Romany is not who she says she is (goddesswisdom) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-30 00:41:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, pete wisdom, romany wisdom |
I need t'know anything your demon consorts can dredge up, about this one.
Who: Romany and Pete Wisdom
What: Pete has Romany scry a picture. There's also an IKEA prank.
When: Friday!
Where: Romany's rented house
Status: Complete
Rating: PG-13 for language and painting womanly bodyparts on the wall.
Romany really was painting Pete's room now, mostly working on the west wall, which had been transformed into a gigantic vagina, in fantastic detail. She knew he'd paint over it, but she didn't really care. It would be worth it to see his reaction, and really, this wasn't the most complex prank either of them had ever played on the other. That honor belonged to the time Pete had woken up in bed with two clowns and a hamster.
When Pete pulled up and parked with smoldering tires in front of a house instead of an apartment, he considered kissing his sister. But not with tongue. That's taking it too far. Okay, maybe he'd tongue the side of her face, but that's because she deserved it.
After a knocking on the door, Pete turned the handle and peeked his head in. It seemed pretty...much like Romany was trying to throw up all over the place already, because it smelled like paint. And that was when he knew he was already doomed.
Onward he went on a room to room search until he found the vagina wall, and his sister, and he gave her a look that was pure, unfiltered, 100% fuck you, sis.
"You're such a fuckin' tart," he finally said, after a long moment of simply glowering at her.
Romany grinned, then came over and hugged him, getting pinkish paint on him in the process, "Petey! I 'ope you like it. I didn't touch yeh girl's room, o'course, an' I'm still gettin' the kitchen an' the livin' room sorted, but I just wanted t'get yeh room taken care of. What'yeh need from me?"
She didn't seem to notice that the wall had a vagina on it, or that he was glowering at her. What did it matter? He was her little brother and she was happy to see him actually up and about after disappearing so suddenly.
What’d he need? That was a loaded question. Especially since he'd had a dream about single-handedly killing a whole bunch of people in a terrorist cell, that mostly deserved it. Some of them had misguided beliefs, but he killed them anyway. It was his job. So his thoughts were consumed with snow and the smell of burning flesh and how he remembered what blood looked when it was bouncing off ice....
Pete simply hugged onto her for a moment and tried not to think about him being a legalized murderer. He also, it could be noted, didn't protest about the ‘his girl’ part. Not a word about the paint she was getting on his coat, either. He simply looked lost in his thoughts for a moment, all while he was staring at a great big vagina on his future bedroom.
"You were taking care of my room, by painting a gigantic pink cunt on the wall. Brilliant, sis. That's just...brilliant." He gave her a pat on the back and stopped hugging onto her, so he could take a picture out of his coat pocket and hand it over. It was of Lazarus, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Domino. "I need t'know anything your demon consorts can dredge up, about this one."
She noted that, but didn't pursue it. While he would likely get a good ribbing and a package of condoms and cockrings later, she didn't want to scare him off or anything. She liked Dommy. She'd curse her in a heartbeat if she had to, but she liked it. Which was why she was working on a fertility doll for them. For luls.
Giving him a pleased grin, Romany took the picture and looked at it, "The boy's in danger." She didn't even need to do any kind of scrying to know that. The newspaper spoke volumes, "I've already got me shrine set up. I'll start scryin' right away." She'll start with the pendulum of course.
Condom donations always welcome. Cockrings? She'd get a funny staring at. Fertility idol? He calls that perfect fodder for starting a backyard barbeque. After all, he quite liked Dommy too. There wasn't too much point in protesting, but he didn't have to answer either way about her or what they were doing. Which was a place he was comfortable with. Not answering questions or not answering them in full.
A few blinks of his eyes and Pete finally seemed to focus again. He watched her with a mild, but expectant, expression on his face.
"Picture's yours to keep. But if someone barges in, you burn that straight away," he warned her, like it wasn't anything to be taken lightly. "Then throw hexes at them and shoot them with your useless, uncontrollable, bloody huge handgun."
Maybe Dom would convince his sister to use a real gun. One that didn't have a recoil that could cave in faces.
Cockrings with vibrating buds, duh. Romany looked out for her brother, and his pleasure was her pleasure. Or something. It would be funny. She elbowed him in the ribs, as if to say that they'd talk later, about girls. Pete WAS past due about the birds and the bees talk. She flapped the picture at him, her voice and expression serious, "I'll keep a candle nearby, like always. Isn't the first time I've done this, Petey."
Magic, was srs bsns. And she took it seriously, rule of three and everything. She wondered if there'd be anything mystical. She knew nothing of who they were dealing with.
"I know it's not your first time," was Pete's response, in a very dry, droll tone of voice. It was like listening to an audible eyerolling in progress. He was likely to sound pissy the moment that she gave him any toy things or try to give him a birds and bees talk, which would likely happen while he was eating and/or reading newschannel ticker tape scrolling across the bottom of a telly screen. "Take your time with this one. Sticky situation, that is. So. No Ikea around? Good. Fucking Swiss and their master plans. I might get a rash if it touches me."
"Don't look in the closet," Romany joked, as she walked into her room and put the picture on her shrine. She planned on leaving it there for a little while, and see if that helped with her work. She came back out and made her way into the kitchen, "Drinke before yeh go?"
"Sure, I could use a drink." He was, of course, very tentatively, opening the closet door. It was like watching someone trying to pluck a piece of cheese off the trigger on a bear trap, ready to pull their hand away before it was snapped onto. Nothing happened. No fire, acid, demons, alien monsters...nothing sprung out at him. That was why he peeked his head into the closet and looked down and around at....???
What the hell was in his closet? Killer Clowns from Outer Space?
Nope, just an IKEA shoe storage cabinet. Painted with the IKEA logo front and center.
One of Pete's eyes twitched. The right one. There was absolutely NO reason he'd need one of those when he had three pairs of shoes, total, and they all matched. That was why he seized hold of it with hands that looked like they were trying to strangle the wood, dragged it out with a whole lot of effort, all the way to the front door. All the while it was listening to a whole bunch of "fucking lemmings" and "bloody new world order" and "swiss bastards with their swedish coverups" and all sorts of goings on.
Out the front door it went, and Pete kicked the door shut so it slammed loud enough to rattle half the house's windows in their frames.
"I'm not drinking that fruity rubbish!" he yelled out, angrily, like she better not even try to put anything like that near him, because it was real liquor or nothing. And he was being pissy, because of Ikea.
Romany peered at him from the kitchen while she poured him some scotch, no ice, and smirked. That was worth the cost, and she lowered her phone, sending the video off to Pete's phone and probably Neena's if she had her number. For reasons. She came out and handed him a glass, "Scotch, non-perverted o'course."
"Bloody right, non perverted. No one in their right mind waters it down with ice. Pfft...oh, wot's...?" He took out his phone after it buzzed, looking at it and thinking it was Dom and something had gone wrong. But no, it was a video of him ranting like a lunatic as usual, and throwing an Ikea atrocity out the door. The glaring at she got then, could only be described as epic.
He stomped over, all but snatched the glass up, downed it swiftly, slammed it down, and tapped a finger on top like she should give him another one. Before he strangled her.
Laughing, Romany poured him another one, "Y'give me reasons t'live, Petey. That was too fun. I need to find a way t'beat that one."
"M'going t'kill you," Pete said, before taking a single sip. This one he was nursing, much slower. "I hope you've got more on your list of reasons t'live, than me. It's probably doing evil, shagging, and drugs. Oh, and dancing starkers at on a street corner while old bastards stand around taking photos of you, on their phones."
And then she went blaming it on being possessed. Naturally. Because that made sense. He gave her a look like he never heard the end of that one, after it happened.
Romany nodded, saying matter-of-factly, "Well, shagging certainly. My boss is fantastic in t'sack. An' I'll probably shag one or more male strippers." She smacked his arm, "Y'know I only dance starkers in private or on t'moors."
"It was summer, it was on the outskirts of sheepfuckervilliageshire, an' it was a bank holiday," he informed her, meaning everyone and their grandmother was out and about for a stroll or a drive, because there wasn't much else to do. "You said the Atlanteans told you to do it."
And of course, someone had video so guess what happened when that went viral? His eyes wanted to burn out when he got a 'Hey, Wisdom, come look at this! It looks kind of like your sis!' from a coworker. THAT went over well.
Broken computer monitor and punched coworker for laughing and saying, 'Wot a tart!' That's how well it went over.
Romany just smiled at him, sweetly. It had been important, but of course, he wouldn't understand. It was for the future of England. He didn't want it to slide into the channel, did he? Silly man.
And so she was proud of that video. It was her screensaver. Just wait until Pete saw THAT!
He'd probably throw up a little in his mouth. Of course he didn't want England to slide into the channel, but he didn't think his sister had to be the poster child for crazy ways to keep the isles afloat. Thanks.
Romany was looking forward to that. But she was proud! "Don't worry, I won't be doin' any naked dancing unless I need to. And then you'll be the first to know." She clapped a hand on his back, "I love yeh Petey. Yeh should join me!"
"Oh no, that's quite all right. I think I won't be doing that. Ever."
He rolled his eyes up while trying to finish his scotch a little faster, now.
"Come on, Petey. Would yeh do it on a dare?" Romany poked him.
"No," was the decidedly flat and unyielding response, along with a glare at her pokey finger. "Stoppit, you. I don't like stuff like that. It's your stuff. You keep it and stop trying to lob it on me."
"I'll do it with Neena then."
"Thurman won't do that with you either. Don't try lobbing it on her."
Romany had a look on her face like she was thinking about it anyway.
And that's when Pete downed the rest of his drink, set the glass aside, and he gave Romany a split second peck of a kiss on the side of her face.
"M'out. Wait. I'm not. Is there a back garden? Is it full of broken bottles an' rusty metal things, just like the garden we grew up with?"
He was, of course, not enthusiastic. Rather, he was being a sarcastic asshat about their childhood, in general.
"No, it's a real garden. With real food. Not even weed." Romany was disappointed, but she wasn't going to be THAT stupid.
That statement was met with a profoundly blank stare. Seriously, there could've been crickets chirping in a symphony around them, and it would've been the perfect soundtrack for what was going on as his brain tried to process what 'real food' meant.
"Wot? Real food's that shite they put in a box or a tin or a wrapper...and you take it 'ome or into the car, and eat it."
"Real veggies. Saves money. Then you can bury bodies in it."
"....is that wot that green rubbish is?"
Romany shook her head, "Are you goin' to 'ang around all day?"
"No. Going to fetch some paint." With a smirk, Pete ruffled her hair up, with both hands, until it was as messy as his was. "M'going now. I'll bottle up the garden, in no time. G'bye, Romany."
"'ave fun Petey. I'll get t'scryin'!"
"Toodles." One hand reached out and he wriggled his fingers against her forehead like he was twiddling them in a goodbye wavey way. They were incredibly warm for but a moment, but he was backing away toward the front door. "As soon as you find anything, you know to message me with the encrypted shite, right? Or simply be sly about wot you say, and we'll talk in person. Hopefully, though, we'll be moved in 'ere and you'll be able to tell me, straightaway, to my face. Going now. Seriously. Be careful, would you?"
It was as though he was constantly waiting for the axe to fall and heads to roll.
Romany shoved him the rest of the way out the door, "Go! No long goodbyes! I'll be seein' y'later anyway!"
"Stop pushing me!" He thwapped his hands in the air at her, in an impending slap fight, and then waved one hand in a epic 'WHATEVER' hand swingy in her direction, before he stalked off to his car, both hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes on his surroundings.
Once he was in the car, off he went, in a scree of tires and choochoo smoking his cigarette.