Who: Revy & Henry What: Halloween costume shopping shenanigans When: Sometime this week Where: A mall, somewhere, someplace Rating/Warnings: Lots and lots of language Status: Complete!
Leisurely shopping was weird. And it shouldn’t be, it’s what fucking normal people did, but she chalked it up to the rocky adjustment of life after prison. Six years didn’t seem long on paper. Living it behind iron bars, even knowing fully well she deserved it and more, felt like fucking eons. Not that it did away with wearing her down; she was born and raised in questionable filth, and prison was questionable filth. Everyone around her was questionable filth. It’s what she knew.
Shopping for Halloween costumes though? Eh. Malls were typically crowded, full of shops that she had shit interest in (the Disney store was terrifying and filled with mini-shitters that drooled everywhere, get the fuck away), but it had a massive Halloween boutique with variety. Inflatable decorations, elaborate mechanical lawn props, flashing strobe lights worthy of seizures and costumes. Hundreds and hundreds of costumes that weren’t just Sexy Foods and Sexy Insects Even Though Insects Are Far From Fucking Sexy You Dumbfucks.
“I want to be something terrifying,” Revy decided, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to join the Halloween spirit and dress up for the hell of it. It’d be fine, right? There was an icee in her hand from the food court they passed, coke flavored, and she sipped it thirstily. “And make people fucking piss themselves.”
Some snotty child walked passed. “Ooooh, you said a bad wo--”
“The fuck?”
“You said a bad word twice!”
Where the fuck were this kid’s parents?
The mall was a strange wilderness. Henry stood next to Revy, still clad in his eggshell blue Picture Palace polo and a pair of khakis, a drink of his own in hand. His day of taking “scary” halloween portraits (and this year the trend seemed to be people bringing in their pets all dressed up as little Pirate Fido or Ewok Fluffy to have their picture taken) had concluded only a few minutes ago. Just enough time for him to get an Orange Julius before Revy shanghaied him to go shopping. He was sipping casually on said drink as the child stared up at Revy with widened eyes.
Henry removed the straw from his mouth long enough to tell the child: “technically she said three bad words” before nudging Revy gently towards their end goal.
“I should get you a swear jar,” he laughed. “Make you put a quarter in every time you said the word fuck. I’d have enough money for a studio by the end of the year.”
Even if the kid was a goddamn kid, the urge to punt the shithead all the way to the other side of this entire building was strong - and would she get the cops called on her if she so dared to flip him off? So tempting to test the fates, but the brat sauntered off with a giggle and all Revy could do was look at Henry with daggers for eyes. “Fuck you,” she grumbled around her straw, then proceeded to habitually chew on it before she went through with her original threat of punching him in his goddamn babymaker.
Traitorous bastard.
Then she followed it with: “I hope you eat shit and die,” before fully entering the glory of the store. It was all appropriately divided, from decor to party accessories, to the kid and ladies section. Another obnoxious sluuuuuuuurp of her icee, and she decided to humor her and him by picking one of the most ridiculouscostumes from the ‘sexy’ section.
“I have some serious fucking problems with this one. Is this really legal??”
Ooooooooowww!
The punch to the groin doubled Henry up for a moment and nearly made him drop his Orange Julius. His eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Revy,” he groaned, “you promised. I bought you rum and everything!”
He was definitely getting her a Swear Jar now.
It was another moment or two before Henry could move again. Doing his best to ignore the passersby who were now staring at him with horrified what-the-fuck looks, he staggered into the Halloween store after Revy. No, he wasn’t walking funny. There was something in his shoe. Really.
Henry came to a stop when he saw the abomination of a costume she had taken from the racks to show him. He stared at it, blinking twice. Sexy baby? That was more of a fetish thing than a costume. A sick twisted fetish. And no, it definitely could not be legal. It had to be a joke. No one was seriously going to buy that, right?
“Well, that’s disgusting,” he said before moving on towards costumes that were terrifying in a fare more appropriate way.
Oh whatthefuckever, it was a love-tap at best to his nads. But that’s what he got to egging on the kid so she thought it well-deserved, and decided to be a bitchy retail customer and just drop the horrid excuse for a costume to the ground. They got paid to clean up around here, didn’t they? They could clean that up - and hopefully burn it.
Now, to the good stuff - the grotesque masks and fake weapons. The selection was decent, but nothing caught her eye just yet. “Maybe I should be a fucking demonic unicorn to go with your demon horse thing,” Revy mumbled, thumbing through the plastic bags and the pictures in front. That was a pass on the werewolf suit, the Dracula get up, the ten godawful clown costumes - too much makeup and effort, those. “Or a cop to piss a pal of mine off.”
Henry cast a look over his shoulder at the costume on the floor. It was a much more baleful look than he realized. Henry considered himself a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy. Had to be in his youth of bouncing back and forth across the country between his parents like a coveted prize in order to keep from being a neurotic nutcase by the time he graduated high school. In the end that was probably what was keeping him sane now with the revelation of all the weird-ass science-fiction-turned-reality he was apparently living now. But even Henry had his limits. Apparently a sexualized baby costume was right at that limit. And maybe Revy was rubbing off on him just a little bit.
Henry stepped over the discarded costume to join Revy where she was pawing through monster masks and weapons painted to look rusted and/or coated in blood. He sucked on his straw absently as he watched her look at and then eventually pass over the costumes she found. He didn’t think a demonic unicorn was a bad idea. It was original and probably would have been terrifying all pink and sparkly and coated in fake blood.
“You know, legends say unicorns used to gore people with their horns,” Henry said casually. “I always kind of wondered at what point they became associated with princesses.”
Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp. Then an abrupt stop to the obnoxious noise at Henry’s little gem of knowledge. Honeycomb eyes blinked a couple times, wide, because….wow. Random as fuck, much? “Holy shit, that sounds fucking awesome,” she breathed, pulling out the much chewed straw on her mouth. Horse masks were actually very much a thing nowadays - some kind of new internet trend - and there was a stand for it, too. A unicorn one to go with it. Unfortunately it wasn’t anything gorey looking.
But, uh, kinda fucking creepy in its own way.
It was a thought, though. It wouldn’t take much to creatively mutilate that thing to make it terrifying. An idea pushed aside for now, once she paused in her sifting of disguises to pull out an iconic one. Sure, they had Chucky outfits for women (skin tight, twat hanging out) for the sake of sexiness, but this one was specifically geared towards men - and more authentically creepy, with the fucked up mask.
Plus her tits would actually fit into this one. Last thing Revy wanted to accidentally do is show the world a little bit of nipple.
“Creepy as shit killer doll, or demonic unicorn? I could chase people with a knife wearing both, technically.” A pause. “A fake knife, I mean, I’m actually not out to kill people.”
In case he wondered.
He hadn’t wondered, but appreciated the clarification regardless. Henry sucked on what remained of his Orange Julius as his eyes flickered between the Chucky costume and the unicorn head. They both were creepy, however where the Chucky costume was creepy in a way that was fun, the unicorn head was decidedly creepy in a way that was not fun. God, how could something so obviously fake have such dead-looking eyes? It was the definition of uncanny valley.
“I think,” he said carefully, “you should go with Chucky. It’s iconic in a way that isn’t cliched. Plus, I think you’ll be able to see better out of that mask. I don’t know how you’d possibly be able to see through that” he motioned with his cup towards the unicorn head and fought off a shudder. “Save Princess Dead Unicorn for next year.”
Hah. A very logical input there, she appreciated it. Henry-isms were actually pretty fucking fantastic to have around. Socially awkward, sure, but she liked his quips. They usually had a knack of catching her off guard. “I should take you shopping with me more often,” Revy snickered, assessing the costume a second time. Hm, yeah, alright, Chucky was actually pretty badass and the mask (actually disfigured) was surprisingly gruesome. Might as well put the scare in this damn holiday, yeah? None of this weird pussy shit.
Time to throw a ridiculous amount of money at the register. These things weren’t cheap anymore and there was a couple grumbles and socially unacceptable curses uttered under her breath. It might have irked the cashier some. Thanks for the cheap shit, asshole.
A peek into her bag once they exited the boutique. “I feel robbed,” Revy voiced unhappily. Around them were several other stores (one was a bit touristy with beach ware, like Hawaiian shirts), a running fountain full of pennies and an impressive amount of fake foliage. A standard mall’s attempt at making it look ‘nice.’ “Whatever, you’re still coming over to our porntastic Halloween shindig, right?”
“I’d planned to,” Henry answered before he finished off what remained of the Orange Julius. He tossed the empty cup it in a trash bin as they passed. “The demon horse costume came in the mail last week. I spent the money, so at this point I’m pretty committed.” He couldn’t justify spending the money if it was just going to hang in his closet. He’d gotten the thing because the mask was cool and he’d been pleased that he could see out of the eyes just fine. He actually couldn’t wait to wear it. It was different and creepy just like Halloween should be.
Henry rarely hung around the mall after his shift was over. He figured he spent enough time there as it was, even if the only stores he actually knew were the Picture Palace and whatever was at the food court. He glanced at a few specialty stores as they passed. “You need anything else while we’re here?”
Hawaiian shirts. They were fucking stupid. All Revy tried to think about when it came to the dreams were the adrenaline rushes, the fights, the blazing glory gunfights and the freedom of the South China Sea. There was the whole ‘do you miss the people you dream about’ question that circled the network every now and again, and if she were a more personable and social person, she’d comment with a ‘fuck yes, I do.’ Benny and Dutch, them fuckers were her people. Then there was an awkward Japanese business man they had actually kidnapped that stayed with them - she’d even gotten him a Hawaiian shirt as a ‘welcome to the Lagoon company you dumbfuck’ gesture.
Except Rock never wore it. And it really, really bothered her.
“C’mon,” she huffed. His wrist grabbed, she yanked him into the beachy store of sandals and bikinis and all sorts of Orange County labeled gifts. An invisible fire seemed to have lit right under her ass because out of nowhere she was aggressively sifting through the racks of tropical shirts, trying to find the best one that matched the memory of the one that doofus fucktard never wore. Revy only looked up to eye Henry - looking him up and down like she was checking him out - and then found one appropriate. “There’s some dumbshit white-collared idiot that we hired on to the company we run, in the dreams. Actually, truth is we kidnapped him and he ended liking us better than his own employer. Funny how that works, right? Anway, I got the asshole a shirt like this -” And it was pulled out, the chosen Hawaiian shirt of all the shirts. “As a ‘welcome aboard’ gesture and the fucker never wears it. Is a large too big for you?”
Henry hadn’t really expected Revy to answer his question. Revy in a mall just didn’t make any kind of sense. The next thing he knew, however, she had him by the wrist and was yanking him into a store that he never in a million years expected her to even acknowledge, much less go into.
He watched with mounting curiosity as she violently pawed her way through the racks of brightly colored Hawaiian shirts. What the hell was she doing? And why the hell was she looking at him like that? Henry knew the look. He got a similar look when he was studying proportions of a shot. It was kind of uncanny for someone to look at him that way.
“What are you-” But she cut him off with her tale about her kidnap victim turned employee. Both eyebrows shot straight up when she pulled out an exceptionally loud Hawaiian shirt. Confused amber eyes darted between Revy and the shirt she was holding. Was that for him?
“Uh,” Henry started, blinking rapidly for a moment. “A large should fit fine...but, uh, you do realize that I’m not that white collar idiot, right?”
“You don’t wear an obnoxious shirt and a tie on a constant basis so, yeah, I kinda get that,” she snapped, but don’t take it personally - Revy just always had that rough tone about her, the slightly rasped voice thanks to the daily emptying of cigarette packs. Though truth was, she liked Rock. Liked him much better after they got arrested together after she almost publicly shot him in the face. He was wimpy and stupid, but he was a soothing salve on her volcanic temperament. Something she didn’t know she ever needed until then.
Henry was probably someone who could talk her down a ledge from shooting up an entire park. Not his responsibility to, but hey, it fit. And was taking this surprisingly well. He was damn easy to get along with.
Then she grinned, wolfishly, and shoved his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m buying. You’re gonna look stupid in it.”
Henry eyed the shirt wearily. If she was going to buy it for him, that meant he was going to have to wear it. Well if it made her happy, why not? Besides, there were far worse things she could be getting and expecting him to wear. Compared to some of those things a Hawaiian shirt was downright tame.
His shoulders relaxed a little with a relenting sort of sigh. He smiled a little. “Yeah, alright. Whatever you want, Revy.” He pulled at his blue Picture Palace polo. “I really need to get out of this anyway.” The stupid thing didn’t breathe and he was getting hot just standing there in the store.
Really? That easy? Even Revy had to pause, eyebrow raised in skepticism - before her eyes squinted suspiciously like she was onto his shit, but, nah. He seemed awfully cool with it. Honestly, she didn’t really know what to really expect, but… “Okay,” she huffed, laughing, and then took it to get rung up. Expensive as fuck too, like all stupid touristy shit, but it was bagged up and then she might have smacked him with it.
Gently. Teasingly, of course. Didn’t want to break the kid, did she?
“You’re my new best fucking friend,” she snickered. And, yeah, they could now leave the damn store before she got hives from it.
Henry was now the proud owner of a Hawaiian shirt. His first, actually, and probably would be his only. When Revy “handed” the bag to him he pulled out the shirt to get a better look at it. It was very colorful and probably the epitome of all things Tropical. It was probably as close to Hawaii as Henry was ever going to get.
Once they were back out in the mall proper again, Henry ducked into a little alcove between stores out of the way so he could pull his polo off. He had on a lightweight t-shirt on underneath, the kind usually worn under dress shirts, so there was no worry about him flashing any skin in the middle of the mall. He felt better with the polo off and tucked away in the bag, like he was finally done with work. Then he pulled on the shirt Revy had so thoughtfully gotten for him. It seemed as though the manufacture must have thought tourists were larger than average, because even the large - a size Henry usually had no problem filling out - was a little on the big side for him. It didn’t hang off him in a way that made him look like a kid wearing his father’s clothes, though, so as far as Henry was concerned, the size was fine.
Were you supposed to button up a Hawaiian shirt, or leave it loose? Henry wasn’t sure, but opted to button it anyway. Dressed once again he turned towards Revy. Taking the polo off over his head had caused his hair to poof out and hang in his eyes. He held his arms out, a little bit like a dress-up doll. “What do you think?” he asked. “Good?”
Wow, well. Revy didn’t think he’d be so damn eager to actually put it on now but color her surprised, thin black brows raised. She honestly didn’t think he even liked it - and who would, it was kind of tacky, let’s be fucking real here - so the verdict to her was that he was just humoring her. Something she’d take fine, because when he emerged all dolled up in one blinding island shirt, her first reaction was a head tilt and a snicker, stifled by biting down on her lip.
“You look fucking goofy,” she answered with honesty and a grin, and did him a solid by pushing those bangs from his vision before it got caught in his eyes. “But hey, it fits. It actually looks comfortable. The hell, Henry, I didn’t think it’d be that easy to get it on you, either.”
Rock: 0. Henry: 1. Fuck you, Okajima, the shirt wasn’t that stupid.
“Well, it was this or the polo,” he told her with a half grin and a gesture to the bag he had stuffed his work shirt in. “And between you and me, I hate that thing. It looks nice, but I don’t need to be a walking advertisement for the Picture Palace. They don’t pay me anywhere near enough for that.” If Henry were to be honest, the Picture Palace really didn’t pay their photographers nearly what they were worth. They barely made more than the front desk folk whose only task was answering the phones and making appointments. They didn’t have to deal with screaming babies, children who wanted to be doing anything but having their pictures taken, indecisive clients who didn’t know what they wanted for a backdrop or pose, but certainly knew that whatever Henry suggested was just straight out wrong. Nope, not nearly enough. If Henry were to continue to be honest he’d much rather work for the porn studio.
“Besides, you were pretty dead set on getting it for me, I may as well wear it, right?” Henry went on with a shrug. She had called him her friend. Henry had no idea if that had been a sincere statement, or if Revy was being her usual sarcastic self. However, it wasn’t as if Henry had an active social life. The list of people he could honestly call friends was a short one and amazingly enough despite their differences, Revy was on that list. There was no way for her to know how much that meant to him. The very least he could do was wear a damn shirt.
“I’m weird already,” he said with a soft laugh as they started walking again. “May as well look goofy too.”
“You’re easy,” she smirked, watching him from the corner of her eye. Henry-isms involved applying logic to the strangest shit, didn’t it? Revy would almost pinch his cheek, but instead expressed endearment by pushing him along with her foot against his ass. A friendly kick in the butt. “Let’s get the hell out before this places gives me a disease. Pizza good with you?”
Not that she ate much else (aside from the pudding cops hoarded in her fridge), and it seemed like a good conclusion to their shopping expedition. She’d drag him out again for the fuck of it; it’s what happened when she had someone who didn’t completely get on her nerves.