WHO: Andrea Rojas and Snake WHEN: December 17th, evening WHAT: He got to have the last word this time. WHERE: Her room at the center. Rating:PG-13 STATUS: Closed. Complete.
This place just got weirder and weirder. That was saying something. She was from Metropolis. However, while Metropolis had Linda Lake and meteor freaks and the Luthors, it didn’t have vampires and angels and other things that still managed to boggle her mind. Things that one either found in the Bible or some B-rated movie. A campy movie. It was all ridiculous. It was all her life now.
Well not her life. She was sitting all this out. Raising up the flag of neutrality and Not. Getting. Involved. Oh, sure she would help out where was required but this wasn’t her business.
And as much as there was a part of her frowning at her-you know the thing called conscious, yeah it was a pain that one-for doing so. Andrea was determined to be stubborn with herself about this. And she was scarily stubborn when she wanted to be.
It just wasn’t her fight … For one. Angels. Ew. The concept of angels … just. She didn’t even want to touch that. She just didn’t.
For two. She wasn’t all that great at following anyone’s orders but her own. Working as an intern was one thinking. This entire structure of Justice and AIness was another.
For three. It would involve admitting that she was in over her head in this place. It would involve her relying on people. Forming some system. And she just couldn’t do that. She just wouldn’t do that. For her sake. But for other’s sake again. She just … her mistakes were her own. She was dealing with that. Andrea wasn’t of the mind to deal with anyone else’s problems. Or to let anyone help her balance the huge chip on her shoulder.
She was fine. It would take some time but she’d figure things out. Normally. Get a job. Get an apartment. Live a life. Make a career. Fight crime, sparingly, from time to time … Normal.
Wiping her hand over face, she grabbed a towel and prepared herself to take a shower. Her membership to a gym was nonexistent her but that didn’t mean she couldn’t exercise. She couldn’t wait for her own place. People at the Center were nice but this seeing her neighbors regularly was not her thing.
She pulled out some clothing and was turning to set them on her bed when she heard, “Don’t bother getting dressed up on my count.”
Dios. There was no mistaking that voice.
She’d heard it played over and over in her own mind for months that seemed like decades and years that had seemed like fifteen times that. At first it had been sneering. Sniding. Mocking. Insulting. Pushing. It’d been the voice that pushed her. Fueled her anger. Centered her mind. Was part of her vengeance. What it’d been centered around. The voice she wanted to get to stop talking. And when it had? She literally had gotten it to stop talking? It hadn’t gone away.
It’d simply changed. To fear. And pleading. Shakiness. Stumbling. Haunting. She felt guilt and yet she didn’t. Which was one of things that scared her. That upset her. It worried her and it was just one more thing that kept her up at night. Because why should she feel guilty? He was scum. And now he was dead. Or at least he should be.
“What? No witty retort? No demands? Not feeling so secure now that you don’t have some plan to fall back on? Where’s your rage now, bitch?”
She wanted to shake, but instead she fell back on default. Which tended to be pissy and/or sarcastic. “Gone. There wasn’t any need to hold onto it, was there?” She asked with a small tilt of her head. She moved the folded stack of clothing lower, folding her hands underneath them to keep from showing how much they were shaking. “You’re dead and I’m alive. Vengeance enacted and free to go on my merry way. Though if you could answer a question for me? Why aren’t you dead?”
He just grinned and shrugged, the moving causing her eyes to go to that stupid serpentine tattoo that covered his face. She hated that tattoo so fucking much.
“I can fix that you know. The you not being dead. I’ll gladly fix that.”
All she got was a mocking laugh, “Yeah, you would wouldn’t you? You got it in you don’t you. We’re not so different, you and me.”
Andrea hated that sentence. Almost as much as she hated the man on that bed. Luthor had said something very similar to her. The night she’d thrown him out the window … for Kent to save him. However, he’d been pleading for his life. And she’d never given those words any thought after that.
But to have them thrown in her face like that? Right now?
“I am nothing like you.”
She watched as idly tapped his fingers against his leg “Sure you are.” The mocking was so obvious. Just like it had been that one night. Dios, it’d be back all over again wouldn’t it? “Same rage. Same narrow-minded, blind to everything but what we want, tenacity. Same willingness to kill whoever pisses us off." His attention turned from her towards the bed. "Hey … is this cotton? Look's pretty nice for cotton. Moving straight up from the Slums.”
Andrea set her clothing down. Because she was her and that’s what she did. And she was just about to turn back towards, him and drag him bodily off that bed. “I am nuh-thing li-” But was gone.
Just like that he was gone.
Pendejo. Diablos y todos podrida en él.
Walking over to the bed, she simply stared at it for a moment.