I don't necessarily have an excuse for how late this is. All I can really say is that I had the bare bones of this chapter laid out, and I needed to fill in the meatier parts.
Also: A huge thanks to the reviewers who made light of the errors in the story; I really appreciate it!
Disclaimed!
There's a hand in her hair, tugging her head into the peeling wallpaper, a low voice at her throat. "You'd like to think this is a children's game."
Long nails curl into her scalp until Revy swears under her breath. Trying to squirm away, she turns her face away, her cheek pressed against the wall. Her shorts fall around her knees which knock into each other, her tank wrinkled up around her upper chest as another manicured hand explores in between the tan lines. "Hm. I bet you do see it as a game, Two Hands, I have noticed you laughing, while you kill droves of those stinking, disgusting, grotesques that were begging for a bullet in between the eyes. Did you even have a childhood?"
Whatever is happening, Revy's wary of the cigar in the Russian's mouth. The smoldering heat is near her pulse; flecks of the burnt remains sting her neck. A pinch on her nipple brings her eyes to to rest on Balalaika's face.
"I'm not a fuckin' punching bag, sis. Fuck yo-" The word hiccups on Revy's tongue when Balalaika removes the cigar from her mouth and breathes the smoke into her auburn hair, before trailing her tongue up her neck and into the soft place under her jawline. However-
"She's asking for you," Benny's head peeked out of her doorway. His thumb gestured back into the living room. Revy groaned into her bed, peeking over to see the dented alarm clock smashed over on the other side of the room. The fading red neon glare read 9:35. In the morning. She shoved her head back into the thin pillow.
"The fuck, Benny. I'm trying to actually sleep for once in this fucking hellhole of a heatwave. Tell Eda that-"
"It's Queen Moscow herself, actually." That made more sense. Eda didn't have the patience to call ahead, instead she often showed up with her fist banging on the door.
"I'm up, I'm up!" She waved her hand dismissively as she hiked down her camo tank and wandered out into the living room. The shades were drawn from the harsh heat of the tropical sun, but the sun left it's influence in the steadily rising temperature despite the air conditioner. Nickelodeon's cartoons played on the television amidst waves of static.
"Dutch's gone for the morning, boat needs fuel," He sipped his coffee casually, as if there wasn't a mob boss waiting on the other side of the line.
"Yeah," Revy chuckled. "I'd imagine we'd need it considering we raced across the fucking Pacific ocean. What a waste. Rock?"
"Blacked out somewhere, again probably considering he thinks he can drink moonshine like water. Anyway, I'm back to my room again. Holler if you need anything." Benny's voice faded as he padded down the hallway in his palm tree-d boxer shorts, the door shutting behind him. No doubt his girlfriend sending him something again; that being a nude photograph or another stunning tale of being a grade-a fuck freak.
But she was alone, alone! Whatever she wanted to say to Balalaika now could be thrown out in the open. It would best to just be brutally honest like she normally was and say no, in the politest way she could because there was no way she could go out on a date with a woman who had a household full of overprotective fathers. Hell, they'd take her out if she so much as looked at the Russian. If she even got that far. Revy raised the silent phone to her ear and bit her lip hard. Thumbing the mute button on the remote, the gunwoman relented to the game of wits. "What ya need, sis?"
"Two Hands. Remember that favor I promised?" Her voice sounded like she just smoked her breakfast worth. The Russian accent lurked somewhere beneath, and honest to god, Revy was ready to throw the stupid phone out the window. Already she wished there was a bottle of cheap bourbon in her hand. Her feelings were always better to deal with while drunk, hence last night.
But then again... Balalaika did call her. The ball was in her court, so to speak.
"Of course, but uh, you seem to have a lot on your plate for a moment, so no worries there sis." The gunslinger replied tightly. Her left hand fiddled with a loose strand on her tank, and she eyed the freshly brewed coffee in the kitchenette.
"I seem to recall you ruining your skirt on my account," An inhalation of smoke. "You used my recommendation, yes?"
"I can't spit that much, but I did fucki- I did try it, yeah, you saw me-"
"It's ruined, isn't it? Bloodbaths do that sort of thing." Balalaika interrupted, and utterly ignored her babbling, which Revy could have kissed her for. And yeah, no shit, no wonder the Russian wore red suits. Why she wore them so damn tight was another question that would probably never be answered.
"The damn thing is done for. I'd take you up on that offer, but it's no big deal." Revy grit into the phone, her fingers tightening around the object.
"There is no problem, Two Hands. I'd be more than happy to get you another one. Your item is common to find,"
Revy was at a loss for words. Up until now, Balalaika hadn't made such a large move in their strange little game with each other that was reminiscent of schoolgirl flirting. She ran a hand nervously through her hair and eyed a smashed beer can shoved under the couch.
"You're going through all this trouble for a skirt?" She forgot the strained politeness she tried to put on.
"It's not the skirt I'm having trouble with. I do have other things to worry about... Speaking of. Tell Dutch the Latinos changed their offer. They want more." Balalaika darkly chuckled, letting out a long exhale. Revy could almost smell the cider smoke. "Of all the places where they could have set up their flag... Here. We have to make an example."
Oh. Of course, how smart of Fry Face. Couldn't just be a personal call. Sighing, Revy rubbed the back of her aching head. "Sis..."
"Hm?" The soft click of a lighter was audible through the shitty connection. Then came a muffled intake of air, before a slow exhale.
"Why are we playing around here? It's not our usual style, who's going to take the first move?" All of the blood in her body left her heart and was pounding in a circle around her temples. In all honestly, Revy never knew how Balalaika was going to act. It was either a bemused response, or a long drag of expensive cigars before letting out a response colder then where she came from.
Revy heard a professional laugh on the other side of the line. "Usual style?"
"Last time I checked, you were the one staring, sis." The plastic squeezed underneath her fist. The line was silent for a second, but Balalaika didn't miss a beat and changed the tone immediately.
"Next time Dutch drops by you'll be with him, correct?" Goosebumps raised on Revy's arms, and the feeling of being stripped and watched while she sat sweaty in the ocean returned. The tank and panties didn't feel enough for a second. Cold air prickled the back of her neck, and whipping her head around saw that nothing was there. Nothing, yeah, and her fantasies.
"I'll come. See you then, sis." Good. End it on a usual note. However Revy reacted before the obvious crush was lost on her.
"And by the way, Two Hands, don't go around spreading gossip. It'd be bad for your reputation."
Balalaika hung up before she did. Fucking bitch. Grinding her teeth, the gunwoman smashed the phone back into its receiver. The feeling of being left in the dark returned it's ugly gaze and she felt the urge to shoot a few more bullets into her bedroom walls. Sis was tugging at her clit whilst leading her around like some dog.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. She fiddled around with her guns for a bit, polishing them and seeing if they needed any manual upkeep. But most of her time was spent vegging out on the couch, on her back, hair loose, her ankle resting on her knee. Benny strolled out of room a few times, scratching his ass, to get more coffee. Rock showed up, tie wrapped around his neck, resting on his shoulders. He rubbed his temples with a soft groan, before collapsing into the armchair.
"You're shit out of luck, junior." Revy mumbled into a cigarette, watching little animations bopping one another on the noggin. "We just ran out of Tylenol, thanks to yours truly."
Seeing his miserable face dimmed the saucy grin on her face. So she hastily looked back at the television and exhaled a puff of smoke into the blinds. A little part of her, within her heart of hearts, wanted to grab him a glass of ice cold H2O but that's too fucking out of character and he would suspect something immediately.
It was astonishing how usual the hours after the phone call felt. When would the trick drag the curtain back and laugh in Revy's face? Oh by the way, Balalaika was getting a rise out of you. Trying to entertain her boring lunch break where she couldn't kill somebody. Sometimes she'd catch her face in the mirror and wonder just where the restlessness and the neediness would poke itself out in conversations.
Revy didn't want to hound Dutch as soon as he came to the apartment around six. The setting sun bled through the plastic blinds and one hit her in the eyes with the precision of a missile; she grimaced and broke.
"When are we seeing Fry Face again?" She stretched her arms behind her back.
He cocked one eyebrow behind his sunglasses, before taking a sip of the dark roast that didn't have a chance to chill in the sickening heat, despite the half-assed proclamations of protection from the air conditioner.
"Why are you asking that? Last time you were bored out of your damn skull," He flipped a page of the outdoors men-esque magazine between his hands, the soft rustle putting her at ease. When he stopped flipping through was when he had the wrong- in this case, right idea.
"She called me this morning. Latinos changed their offer. They want more of the fucking weapon shipment. Is this where we can finally put a bullet in their heads and be done with it?"
He raised one corner of his mouth and recrossed his legs. "In fair time, Revy. We'll be having another meeting soon, those Latinos move quick cause no one thinks of em'."
Revy didn't know how long she could wait. She liked the feeling of Balalaika's judgmental eyes on her body; even if it did remind her of the nameless men that thought they could fuck her for a night. Sticking her hand underneath the worn couch to find the can, she did a three-point shot into the trash can from her relaxed stance.
I couldn't help putting a dream sequence in this chapter. I'm feeling nostalgic for the older fanfics where they had their significant other appear wantonly in their dreams. Should I make the next chapter into a songfic? I kid!
Anyhow, any reviews/criticisms would be massively helpful, they're the oil to my wheel.
