Rhiannon Lee (rhiannon_lee) wrote in low_tide, @ 2010-02-28 15:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | deanna, rhiannon lee |
Surplus
An eighteen-wheeler barreled along the dark, Florida highway. On its way by, the driver honked twice at two women standing on the edge of a heat-cracked parking lot spotted with oil puddles. Locks of long, brown hair lifted off the brunette's neck in the wake of the truck. She smoked her third cigarette since taking off on the miniature road trip. She hadn't so much fallen off the wagon as been dragged off by the prospect of an hour in the redhead's company. Southern Florida was lucky she wasn't nursing a bottle of hard liquor while she drove.
So much for new car smell.
Rhiannon scraped her boot on the pavement, trying to free a pebble that was stuck in the tread. "Before you ask, no, we're not here for guns." It would've been a fair question, since she had pulled the black car alongside Big Al's Army Navy Surplus. "But you do need something they've got, and you're not gonna find it in the Red Chandelier Boutique."
It'd been an unbearable few weeks for the vampire; the desire to change was still first and foremost in her undead heart, but one of Rhiannon's tenants stuck in her craw. It was hard as hell to wrap her head around it, let alone her pale, smooth, freckled skin.
Simple. Non-label. Plain. Cotton.
In the back of her mind, Deanna knew the Slayer had a point. It'd be a pain in the ass to constantly replace her designer clothing, and chances were she'd get distracted with every rip during a fight, which could get her killed (again). But still.
She'd tried on her own. Really tried. It took nights of standing outside of various Target and Wal-Mart stores before she'd mustered the effort to even go inside. Touching their garments was practically anathema. A near-tearful phone call to her once nemesis is what it took to get the redhead to where she was now. Outside a building that shocked her even more than ones that sold 'Twilight' t-shirts like they were the second coming of fashion.
"I might need one before this is over," the vampire groused. "Put it to my temple and pull the trigger. Camoflauge pants against this skin? Talk about a flashing beacon."
Deanna flipped off the lid of her flask and took a swig of the whiskey, then held it out to Rhiannon. "For courage."
"I think you mean patience." Rhiannon took a swig, too, making a face at the taste. Whiskey wasn't her drink of choice. Also, it wasn't until after she drank from the bottle that her brain kicked in. Vampire cooties. Well, the contents could practically burn her lips off, so whatever. She sipped again and passed it back to Deanna.
"Relax. They've got solids, too. Beige. Navy. Very stylish." Snort. "Anyway, it was either this or get outfitted in a camping store. You know, like Bass Pro. No thanks." Rhiannon neglected to mention all the online suppliers of tactical gear. Truthfully, she wanted to witness Deanna's misery and there was nothing like an in-person visit to Man Land to really capture the moment.
The redhead took another swig from the silver flask before replacing the cap and tossing it through the open window and onto the passenger seat of Rhiannon's car. Though she doubted the owner, 'Big Al', would object to two hot women (okay, one hot woman and one kinda plain-jane-but-has-her-own-sorta-athleti
"So this is where you shop? Really?" It wasn't a slur or an insult; it was trying to understand Rhiannon just that bit more. They'd been enemies across worlds, allies when their backs were against the wall, and now... dare she think it? mentor-student. A place Deanna was obviously uncomfortable. "Does Al give you discounts for volume? Oh god, tell me he doesn't have a peep hole in the change room."
Rhiannon dropped her cigarette and started across the lot. "It's not like I go here for bras and panties," she said, mildly annoyed that Deanna always wanted to label her as some kind of fashion train wreck, either trashy and tomboyish, depending upon the insult of the moment. "It's just a cheap way to get pants and boots you can wreck and not worry about it." A slender arm lifted to open the door, which she didn't hold for the vampire.
"And even if he did have a peep hole," she called, raising her voice. "I doubt he'd leave the stool for an over-the-hill redhead with a lopsided ass." As she cruised past the register, Rhiannon winked at the man sitting behind it. 'He' was really Alvin, Jr., son of the original owner, barely thirty and just discharged from the military. He recognized her from previous trips. The surplus had been on Rhiannon's list of places to shop since she got to Key West in 2008.
Jab, feint, parry. Even when they were on the same side, the duo couldn't help but challenge each other. Not that the redhead allowed the words any meaning. Yes, she didn't have the perfect ass; she'd made comment of it herself. Whether or not the man seated behind the counter bothered to look for himself, Deanna didn't care. "At least I have one," she cracked, following the Slayer into the store. And 'over the hill'? The vampire would never age. She was an eternal cougar in more than one sense of the word. Rhiannon didn't have that luxury. Given, however, that the brunette had jumped into a younger body -- yet keeping the same memories and skill set -- that was also a long time off.
"Okay. Clothes you can wreck and not worry about." The vampire cracked her first smile since beginning the road trip. "Let's do this."
Yeah, yeah, get your cheap shots in where you can, thought Rhiannon. She side-stepped between circular racks of pants, vests, and jackets. By the skin of her teeth, she managed not to retort, 'I know, I'm the one who handed that ass to you.' That would be unproductive.
"The important thing is pants," she said, parting a few hangers with her hands. "You want something with pockets, but none of those," she inspected a tag, "Annoying loops like carpenter pants have. It's way too easy to grab onto those." Rhiannon removed a black pair and held them in front of Deanna. "By the way, speaking visually? These add like ten pounds. Might as well get used to the idea."
Unlike twinkies? The main reason that comment stayed in the vampire's brain was not knowing whether or not the brunette enjoyed the sponge cake from hell. She contented herself in the false belief that she was trying to be nicer to her reluctant companion. Especially after Rhiannon accepted Deanna's request for help. "Good thing I don't gain weight," escaped her lips instead.
She took hold of the pants by the waist and held them against her. The size was right, though the legs would have to be taken up slightly. Tripping over fabric was a bad idea, one she learned more than a century ago in France. It took Deanna weeks to recover from the burns. "You wear side pockets, right? Easier to hold your... utilities and grab them on the fly." The redhead glanced over to Big Al to see if he was paying them any attention.
"The loops thing, it kinda reminds me of Batwoman," Deanna continued. "I like her. She wears a wig not because it's a good disguise, but because it fools the villains to grab for the obvious while she aims her next punch. Plus, she and I have more in common than just red hair."
"I assume you're referring to your love of vaginas." Rhiannon arched an eyebrow over the clothes.
As she moved away from the pants, she patted a light rhythm on her legs. "Anyway, yeah. Pockets on the outside of the thighs. Also... Hang on a sec." The slayer meandered to a wall full of shelves which held various utility belts. She sorted through the pile and picked up a heavy-duty, beige one fitted for the waist. "I like these, except smaller. A.J. found me one that fits around my calf. It can hold a stake, a pocket knife, that kind of thing. It beats cramming things in your boot."
A.J. gave a mocking, two-fingered salute from behind the counter.
"It's okay to say the 'V' word around him," Rhiannon added. "The other 'V' word, I mean."
"Vaporize? Vulva?" Deanna grinned, first at her erstwhile companion, then at the man who was on initialed-terms with the Slayer. She debated putting on her game face to catch his reaction, then thought better of it. "I bet he doesn't see many of my kind rummaging around."
The redhead perused the utility belts. She imagined herself in red and black, with various techno-gadgets tucked into the many pockets. Deanna filed away the idea for Hallowe'en. "That's gotta be comforting, not walking around with a sharp instrument so close to your tendon. One false step and whoops." She tossed aside a few until she found two that suited her; one for her waist and another for her upper arm. In the short-term it was going to be trial and error; find out what felt natural and gave her room to fight.
Eyes scanned for a sharper weapon. "Think he's got any decent swords? Kinda lost mine to an annoying brunette on a different world."
Rhiannon stopped what she was doing to stare at Deanna. "A sword?" Slowly, she turned her head left and right, pretending to search the room for swords.
A.J. piped up from the register. "Ever since the U.S. Army started using guns and hand grenades, there hasn't been much demand. When was that, Rhi?"
She stuck out her hip and pondered it. "2006? In the summer, I think."
A.J. nodded. "Yeah." Then he went back to his magazine.
Rhiannon blinked heavily and moved on to the seemingly endless bins of boots, some new, some lightly worn. Having no idea what size Deanna wore, and doubting she could get the redhead in a pair, anyway, she didn't look terribly hard.
"Still, you'd think..." No, they wouldn't. Army surplus, doofus, the vampire chided herself. "But 2006? Aren't you off by oh, a hundred years or more?" No one could accuse the vampire of being a history buff, despite living it. She spotted Rhiannon move over to the boots. It made her shudder. Boots were meant to be made by Prada, and worn in fashionable clubs. Imagining herself even trying on a pair of used footwear almost caused Deanna to throw up a little in her mouth.
But she supressed it. She had to. There were lessons to be learned tonight, as tough as it was for the elder woman to admit. For centuries Deanna haunted the night, lived without a care in the world. But now, armored with a soul, she was determined to make changes. To fight. And the brunette proved stubborn when it came to surviving them. She was doing something right, and that included shopping in army surplus stores, wearing non-descript yet functional clothes. Including... plain, ugly, steel-toed boots.
Deanna's chest heaved, not with breath but determination. She walked over to the bins and, after a false start, began searching for a pair for herself.
"It's called sarcasm, Dee." Rhiannon bent over to check out the lower shelves. She found the skankiest, most used-up pair of boots and slid them across the gritty floor to the redhead, just to see if she'd believe they were Rhiannon's actual advice. "I think these are your size." God, where was her camera? Why hadn't she brought it? In an odd throwback to Chicago, she kind-of wished Victoria was around to witness what she'd surely view as a travesty.
A.J. snapped his fingers to catch the slayer's attention and pointed into his display case. "Hey. Don't let me forget, I want to show you a knife I got in."
Rhiannon chewed her lip and nodded.
Deanna saw the boots.
She blinked. Hard.
Oh HELL no. There was no possible way Rhiannon thought those were serviceable. She looked at the Slayer's boots for proof. Back to the grungy pair begging for a home on Misfit Island. Back up to the brunette. To the boots. To Rhiannon.
"Nice try." She stepped over them, and instead found a new, possibly never worn pair in her size. They'd need breaking in before going on a proper patrol. The last thing she needed was hard leather rubbing against her skin as she ran through the streets. "These, I think, are better. Once they're worn in a little." She gave her compatriot a look. "You sure you don't get your bra and granny panties from A.J.?"
Rhiannon adjusted her stance and gave Deanna an irritated look. She lowered her voice. "You know better. Don't you."
Ugh. Not that she enjoyed referencing that particular memory, artificial as it may be, but sometimes a woman had to come out swinging. Like when it was implied she had shit for sexuality.
Rubbing the bicep of her bare arm, she stepped around the vampire and went to see the knife. Who knew? She might need one on the car ride back. At the display case, she rested her forearms on the glass and waited for him to produce a mean-looking folding knife. She had this motto that a fighter should never underestimate a knife that fit in a pocket. The blade on it looked like it could saw through bone. Rhiannon opened and closed it a few times. "How much?"
A.J. quoted a price. When Rhiannon gave him a certain look, he knocked five bucks off.
If trash talk were an Olympic sport, Deanna and Rhiannon would share the top of the podium. Their rivalry was born in blood, and even in this uneasy alliance, it still shone through. And the vampire would never admit that it bothered her slightly that they couldn't reach beyond it.
As the Slayer talked shop with the shopkeeper, she continued her search. Two more pair of pants were collected, along with a second pair of boots. The redhead opted for several tight-fitting tops, with the belief it was better not to give someone a chance to grab at the fabric while tussling in close quarters. Convinced she'd made a decent start, Deanna brought the items, along with the utility belts, to the counter and dropped them unceremoniously in front of the duo.
"I'm guessing," the vampire offered, "cash is better? Paper trail and all."
Rhiannon kept her face pointed at the display. "You're buying pants, not live ammunition."
But she did hand A.J. a couple of bills for her knife, which went into the hip pocket of her jeans. Then she flipped through a magazine of hunting gear, although she looked up once to scan Deanna's purchases out of the corner of her eye. Heavy-duty pants, tiny tank tops, boots, and utility belts. "Just don't dye your hair brown," she said. It would've been friendlier to tell the redhead she'd done a good job, maybe pat her on the back for leaving the fashion runway behind, but it was hard to do things like that, especially when Deanna hadn't stopped making faces at Rhiannon's lifestyle. I should probably be flattered she's emulating parts of it. It means she thinks I do it well.
She straightened and closed the magazine. "Those'll work. Remember, it's just for patrol. Think of it like... wearing lycra to the gym."
"I never set foot in a gym," Deanna muttered. She chewed on her words. "Mirrors. Dead giveaway."
Patrol. That set her teeth on edge, which caught the vampire off guard. She always thought of it as hunting. Things were changing. The redhead just took her first step on a new path. It caused a queasy feeling in her stomach. "You ever get nervous?"
A.J. rang up the purchases and put them into plastic bags. Rhiannon only shrugged. "Not really." Was that true? She decided it was a partial truth.
She turned and rested the points of her elbow on the counter. "I mean, if I know I'm going into something really bad, maybe a little. I ask myself if I'm prepared for whatever outcome. I think about people I love. But then I put it aside, because enemies smell fear. But for patrol? No." That was accurate. If she and Deanna were going to work together, she had to open up and let the vampire know her, then pray she never lost her soul and used it against her.
"Well, I'm scared shitless." An honest choice of words, if a little too descriptive. Deanna chewed her bottom lip as she dug out her purse while A.J. totaled her purchases. "I know you're wondering why I'm doing this. Why I asked for my soul. Whether it's some long con; to gain your trust in order to betray it."
Polished fingernails drummed the glass. Deanna was unaccustomed to honesty, at least when it came to former enemies. "When they -- whoever they were -- offered me that second chance, a lot flashed through my brain. I realized just how much I loved living. How hard I'd fight to keep it again. And it also reminded me of that time we got stuck in hell, or whatever place that was. How it almost happened when we got back and could again. We've seen some crazy shit, Rhi, you and I. That's not something I'm gonna stand by and allow. If it means taking on a soul, fighting for the light, then that's what I'm gonna do."
Rhiannon listened quietly. When it was over, she let silence hang between them until A.J. had torn off the receipt and crammed it in the bag. "Just tell me one thing. Well, two. And be honest." Rhiannon pulled the keys out of her jeans pocket. "One, if you had won that fight instead of me, would you have left me there to rot? And two..." Her mouth pulled into a smile. "When are you going to admit you think I'm hot?" She picked up the plastic bag and straightened. "I'm generous, I'll even let you think about it while we walk outside."
The brunette waved at A.J. and pushed out through the glass front door. Outside, the air was warm and smelled lightly of truck pollution. She tossed the bag in the passenger seat and went around to the driver's side.
Satisfied with her purchase, Deanna scooped up her purchase and fell into step as the duo walked outside. She took up Rhiannon's offer to consider the questions. As she normally did when she needed to think, the redhead pulled out her cigarettes and lit one up. Feeling generous, she offered a stick to the brunette.
"The first one, I've thought about more than once," she finally answered. "Different scenarios, multiple outcomes. There were times I thought it'd be fun to turn you, just to watch your initial reaction. But that's not you. I think even without your soul, there'd be some glimmer of your former self that would reject it and off yourself at the first opportunity."
The redhead dropped her bags outside the car and leaned against the passenger door. She took a drag of the cigarette. "When I saw you bleeding in that alley, I was faced with the same question. Souling aside, I wouldn't have just left you there. I think..." one more puff and an exhale, "no I know what I would've done.
"I'd have given you a Viking funeral." The vampire let her words stand a moment before continuing. "You tell anyone this and I'll deny it to my last moment, but you're the best I've ever faced off against, and a warrior deserves no less."
Damn but she wished the flask wasn't inside the car. The redhead could use a drink right now. "As for me admitting to the possibility you might in some small way be attractive to me, well that question goes both ways. Quid pro quo, Rhiannon."
Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "That is a dodge and you know it." Ignoring the cigarette, she climbed into the front seat and stuck the key in the ignition. The little Mazda began to purr. She buckled her seatbelt and put the stickshift into neutral. "I only ask because you constantly rag on it." Her fingers played with the buttons on the radio, trying to find a cd they could both handle without either woman stabbing herself in the ears.
She liked the idea of Deanna giving her that kind of send-off, though it probably would've rankled with Rhiannon's loved ones. But she'd shown some sentimentality towards Deanna in the end, too, collecting some of the redhead's ashes in that book. At home, she had wrapped it in cloth and hidden it in the bottom of her weapons trunk.
"Tell you what." The vampire opened the door, tossed her bags into the back and slid into the passenger seat. "We survive this... partnership over the next, say, six weeks and you can ask me that question again. Chances are I'll have an answer for you."
Deanna rolled down the window after shutting the door, and buckled herself in. "Where to now?"
Rhiannon shifted into reverse and looked over her shoulder. "Back to the island. We've still got time to get in a decent patrol, I think." The car backed in a tight circle. She put it in first and accelerated across the asphalt and onto the highway. "By the way? You're a total chickenshit."
"You just want an ego stroke, and I think you got the best one of all when you staked me before." Deanna flicked ash out of the open window as they made their way back. "Besides, if I do admit to anything, you'll make a snide comeback."
Rhiannon smirked. "True."