AN: So this idea has been rattling around in my head for QUITE a long time now, and I decided it's finally time to share it. I'm cross-posting on AO3, so...yeah. Hope you enjoy, and please remember to review!
The first time he saw the girl with the purple hair streaks, the Graverobber didn't think much of it. She was just some girl, and not even that much to look at compared to most, some small, pale, scrawny little thing with black hair streaked with purple and dressed mostly in black with a cameo on a chain around her neck, a bag on her shoulder, and a sandwich in her hands that she was eating as she walked down the street and talked to someone on her wristcom. Probably no older than her mid-teens, if he had to guess.
The second time he saw her was with Amber.
Not when she came to him for a hit, though, because this was when he was in his regular clothes and without his makeup, with his hair pulled into a tight little knot at the base of his skull and hidden beneath a classic style beanie. He called it his "civilian attire," or "street-clothes," because by losing the makeup, keeping his distinctive hair out of sight, and wearing something besides what he was known for, he was able to freely walk the streets and do as he pleased. Someone might recognize his voice, true, but he tended not to associate with the type of people he usually did while he was in Civilian Mode, and he did that for the exact reason of keeping his chances of vocal recognition to a minimum. So far, it was a plan that worked, thank you very much.
So no, the second time he saw the girl with the purple hair streaks, there was no more interaction than there had been the first time he'd seen her. However, he did manage to learn her name and who she was that time, thanks to the his friend Chris being with him. He'd nudged the other man's shoulder, jerked his chin in the direction of Amber and the other girl, and asked, "Hey, you know who that tiny little thing with Queen Bitch over there is?" Chris, upon turning and seeing who Graverobber was talking about, looked at him in surprise.
"You mean you don't?" he asked, and the dealer shook his head, brow furrowed.
"Should I?"
"That's Shilo, Rotti's youngest. Favorite, too, from what I hear. It's why she's not really ever in the public eye. Based on my understanding, Rotti likes to keep her kind of on the down-low, out of publicity stunts and all that, probably because of the favoritism, or something related to it, I dunno. She's the only one that doesn't embarrass him, which probably explains why she's the favorite."
Graverobber studied the girl a bit more carefully. She was pretty, he'd give her that. At least from what he could see, and based on what he'd seen last time. She was kind of small for what he was guessing her age to be, which was maybe sixteen years old, give or take, and quite pale. He couldn't help but notice, though, how strange it was that she looked nothing like a Largo. Surgery couldn't be why, because if there was one thing Graverobber knew how to recognize from any distance, it was someone who'd been under the knife, and he saw none of the signs to indicate that on this girl. Besides, Chris had just said plain as day that this was the only kid who didn't embarrass the big man, so if that didn't confirm it, nothing did.
The third time he saw her was the first time he ever spoke to her, and it was kind of strange, to say the least.
He was "commuting" on one of the clean up trucks and harvesting from the bodies being transported by it like he always did when hitching a ride on one when there was suddenly a metallic thunk to his right, and when he looked up, there she was, just opposite him, riding along like a garbageman would and looking over her shoulder, gripping the support bar so tightly that her knuckles were nearly white. She was wearing a pleated leather skirt and fishnet tights, black Victorian style boots that laced up in the front, and a strapless black bustier underneath a white lace spaghetti strap, the whole ensemble topped off by the same cameo necklace he'd seen her wearing the last two times, along with the same bag on her shoulder. Her black-and-purple hair was flaring out behind her in the wind, strands of it whipping around into and then back out of her face from time to time.
Then, suddenly, she was looking at him. Staring, more like, with wide eyes that were a darker shade of brown than he could ever remember seeing before, even more than he had always imagined Blind Mag's natural eyes had been when she'd had them.
And what beautiful eyes they are, he thought.
"I know you," she said just as suddenly as she'd turned to face him. "You're that guy on all the posters, the one who sells Amber her Zydrate."
"They call me the Graverobber, among other things," he replied. "You, my dear, may have your pick of names. Graverobber, G-Man, King of the Glow. Whatever floats your goat, as a friend of mine would say. And I know you, as well. You're Amber's baby sister Shilo. Daddy's favorite, as I understand it. I hear you're good at staying out of trouble, contrary to your siblings' example. How's that?"
"I spend most of my time either collecting bugs or hanging out with Blind Mag, that's how," she said. "And they're not my siblings, for the record. Not really, anyway."
"Aaah," he said as understanding washed over him. "Half-siblings, I assume?"
Much to his surprise, she shook her head in response. "I'm adopted," she said. Graverobber frowned. He had always imagined Rotti Largo to be many things, but "charitable to orphans" was most definitely not on that list. "I know, I know," Shilo said, almost as if she was reading his mind. "Rotti Largo doesn't seem the type to adopt simply for the sake of it or out of good will, but that's not what the deal is."
"Then what, pray tell, is the deal?"
"I...I'm not sure if I should say. I mean..."
"No, no, I understand, we just met, all that. I get it. Why don't you tell me 'bout them bugs of yours, instead?"
"Pff." She shook her head slightly. "Yeah, like you'd actually be interested in that."
"Don't meet many who are, I take it, huh?"
"You could say that. So why should you be different?"
"The cockroach is a member of the order known as Blattaria, or Blattodea, and is one of the four species of Blattaria that are considered to be pests. The most well-known kinds are the American cockroach, Periplaneta americana, which is about thirty millimeters long on average, the German cockroach, Blatella germanica, averaging at about fifteen millimeters in length, the Asian cockroach, Blatella asahinai, which measures the same as the German, and finally, the Oriental cockroach, Blatta orientalis, which averages up to about twenty-five millimeters long, and the Tropical ones are often much bigger. Let's see, what else? Our name for the little guys actually comes from the Spanish word, cucaracha, which ended up evolving into the word we have for it in America, cockroach. The way we ended up taking their word for it and evolving it was that the word cucaracha, which means 'streak bug,' was originally used for the wood louse, or sow bug, and was later used for the palmetto bug, or flying cockroach, and it was this particular Mexican usage that we stole and began using to refer to the regular, non-flying roaches."
"Okay, if you know so much about roaches, then how do they survi—"
"They're not dependent on the mouth and windpipe to breath like most living things are because the spiracles that their tracheae attach to don't include the head. Also, there's no such thing as an albino roach, people who claim there are were just lucky enough to see a nymph and not realize that's what it was."
"I'm sorry? I don't...think I know about this, I've never heard of an albino roach."
"Well, you know how when the nymphs hatch, they're white for a few hours or so until their bodies harden and darken? There have been plenty of claims throughout history of albino roaches, but it's not true, there's no such thing. Those people were just lucky enough to see a nymph in those few hours right after it had hatched."
They stared at each other for several moments.
"How do you know so much about cockroaches?" she asked finally.
He shrugged, not even looking at what he was doing as he smacked the needle of his extractor up some poor dead bastard's nostril. "Been fascinated by 'em ever since I can remember," he said, "so I've crammed my head full of this stuff starting at...I wanna say I was like seven at the time?"
"You're not like Amber says, you know that?"
"And how, may I ask, does Amber say I am?"
"She says you're rude and selfish and all sorts of other shit like that."
"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly fond of her, either, so I guess that makes us even."
"Believe me, I'm not her biggest fan myself."
"You know what, let's talk about something other than Queen Bitch, shall we?"
Shilo gave a shrug. "Like what?" she asked.
"Like...how old are you? You barely look sixteen."
"I'm seventeen, thank you very much. Eighteen next week."
"Ha!" he exclaimed, throwing his head back. "You're a fun-sizer, that's so great!"
"I'm a...a what?" Shilo asked, her expression one of absolute bewilderment.
"A fun-sizer," he repeated. "'T'ain't no such thing as short, kid, only fun-sized."
Shilo rolled her eyes. "What's your name?" she asked.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your name. What is it?"
"You know my name, it's Graverobber."
"No, that's your alias. I mean your real name."
"Oh, kid, you think I go around announcing that to just anyone? No sirree, GeneCops'd be all over my ass in two seconds flat if I did that. No, no, no, sweetheart, you have to earn the right to that information. Ask me again once you've earned my trust somehow."
"Okay, then can I ask you something else?"
"Ask me whatever you want, I can't guarantee you'll get a straight answer, though."
She rolled her eyes again, then thought about what she could ask that he would actually answer.
"Opinions on Blind Mag?" she said.
He let out a low whistle and shook his head. "Damn shame about that," he said.
Shilo frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked.
He looked up at her, blinking his blue eyes.
"You mean you don't know? How is that possible when Rotti is your dad? Unless...Oh, shit, he's sheltering you, isn't he?"
"Sheltering me?" she echoed. "From what, what do I need sheltering from?"
"Kid, I ain't sure it's my place to tell you this, Amber'd probably murder me if she found out. Or worse, she'd send Luigi after me."
"I can handle my dumbass siblings, okay, now tell me what the hell is going on."
Graverobber pressed his lips into a thin line, obviously still on the fence about the whole thing. He sat there for several moments just thinking it over, then, finally, he let out a heavy sigh.
"Oh...fine, you win," he said. "But don't tell anyone where you got this information from, understand?"
"Yeah, okay, I promise," she replied.
He let out another sigh and shook his head.
"It's Mag's contract," he said. "It's got some, shall we say, fine print. And when I say 'fine print,' I mean finer than fine. Those oh-so-fabulous eyes of hers came with quite a heavy price. Her contract says that if she up and splits, those eyes are basically forfeit, and if Rotti so chooses, a Repo's gonna be goin' after Mag's ass and she'll pay dearly for that surgery."
"Wait...so you're saying that—"
"By quitting her job as the spokeswoman of GeneCo, she's giving up all right to those eyes and basically saying, 'Okay, Rotti, I'm ready to die, do your worst!' And I can tell ya right now, kid, it ain't gonna be pretty when that happens. Never is where a Repo's involved."
Shilo stared at him for several moments, her dark eyes wide.
"No," she said finally, "no, you're...you're making this up, it can't be true. Rotti would never..."
She trailed off, studying the gravely serious look on his face, and suddenly, it felt as if her heart was contracting in on itself.
"You know what?" she choked out. "Screw you. Screw you and your made up bullshit, you rotten son of a bitch. Amber was right about you, you're...You're horrible, is what you are, you're full of lies and—"
She shook her head as hot, angry tears began to build up in her eyes. Before they could start falling, she let go of the support bar and dropped off of the truck, and he watched as her figure got smaller and smaller as the truck sped away.
"Well then," he said to the empty air, "that was a refreshing change from the usual routine. Back to business, then."