The Road We're On
Finally returned to Searchlight after an orientation that lasted days, if not a week, the first thing Whistler did was scour the local news. Granted, the Powers had given him all he needed to know, but it lacked the human angle. Knowing an event was one thing; understanding the emotional ripples was quite another.
The internet was on overload. When he could log on, the blogosphere was rife with conspiracy theories, cell phone videos of various events, dusted-off instructional videos from the 1950s on how to handle cataclysmic events ('House in the Middle' was always his favorite) but mostly, mostly, there was panic, fear, and uncertainty. Leaders of nations did their best to explain the unexplainable, and it wasn't helping.
He loaded up on Jolt cola, cigarettes and pre-wrapped ham and cheese sandwiches, and took the long walk from his doublewide into Las Vegas. Military personnel and transport kept a discreet presence but it made its point: we'll protect you but we're not exactly sure how or what from.
Tossing the wrapper from his third sandwich into the trash, he finally approached Rhiannon's warehouse and made the climb up to her door.
Rhiannon heard the footsteps from her couch. She was sitting flipping through a two-year old phone book, trying to find a single sub shop that still had delivery guys. Apparently people didn't like approaching random door stoops anymore. The fates of a dozen missing Pizza Delivery guys was suddenly in perspective.
"If you're a looter, come back later," she yelled, holding her index finger on a number and listening to her cell. Apparently the number she had reached was no longer in service.
"You've got nothin' ta steal," Whistler yelled back through the door. He was minorly surprised that his favorite Slayer was home, but not entirely. Given the 'new world', any seasoned demon fighter would reassess their routine before heading out into that mess. "And while Mary Sue'd probably scare off a Blustengaart demon -- fuckin' pansies -- I think she'd let me in."
"I happen to have a very fine set of nunchucks!" Rhiannon looked over her shoulder. "It's unlocked," she projected through the wood. Then she went back to her task. Yum-Yum's Subs. The last option in her delivery area. She thumbed the key pad and listened while it rang.
He twisted the knob and used his shoulder to push open the door, enough to let himself through and keep the wandering feline from making an escape. The Agent dropped his backpack just inside the door and gave a half-wave to Rhiannon as she focused on a point above his head while on the phone.
"Order up the platter, they'll deliver free that way," he winked. The man plopped into a nearby seat, unzipped the canvas bag and pulled out two colas. He cracked one for himself and rolled the other along the floor to his friend's feet.
Rhiannon put the phone under her chin. "Huh uh, you open it." With a socked foot, she nudged the can back. "I'm not playing funny coke fountain today." A woman answered the phone. "Yeah, hi, I want to place an order for delivery... Thank god. Yum-Yum's saves the day." She rattled off an order for two sub sandwiches and bags of chips, gave her address, and snapped the phone shut.
"So... your car break down?" She had noticed the moisture on his shirt.
"What you don't trust me?" he teased in reply. Whistler bent over and grabbed the soda, cracked the tab and narrowly avoided being sprayed by syrup and water. "And I'm the one who sees possibilities."
The hatted man sat the can onto Rhiannon's card table and tracked to the kitchen to wash up. "I needed the walk," he finally answered. "A lot rattling around and with gas prices spiking I decided to go green."
"Where do you want me to begin?" Whistler ran the warm water, squirted some dish soap into his hands and scrubbed thoroughly. "With the volcanic light-show just outside Searchlight and etcetera, or where I've been?"
Rhiannon tossed her phone on the cushions and watched his back. Whistler had her full attention now. Would she actually get answers about the catalyst for all this? It seriously paid to be best friends with the right guy. "The light show," she said, stretching across to grab the Coke. The phone book slid off her lap and slapped against the wood floor. "What happened?"
He wiped his hands on paper towel and slowly walked back to his seat. Whistler lit a cigarette, condensed the story in his head and started. "Ultimately? Government's fault. They thought they could use the Exile -- that's what it's called, but seems kinda funny callin' it that, considerin' -- that they could use it to banish all the demons. Like wipe away their mistakes from Project Integration and save the world. Dun dun dunnnn." He smiled at his companion. When she continued to stare at him blankly, the Agent continued.
"See, it's a lot like Oz. You know, Dorothy, Tin Man, and flying monkeys." He inhaled the burning tobacco into his lungs and let it sit a moment. "Or more specific... you know how Toto pulled back the curtain to reveal an old man at the controls? Well, the Exile is Toto and she just pulled back the curtain that hid the gateways to all possible dimensions -- heavens, hells, alternate realities, mystical convergences -- from human eyes. It might've even been sentient. Hard to say. But that big ol' blast basically peeled the wallpaper off of the big blue planet and showed everyone the paneling underneath."
He took another drag and exhaled. "Doesn't mean they're all unlocked and we can expect invasions of gnomes or that shit you went through back in the hellverse, Rhi. That's the sort-of good news."
The brunette's reaction was to give a solitary laugh. "So first the government locks up the witches and wizards, because they're so dangerous... Then they have the gall to cast a spell and channel an ancient being... And in the process, they accidentally jump-start the apocalypse? That's... ironic." She took a sip of her Coke. The fizz went into her nose. She rubbed her knuckles across it.
"Then what happened?" Rhiannon snapped her fingers and reached for his cigarette.
"In that moment, every demon got kinda caught up in the aftershocks, if you wanna call it that. Their true faces came out and everyone saw the bogey man from their childhood closet was real." He sipped his own cola. "By the way. It's not. The apocalypse I mean. Doesn't have ta be."
"Semantics," Rhiannon said. She reached over and stole the cigarette, since he wasn't going to offer it. "You know what the dictionary says an apocalypse is? A revelation. Any universal or widespread disaster or destruction." After puffing on the cigarette, she blew her smoke the other way. "So where were you?"
Whistler grabbed his soft pack and lit another. "Orientation from the Powers That Be." He grimaced slightly. "You're looking at their official mouthpiece. Apparently it's now my job to uh, work out the kinks."
He settled back in the chair and held his best friend's gaze. "They've already charged me to speak at the United Nations. The fuckin' U.N., Rhi Rhi. Like listenin' to me is gonna convince the world not to go nuclear against demons. And after that..." he trailed off.
Guh. 'Rhi Rhi.' The man knew she hated that. Rhiannon tossed a pillow at his head. "And after that, what, Whi-Whi?" She put her feet up on the battered coffee table. "Does it get any more weird than you at the U.N.?" And he claimed there was no apocalypse.
"Define 'weird'." Several definitions flashed across his mind. The PTBs had upgraded the wi-fi connection to his brain. Bastards. "Right, so," he continued. "there's gonna be growing pains, yah? Like calls for civil liberties, job protection -- don't laugh! -- and what not. Places to live, border skirmishes. That's kinda the grunt work, and I'll probably have to train a whole new breed of Agents for that. Guh."
Whistler took another drag of his new cigarette and leaned forward. "But most importantly, the Powers are concerned about whether any of these dimensions open up, pop things through. They want me in a first contact capacity. Make sure we ask questions first and fire rubber bullets after. Gonna be rough. Dangerous."
"Rubber bullets are dangerous?" Rhiannon's expression was classic. "Yeah, sounds like a thrill ride." There was something about his mannerisms that set her on edge tonight. The Slayer knew she was being a little too sarcastic with him, but whenever he went to see the PTBs, it made her nervous. Like, uh oh, Whistler's about to disappear. Old habits died hard.
"And uh." He paused momentarily, the words stuck in his mouth. "While I can hold my own in a bar fight, if things get nasty... I mean, there's gonna be protesters and crackpots not willing to accept the new order o' things and..."
Whistler swallowed. "It's not a full-time gig. And I'm not looking for a bodyguard. Okay I am, but it's more than that. There's only one person I'd ever trust my life to, Rhi."
Well when you put it like that... The Agent's jacked cigarette smoked away in Rhiannon's fingers. She broke out of the joking mode. "So what are you asking, exactly?" She didn't mean to be dense, but Whistler was doing more hedging than saying. She needed him to be straight with her. "The PTBs are sending you to new hot spots to put out the fires, and you want me to come with?"
"That's the long and short of it, yeah." He took another drag of his cancer stick. "On occasion. Not like I'm always gonna be on the road. It's on an as-needed basis. Thought you might enjoy the scenery, kick some serious ass, get paid a ton of money. And harass the hell outta me as a bonus."
"You had me at kicking ass." Rhiannon was dumbfounded. So Whistler would call on her to take expense-paid trips around the world, just to fight demons, and she'd get paid for it? There had to be a catch.
The brunette sat forward. "Wait a minute. What's the deal? Is this a contract, and suddenly they own my existence, too? Or are we talking freelance?" When it came to striking bargains with demons, Rhiannon had learned that it paid to hash out the details.
Whistler stifled a laugh at Rhiannon's 'had me at' comment. "Strictly freelance. You work with me and only me, they know enough not to get involved. I told 'em they were strictly forbidden to fuck with your life in any way."
"'Cause they listen so well." This time, though, she cut a smile. She leaned back against the couch and thought a little harder. "You know, this is seriously strange. Two offers in two days to be somebody's personal demon slayer. What am I, popular now?" She smashed the cigarette and went back to drinking her Coke.
Whistler stubbed out his cigarette and drank from the cola he'd brought. "Oh great, someone beat me to it? Who is it? I'll... okay I probably won't double the offer but fuck, you'd think I'd get first crack at sorting out the new world with my best friend."
Rhiannon opened her mouth and let it hang for a second. "... Elfleda."
"The same woman who's tried to disembowel you how many times now?" Whistler rain his nails against the warm can.
She tipped her head, recollecting. "Was there attempted disembowelment?"
The Agent pushed his hat up slightly. "Figure of speech."
"Hm." Rhiannon bent the tab on her drink can. "She wanted me to take down demons who didn't cut it. She would've been my sword, like with Atia's wolf." A perturbing thought occurred to her. "Why not just smite them herself? That's how you know there's a catch, beyond the obvious catch. Anyway."
The brunette popped the tab and held it up to look through the hole. "I'll do it."
A wide grin spread across the older man's features. "When was the last time you visited the Big Apple, Rhi?"
"Try never." Rhiannon lifted an eyebrow.
"Wanna watch a bunch of people get really pissed off when I tell 'em shit they don't wanna hear, and that they have ta take it back to their governments? And hey, afterward we can take in a Mets game." He lifted the can to his lips.
"Aw man. I can't punch a politician. I'll get in trouble," she sulked and sunk into the couch cushions. "Then again... You speaking in front of the U.N.... fun-nee. Do you think they'll have tomatoes?" Rhiannon dropped her tab in the can and jingled it around.
"If they don't, I'm sure you'll be happy to supply 'em." The last of his cola swallowed, Whistler absently crushed the empty can. "Gotta admit, I'm nervous. The old rulebook's been thrown out. We're gonna have ta make this up as we go along."
"I had one of those old slayer handbooks," Rhiannon said. "God was that a piece of crap. A realization I only came to 2 years later." It was painful to think she'd once been that naive. "Like Emily Post for Slayers." The book was actually in a box in her closet, kept for sentimental rather than practical reasons. "So when do we leave?"
"Three days. If you're good, we might even fly first class." While Whistler wasn't thrilled at public speaking, knowing Rhiannon would be in the wings, ready with a hot house tomato to break the tension, made him smile. "And Emily Post was a Slayer ya know."
"No she wasn't!" Rhiannon chided. "She died in the 60s. She was like, 90 years old." If there'd been another pillow to lob, she would've done so.
The hatted man busted out in laughter. "Never could get one past ya, could I?"
"Uh... You're gonna have to try a little harder than that," she griped. "Seriously. Like one chick cock-blocked the slayer line for 75 years?" Still shaking her head, Rhiannon got off the couch and went to throw away her can. "I guess she staked vamps with her cane."
Lord. If this was the man who would take on the U.N., it was gonna be one helluva trip.