into an annoyed line, and he had to look off across the street so Rhiannon wouldn't see it. "Unless you count my dad, not really," he said, turning back to face her. "No vamp has ever come after me or tried to get under my skin. I guess I don't really need an arch enemy, though. When it feels like the entire world's after you, singling out one individual seems a little redundant."

He let the silence hang between them, listening to his heart beat and the far-off sound of traffic. He felt a little quiet inside himself at Rhiannon's news, and he listened to the silence within while filtering through it for something to say. "When it's over, give me a call. I'll buy you a beer to help you celebrate."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and stared at the front of the pack. Despite a nicotine urge a mile long, she wasn't sure she felt like smoking one. "By the way, the world's not after you." A thumb nudged back the lid. She counted the filters and calculated how long before she needed to buy more. "Maybe it used to be, but it's not now. I think you still feel things panting at your heels, but if you look back, you'll realize they're gone. You outran them. Which is pretty goddamn rare."

Deciding to forgo the habit, she put the pack away.

He had been looking at her hands, probably thinking about snarking at her about the smokes the way he usually did, but her remark made his head lift so he could see her eyes instead. "I know," he said, then tapped his temple. "I know it in here, and I look behind me all the time." His hand dropped down to his chest, tapped his ribcage. "It's in here that doesn't always get the memo. But keep telling me, it helps to hear it."

They had reached the outskirts of the Lincoln Park area now, and Connor felt the same sensation of dread he always got when he was this close to the place. An anticipatory dread, sure, since there was always something to fight in there, but the place itself kind of made his skin crawl. "Ready for whatever?"

"I thought the whole point was getting knocked off our feet," she said, smiling as she swung her arms across her torso, limbering up in case of a fight. "What's the fun in being ready?" In demonstration of that, she interrupted warm-ups long enough to box Connor's ear. "Oh man. I think you're my favorite person to hit." Rhiannon shuddered as if the whole idea of it made her giddy. "It's the scowl. And how fucking funny it is to hear you yell 'quit it' like we're five."

He rubbed at his ear, the aforementioned scowl darkening his face for a moment before he made a smile chase it away. "Let it be known that I only say 'quit it' like we're five because you jump on me like we're five. The constant anticipation of being mugged out of nowhere would get to you, too."

He wasn't really complaining, though. If anything, he was about a hundred times more playful with Rhiannon than he was with anyone else. He halted a stretch of his arms in the middle of the action, swiped at the top of the Slayer's ear with an almost affectionate tap. As fucked up as it'd be to the outside world, he and Rhiannon hit out of love. "Besides, I think it confuses them," he added, waving his other hand at the territory in front of them. "They see us punching at each other and don't know what to make of it. Gives us the advantage."

"Ow!" The contact felt like a wasp sting. Rhiannon soothed her ear with a fingertip and cut him a disparaging look. "Well, in that case." As they walked along, she feinted another whack to his head... The kind that cracked her up because it provoked hysterical facial expressions she wished she caught on slow-motion video. However, the real maneuver was a childish swipe of her boot at his swinging leg. It hung on Connor's ankle and she felt his weight plunge forward. There was nothing funnier than a superhero flailing like a spaz.

Antagonistic crime-fighting duo? Playground nemeses? Best friends having fun at one another's expense?

"Wow, you're mature," Connor said, not even bothering to struggle against the laugh. It bubbled up and out of his chest like water even as he righted his posture, inspecting his palms for abrasions. The soles of his sneakers gritted over loose dirt. He aimed a kick at Rhiannon's backside, got a dusty shoe-print on her pants, then gave her a half-assed push off of the sidewalk. "This is better weather for sparring anyway. Less chance of frostbite."

"Hey!" She stumbled onto the asphalt and wiped the seat of her pants. Thankfully, the road was empty and she didn't get flung over a windshield. Getting run over would dampen the mood. "That's right," Rhiannon said, nodding as if she had insight into his psyche. "It's cool... Kick my ass the only way you can, motherfucker." She poked her tongue into her cheek and tried not to laugh.

She stayed on the road like that, walking in a parallel line with the Destroyer, just kind-of casing the situation. Sign posts and a gutter separated them. But when they got to a bench, she broke into a grin and jumped towards it. "You're so fucked!" She ran up it like a set of stairs and catapulted herself onto Connor's back.

He let out a sharp whuffing noise, an exhalation of air at the sudden addition of weight, then turned around a couple of times as if he were a dog chasing his tail. "You are so not funny to me," he said, turning his head to the left and then the right, trying to see her, knowing that Rhiannon was probably smirking at this new piece of ridiculousness between them. "If you had wanted a piggy-back ride, all you had to do was ask."

The Destroyer took a few encumbered steps way from the bench, getting out of range, then deliberately tipped his weight backwards, pitching towards the summer-dry grass behind them. Better to land on her than on the ground.

The street Rhiannon had been watching disappeared as they pitched backwards. Suddenly, all she saw were trees and sky. "Shit!" Not having any time or momentum to save herself, the Slayer landed on her back and was squashed between Connor and the earth. The impact pounded air out of her lungs. "Ow... ow, ow, ow, I bit my tongue!"

Aside from flinging him away or rolling, Rhiannon's options were limited. She chose to stick where she was and put him in a headlock. She spit pieces of his hair out of her mouth. "You're so lucky I don't have to pee right now," she wheezed. No doubt the impact, the laughing, or his landing would've put her bladder in peril.

"Ack!" It was a squawk, and Connor pried at the arm that was suddenly around his neck. Like this, he didn't even have the option of turning himself into dead weight, and when he couldn't break the hold, his left hand flailed out, then darted back to make contact with Rhiannon's ribs. Where he began to tickle her. It was clumsy, but he managed it. "Cut it out!"

"No!" Rhiannon would've jerked out of the way, except she couldn't, on account of the person squashing her. "You know who gets hurt in these situations? The tickler!" The proclamation was practically a scream of distress. Her boot heels dug up soil while she kicked, trying to exercise some restless energy in a way that wouldn't break his shins. After balling up her fist and giving his head a knuckle-noogie for the ages, she finally released the headlock and slapped at his hands. "Alright, alright, truce!"

He rolled off, laughing and rubbing his neck, then lay on his back in the grass for a few minutes to catch his breath. The blades were dry, tickling against the back of his neck. Sweat was starting to gather on his belly under his shirt, and he billowed it out with one hand to create a draft. "That was fun." His scalp was giving him hell for the noogie. He sat up, long legs folding close to his body so he could rest his forearms on his knees. "You okay?"

"When I get up," Rhiannon predicted, "There's going to be a two-inch deep imprint of my body in the ground." She used her hands to push into a sitting position and picked grass off her neck and arms. "Thank god I've got an excuse for grass stains." The Slayer stuck her legs out straight. A muscle jumped in her back, so she bent to touch her toes. Her fingers flexed around the boots. "But yeah. I'm okay." Rhiannon turned her cheek onto her leg and smiled at Connor. "Do you think we'll still act like idiots when we're forty? Which is like, what... next week for you?"

"Oh, probably," he said airily, also getting to his feet. "I think we're immune to maturity. Seems to be a common occurrence among fighter types." There was grass in his hair, and he brushed it loose, then shook more of the stuff out of the back of his shirt. "Fine with me, though. As long as you're there to act like an idiot with me, it's not so bad."

He could smell crushed grass on the breeze, breathing it into his lungs and relishing the scent. "I love you, y'know?"

Rhiannon got up. Her clothes felt moist and cool from the grass. Wearing damp clothes wasn't her favorite thing, but sometimes goofing off made it worthwhile. "I know you do." A blade of grass stuck to his elbow. She peeled it off and held it up to Connor, then flicked it away. "I love you right back. Big of us to say so, isn't it?"

The rest of the neighborhood called to them with its quiet roads, empty buildings for sale, and long shadows cast by streetlamps. Some predicted that if it sat abandoned much longer, the city would lose the neighborhood to demon squatters. There was talk that half the investors were demons themselves. When all that came to a head, Rhiannon planned to be front and center.

She backed towards the next intersection and beckoned him. "Me and you, we're going to own this neighborhood when things get bad, you know that?"

"'Course we are. I'd like to see anybody try to stop us." Connor followed after the Slayer, his shoes making imprints in the unwatered grass as he stepped back onto the sidewalk. He felt loose and comfortable inside himself. Ready to take on the world, literally. "Even mangy-ass Deanna. Hell, especially mangy-ass Deanna."

"You know, it's wrong of me, but I actually hope it gets a little hairy." Rhiannon's shoes continued to scuff backwards. "Not freaky portal hairy, where people just... morph into weird versions of themselves. Actual demons. I want to turn a corner, see a monster, and think, 'What the hell is that?' and have to count the horns." She hooked her thumbs in her back pockets. "I want to... I want to draw a series of web comics on the neighborhood. I want to put you in them. Could I? Don't worry, I'll change your name." She laughed. "You can be Connie. With a bigger ass and lots of fine honeys. Patrol bitches."

He laughed, then struck a semi-heroic pose where he stood, hands on his narrow hips as if he were about to launch himself at a veritable army of hellspawn. "Would I get to have a cape? No tights, though. I absolutely draw the line at tights, even if you change my name. There's only so much artistic license the world needs."

"No tights," Rhiannon conceded. "But a cape is cool. It'll be royal blue with a silky liner in it. I'm thinking paisleys." She gave him a double thumbs-up. "Although I'm concerned the cape might hide all the work Connie's put into his ass, so it'll need to be a mid-riff cape." She checked the street before backing across that also. "Oh, I almost forgot. Connie the demon fighter has a Puggle."

"A what?" He was still following, his expression wandering back and forth between puzzled and amused as his feet covered the expanse of asphalt. "I don't even...I don't know what that even is. Is that something real or something you made up?" He walked some more, and the amusement gave way to semi-certainty. "Yeah, that's something you made up."

"I did not!" Rhiannon said, laughing. She dug a gum wrapper out of her pocket, wadded it up, and threw it at him. "It's half Pug, half Beagle. Puggle. A very manly choice for a superhero, if you ask me. You should run off and adopt one right now." The idea of Connor wandering around the city with such a dog amused the hell out of her. "We'll make him a matching cape. We can name him Elvis." Her face lit up. "Ooooh, rhinestones! Right across the back."

"No rhinestones!" Connor shot back, his voice echoing in the empty street. "If he's going to have a... whatever it is, Puggle, no rhinestones. Leave the guy some dignity, Jesus." He was pondering it, though, and after a couple of minutes of silence, he asked, "Does the dog have super-powers too? 'Cause, y'know, flying dogs, that could be pretty cool. As long as I... as long as Connie doesn't get upstaged, of course."

Rhiannon nodded slowly. "I'll give the dog aviation goggles, for sure, and a little cap like Amelia Earhart." The idea of it made her smile, especially when she pictured the dog flying a propeller plane instead of taking flight on his own. "Okay, I'm obviously bullshitting about the dog and the cape, but I'm serious about drawing you. Would you be okay with it? All my web comics go on J.D.'s website, which is supposed to be for promoting and selling print copies of Necromancer, but ever since I got in that fight with Victoria at the art show, I'm stealing a little-bitty piece of his thunder." She pinched her thumb and forefinger.

"I..." Connor had reached the other side of the street now, and he stopped walking, his shoes scattering small pieces of broken concrete ahead of them. If they were going to make any kind of housing situation work in Lincoln Park, the city works people were going to have to get busy on repairs. Somewhere, a dog barked, sounding agitated. He folded his arms, then tucked his hands into his pockets instead.

"Yeah," he said, then nodded as if to back it up. "Yeah, I could go for that. I think you've got a hell of a talent, and I wouldn't mind being the subject of it."

"Thanks." For nearly a year now, when she wasn't working with J.D. and a few other artists on his printed stories, she drew vignettes on Slayers she knew, like Kris and Jennie, and even one about herself and Deanna. They were all flashbacks, nothing recent, nothing anyone except them could verify. This next run would be different. She'd draw the champions of Lincoln Park, with Connor leading it off. Rhiannon came to a slow stop and smiled at her friend. She shook her head. "God, Connor. After a few people see what a bad-ass you are, maybe you'll finally get what you deserve." She lowered her voice to a whisper and shielded her mouth. "Fangirls."

He looked down at his feet and tried to shrug it off, but on the inside he was glowing from the praise. Fighting had always been something he just did without thinking about it, but Rhiannon's respect meant a lot to him. "I promise not to let it go to my head," he told the Slayer with a somber nod, and only the quirking of his mouth gave away how he really felt. "Think I might have to start giving autographs?"

"Yeah," Rhiannon said. "They'll run up and hand you Sharpies and ask you to sign their chests. Then they won't take a shower for days." She put her hands on her hips, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "They might even call their boyfriends by the wrong name. All hell will break loose. Then you'll ask your old friend whats-her-name, Rhiannon, to be a bodyguard. She'll still be slaving away in a poorly-lit apartment, spilling beer on her art supplies."

"Nah, that'd never happen," the Destroyer corrected, then elaborated by saying, "I'd never forget my friends, not even if I got famous. If I become a celebrity, I promise not to leave you behind." He held up his right hand, palm outward as if he were swearing an oath. "Fangirls or no fangirls."

"Good." She reached out and grabbed his middle finger, pushing it back towards Connor's wrist. "I'd hate to have to break you." With a smile, she let go and plucked his forehead. "Come on. Let's do a couple rounds. Last person to spot a demon has to buy the other one 3 a.m. breakfast. Deal?" Rhiannon started walking again, but kept her eye on the Destroyer to see if he agreed.

"Deal." Connor waited until Rhiannon's attention was diverted, then rubbed his knuckle. A certain toughness had to be maintained, after all, at least on the surface. He fell into step beside the Slayer, bumped his shoulder against hers. "I like pancakes better than waffles."

"Pssh, dream on." Rhiannon smiled and kept her eyes peeled.