Chapter 7. Plots, betrayal and bacon
To say Mojo Jojo was a capable man, was taking it too short. Once being the pet chimp of Townsville's famous Professor Utonium, he had come far with his own company and three, some what, lovely boys. Being a primate had not been easy, the chemical-x accidentally spilled over him had increased his intellect, capability and learning ability, but there was just so much one could do in an animal body. After the professor had his perfect little girls, the man had hid himself away, feeling ashamed for not being fully completed like them.
In his dark little corner, the monkey tried to find a reason for living. It was difficult in many ways, and in his last attempt to figure something out, he turned evil and decided to ruin the girls lives with his small schemes. Being who they were, little miss perfects, they whooped his butt every single time. Machines, science, super natural drugs, nothing worked. Not even pulling in other bad guys in the process.
As he could almost see the end of his bottle, someone paid him a visit. He'd outsmarted a couple of the other inmates, and was now aiming for eternal sleep.
«Oh, Mojo, dearie,» the sneaky voice whispered into his mind. Thinking himself crazy, or just blind, he turned around to find the source of the sound. A snicker struck at him and with a last twist, he came face to face with the devil. It was Him, dressed up in his suit with the signature smirk in place. «I wouldn't go that way if I were you. I've got a special place in hell for you, but you're just not wanted there yet.»
«Him, the devil whom rules hell and drops in from time to time to torment the professors pretty little princesses, the powerpuff girls, to what do I owe the pleasure, or rather the company?»
«Always the long talk,» Him sighed, sitting down on an invisible chair. Placing his index finger on his chin, the smirk widened, making the monkey pull away. «I've come here to make a deal.»
«What kind of deal do you want to make with me, Him?» he crocked an eyebrow, wanting the conversation to be over even before it had really started.
«Rumors go, and I've heard you're not very happy with,» waving his hands up and down, eyes wandering while his tongue worked with his next words, «the way you're currently looking.»
«Yes?» Mojo muttered, not being used to sit on the bench and wait for an explanation. It was weird to answer so short, but the devil was playing him around his thumb. The monkey was desperate for something to hang on to.
«I can change that, make you look human.» Picking himself up on two, he strolled over to the confident man, now very interested.
«You can do that, make me human like the professor and everyone else? Not a chimp, an animal?»
«Yes, of course I can. I'm the devil. But it's going to cost you.» Snorting, the monkey crossed his hairy arms over his chest. He should have seen this coming a mile away.
«What, my soul, like every book and movie? You really go that way? Despite being the devil, red in skin and everything, it's too mainstream and predictable, - not to mention mainstream- I have to call it pathetic and utterly boring,» Mojo melancholy, and genuinely bummed said. Normally he would be sold at the first chance of a steady stream, but this was honestly disappointing and down right under his dignity.
«Your soul? My dear primate, that thing inside of you isn't worth what I'm offering to give you. This very spirit of life is not what I have in mind, nor desire to accomplish.» Knowing he should be offended by the alluring words, Mojo showed them away with a gesture of hand, dismissing it as mere taunt.
«Then what are you after, if it isn't my soul you came for?» Smile widen, the man leaned on his knees from his invisible chair. It would have looked rather magical and peaceful – as one of the seven wonders – if it hadn't been for the malevolent figure and sinister smile; the utter image of chaos.
«Children.» Time seemed to slow down as Mojo felt surprise fight its way up into his face, gaping his mouth. These were one of the few times Mojo Jojo found a loss for words. His tongue moved around, mind racing to find the correct words, as his palms started sweating. What exactly kind of madness was this man suggesting?
«We're both males, we can't mate,» was the only think he could respond with, feeling more and more stupid as the seconds ticked by with Hims rolling laughter in heel.
«Naturally,» the dark giggle sent shivers down his spine, reddening his face. The devil continued talking before Mojo got any chance to explain himself or rise his intelligence.
«I'm not asking you to whore yourself into a human suit and sleep with me. No, that would be both weird and oddly on-turning.» Confusing words had the hairy man shift his eyebrows, digesting the surreal situation. «In return for giving you a homo-sapience appearance, I want you to make me children. Three, naughty little ones.»
«You're going to counter the powerpuffs,» Mojo muttered to himself, his brain finally waking up from the drunken state and working at high speed. «But no matter what you mix, you'll still need chemical-x. Your plan is flawed, it will never work. There is not a single drop of chemical-x left in this world. The professor used it all to make the girls.» Expecting this, the smile grew even more, making Mojo roll his eyes. Him thought of everything, he always did.
«I'll bit the hook, as in the metaphorical one, not a real one; where ever did you manage to find chemical-x?» Mojo said further as Him held a bottle of black liquid, shining with a hint of blue. The man still remembered what it looked like, and that was unmistakeable it.
«I borrowed some from an old friend,» he mysteriously snickered, eyes wandering to the object.
Mojo's body wasn't numb any more, he didn't feel sadness pressure on his brain and the urge to fall to eternal sleep any more; newly gained strength surged throughout his veins and had the grogginess washed away almost instantly. The man was still drunk, mind you, but the much improved mood had it's positive effect. The world wasn't gray and dark, but filled with new opportunities. Everything he could achieve if he just became human. He would be accepted into the community, people would loan him money, he could show his face without people pointing and making fun of him; Mojo could be ordinary and mix in.
«You'll take away my huge brain and make it normal size too, right?» Mojo scuffed and glanced side ways at him. Him waved a hand, mouth a straight line. Red smoke traveled up his body, every inch felt like dragging claws, pain, sweat, and as the hallucinating hell surrounded him, he heard the screams and agony of those millions of lost souls, - mothers crying for their children, children crying for their parents, lovers lost in their despair, seniors redemption due to their sinful life- and he felt like exploding from the inside. Growling, he felt bones break, muscles adjusting, snapping and reattaching, organs changing and finally he fell sweating to the ground, several seas of his hair filling the ground.
«What ha-» His voice was darker, but he felt the human in it. The roughness of the animal was gone, and left was what he desired. Standing up, the pain still fresh in memory, but only that, he took a glance at the mirror. Normal nose, hairless face but for the beard, eyebrows, eyes, hair, neck, chest, everything was as it should. He took a glance at himself, taking in everything, breathing through his skin toned nose. Never had the smell of sweat and old piss been better. Mojo wasn't an animal any more, he fit straight in the world as equal with the professor.
«You really did it,» the man muttered disbelieving, and the devil chuckled again, floating over to him.
«I already told you,» the hateful snicker traveled across the cell, making Mojo turn and face the butch man. Him was standing slightly higher, but Mojo himself was at least three times his chimp size. Legs were straight, like his back and hips. It felt odd, yet refreshing.
«Now that you have what you desire, I shall take your payment.» Negotiating with the devil was dangerous, and guaranteed a place in hell, but Mojo couldn't give two rats ass.
«How do you suggest I make these children?»
«With snips, 'n snails, 'n puppy-dog tails,» Him spoke, snapping his fingers to dress the newly made subject. His chest was left bare, as loose pants hung around his hips. Being a man of fashion, Him knew Mojo would be famous among the girls. He was sure to give him a working body, with dark hair and handsome features, those purple eyes capable of sending any woman to their knees. «Good luck, dearie,» the demon whispered into his air as he went up in smoke.
It took him a few days to gather everything he needed. Snips wasn't a problem to get a hold of, seeing everyone worked out and was too busy showing off their solid bodies to each other to notice the lurking scientist. The snails on the other hand was another matter. Mojo had to be smart about it, gamble himself a couple of things and buy them from the green gang. They ruled market on the inside, nothing came past them. And then there was the matter of puppy-dog tails. That also took it's time, and Mojo had to do some dirty tricks to get a hold of it, but eventually he managed to do so.
«Now what,» he muttered, feeling stupid to ask the empty air like that. Was he suppose to summon Him to get the chemical-x?
«Now,» Him purred as he appeared out of no where, scaring the man, «we make our children.» A leading hand was placed around his shoulders as they walked over to the toilet. It was dirty and smelled like a nuclear bomb.
«Mix everything inside here,» the red man marked as he handed him the bottle with the moving liquid. It twisted around itself, but quickly died down as eyes were gazing upon it. A disgusted look flashed across Mojos face for a few seconds before he couldn't help agreeing. Boys were, and would always be, manly enough to be born from a toilet.
Dropping the ingredients inside, Mojo opened the bottle and emptied it. It splashed around itself, and Him turned the flusher on. Afraid nothing would happen, Mojo gritted his teeth. Seconds later, it exploded, sending pieces of the hard concrete all around with deadly speed and drenching him in dirty water. Growling, Mojo wanted to scream at Him for pulling a prank on him, but he never got so far, as he lay eyes on three small figures.
They were all three smiling, the middle one dressed in a red sweater with black pants, a red, worn baseball cap on his orange head, crimson eyes filled with intellect and ideas. To his left was one in green, dark hair and forest eyes, smiling wider than the others and a dangerous look upon his face. To their right was a boy in blue, blond hair and deep-sea eyes. He glanced around nervously, but moved back and fourth, ready for action.
«We're the rowdyruff boys!» They screamed in union. «Boomer,» the blue one said. «Brick,» the red one continued. «Butch,» the last one added.
«We're here to kick some butts! And since you're the only ones around, we're going to kick your butts,» the boys laughed. Him sighed happily beside Mojo.
«Newly born and already such trouble makers. You're warming your dads heart.»
«Dad? I suppose that makes you our mom,» Brick pointed at Mojo, making the boys giggle in union.
«Mom?» Mojo scuffed, glancing from himself to Him. «I'm just as man as you are,» he added and crossed his arms over his chest.
«Now, now, honey. Don't argue in front of our children,» the devil played along, amused by the small devils.
«Why are you encouraging them?» Mojo muttered, noticing how Him wasn't drenched in the dirty water like himself. The devil leaned in closer, whispering so only the new baked dad would hear it.
«Because I own you. Everything you are, and will become, is because of me. Remember that the next time I come to you.»
From that day, everything went the other way. At first, the boys were a real pester and pain, but he grew to care for them and appreciate their small pranks. Several years later, he could relate to the professors love for the girls he had created. Mojo was able to understand how things had turned out the way they had, and why he had been left out of it, but that was left in the past. Born as a new man in the human body, he quickly went to work, got support for his experiments and research, and after not so long, he owned his own company; rich to the bone.
Mojo wasn't stupid – in fact he was one of the smartest people alive, next to the professor – and he couldn't understand why the man wouldn't strive after the money himself. The creator of his children's play mates could easily be where Mojo was, yet he had not tried to rise one finger that way, staying in the laboratory for the government.
Years later, after the boys had grown out of their stealing habit and was persuading the girls another way than for the pleasure of beating them up – oh yes, as a father he noticed their attraction for the growing girls – they entered school together with them, and Mojo got to sit down with the professor as an equil parent. It was a new sensation and for some unexplainable reason, he felt the butterflies flutter in his stomach.
After all those years, he still felt respect for the professor. It was weird to shake his hand as a human, and see his old friend greet him as if nothing had ever changed.
«Mojo Jojo, it's a great pleasure meeting you again. How are you doing? How is business? And the boys? Doing their homework?» the man joked, smiling wrinkles displayed in his happy face. The questions took him slightly off guard, and Mojo stumbled a few moments to find the right words, before shaking his hand in a tight grasp.
«Professor John, it's a pleasure for myself to be in your presence. I'm doing quite well, and my stocks keep increasing in value. Soon Bill Gates has to tip his hat for me,» he joked, making the other man laugh whole heartily. Mojo didn't want to say anything on the boys, because he honestly didn't know how they were doing. Was Butch behaving? Brick staying in top of his class? Boomer? Was he getting along with the other children? He was always so nervous around others. It bothered him how he couldn't answer any of the questions. He was frankly just too busy with his own to notice his children. In stead of dwelling, he moved the spotlight.
«And how about yourself? Is everything going as it should?» The man, pipe in his mouth, scratched the back of his neck and glanced quietly around. He seemed bothered with something, but brushed it off. The professor didn't feel comfortable enough to entrust whatever was nagging him to Mojo, and it stung at his chest.
«Everything is as they should. Blossom is graduating at the top of her class along side Brick. Those children are competing about everything. I can hear them argue when he's over for projects. They always insist the teacher is placing them together on purpose because they don't get along in class to try to get them to play nice with each other, but I think they're actually friends and the arguing is just a front,» the man laughed, making Mojo pull on his lips. Brick was probably asking the teachers to place them together, maybe even bribing them to do it. Sly move, son.
«Buttercup is rarely home, but I hear she and Butch makes a great sport team. I've only managed to attend two of their games this year, but they know how to play together from what I can tell. It's a big deal when they're on opposite teams, but I can tell they're mature enough to move past the scoring,» the man grinned, and Mojo felt another sting in his chest. That something he had also missed. Butch was playing on a team? No wonder the boy was skipping dinner and never home.
«I don't really know how Bubbles and Boomer is doing, but they are in the same class. I checked the list when Bubbles started her second year, so I suppose they're also getting along.»
«What class is Bubbles taking?» Mojo asked softly, wanting to know more about his sons, but in a discreet way.
«Well, she's in the same class as Boomer, so I suppose you already know,» John rose an eyebrow, and Mojo was starting to cold sweat.
«I mean, how is she doing?» he nervously forced out a dead laugh.
«Her paintings are coming nicely along. The landscapes she paints has no ends to their beauty, and she captures moments like no other. I have several of her works at home. Every one is a piece of her personality, and I love them. It's an honor to have them up on my wall,» he smiled as he stared into the coffee cup. It was slowly steaming. The meeting wasn't going to start in about five more minutes, so they had some time to chat with their fellow parent around. Mojo was, however, only interested in the professor. His blue son was taking art class? Not very surprising. It was either that, or music.
«And you yourself? Everything as it should?» His expression changed to that of serious, as Mojo lost the man to his own, mysterious thoughts. What he wouldn't give to know what he was thinking, and what was going on.
«Everything is fine, Mojo. Thank you for asking.»
«John,» Mojo said, staring at him with a serious expression. «If anything is wrong, don't hesitate to come to me. I will do everything in my power to help you.» A smile came upon his face and he nodded, but didn't take the bait. The professor kept his locked up problems. Before Mojo could pester him more, the teacher entered and briefed the parents about the system, before making a new meeting to talk about the children.
That was the last time Mojo saw the professor. Just a couple weeks later, he was dead. Everything felt so surreal, Mojo buried himself in his work, as far away from emotions and his sons he possible could. He gave them each their renewed golden card, and disappeared out of their lives for days, even weeks at times. The boys was left to their own. This disabled him from seeing the dark change in his sons, before it was too late.
Years passed, and Mojo had become like a stone, emotions locked away and merciless when it came to his company. A late night; it was raining, the weather cold and sour, darkness creeping in every corner around him, Mojo was pouring himself a drink, trying to chase the headache away. After his old friend passing, he couldn't face his sons for what they had done – and couldn't stop blaming them for it-, and Mojo found himself at the bottom of a bottle yet again.
And that was when the devil came to him, prowling out of the dark corner, grin in place with his signature suit, red in skin and dark in hair. He hadn't aged a day since Mojo had last seen him.
«Such heavy drinking is going to be the end of you one day, dearie.»
«Let's hope so,» Mojo rose the glass over his head before emptying it down the hatch. Tossing the bottle out of the open window, he brought another one – this more expensive than the last – together with a glass. A shot for him and his guest, the devil took the glass and they made a silent toast as the empty bottle outside shattered into a million pieces. No matter. The maids would clean it up in the morning.
«I'm not just here for pleasure, Mojo,» Him said, holding his glass still as the host poured another to the both of them. Nodding, Mr. Jojo already knew that much. Was Him ever around for pleasure? Not that he knew, or ever wanted to. The devil saw world destruction as business, and he didn't dare take the train of thought to what he would every find as 'fun' on his spare time.
«It's time phase two of my plan is executed,» Him sat on the side of his desk, pushing his organized papers and objects into a huge pile. If sober, it might have raged him, but the purple-eyed man couldn't give two shit.
«And what is that?» Mojo asked, the cold glass touching his tired lips. The devilishly handsome man flashed his partner in crime a nerve-wrecking grin. He was like a bottomless pit, taking in everything he could with no concern for whomever he ran over.
«It's time to destroy the powerpuff girls.»
«And if I refuse?» Mojo said. The girls was what was left of the professor. He kept track on them, making sure they were doing good and even mixed himself in here and there to make their lives a little easier.
«It's not like you can,» Him yawned as Mojo gripped his left hand, seeing it shrink and grow dark, long fur. His fingers became crocked and wrinkled, and he screamed in surprise as he saw his old, primate arm. It was a nightmare coming true. «I owe you, and thus I can take away everything you've achieved so far and leave you with nothing. You will do as I tell you, Mojo Jojo, that was our deal for this generous gift I so generously gave you.»
Blossom was cold. It wasn't the usual chill that made the goosebumps stand on her arms, or the soft breeze of the wind on a warm summer day, no. This was a deep cold, as if frost had wrapped itself around her very core, ice tickling up her insides. It was bothersome, and making her quiver. Bubbles had seemed upset when she had gotten home, but it quickly subsided when seeing her sister. Due to her dizyness, the redhead had needed to lie down, head in the lap of her younger sister. It had been long since last time, and the girls enjoyed their quiet evening without any drama or rowdyruffs in the way. The only thing that was missing, was Buttercup, and she wasn't answering the phone. Knowing the green girl, she was probably doing just fine, but something was preventing her from coming home. The last time they had heard, she and Butch was mingling; Blossom could only hope they didn't do anything bad.
The night had been a mare to say the least. Violent waves of quiver traveled up and down her body, shaking her out of her dreams and into the chilling reality. Bubbles was by the sofa, sleeping on the floor. The girl had dragged Buttercups madras out of her bed, probably going to give the green sister a heart attack when she returned, and beside the sofa. The redhead couldn't determine if it was to stay there for her, or if it was because the blond didn't want to be alone. Either way, she enjoyed the company and it calmed her to see the soft, sleeping form there.
When daylight broke, sleep was no where to be found, and after tossing and turning countless times, the redhead got up. Maybe her muscles wouldn't be so stiff if she moved and got some warmth working. Turning the boiler on, she filled the white can with some water, making enough for two in case her blond sister also woke.
Blossom had been the tea person for as long as she could remember. Bubbles and Buttercup both drank chocolate until they hit the age of fifteen. That's when Buttercup had changed to dark coffee, and bubbled added marshmallows into hers.
Pulling out the box of yellow tea, she fished a bag out before placing it back into the cabinet. A cup with a teaspoon was placed on the table beside the machine, and she rubbed her arms. The skin was cold, and it bothered her enough for her to grab the thickest sweater she owned. It was several years old, given to her from the professor one Christmas. It seemed homemade, and had lasted all these years, but until his dying day, he never told her how he had obtained it, bought or hand made.
Snuggling in it closer, Blossom felt better as the headache earlier wasn't present and she didn't feel like she was walking in a foggy haze. The only thing was the cold, and everything about it was weird. After obtaining her powers, she never felt cold, and warmth didn't bother her. For years, she had worn a thin, soft layer of ice outside on her skin, but it had never bothered her, never made her sweat or burnt, and now it seemed to backfire.
After pouring herself a cup, she drank it in piece, listening to Bubbles soft breaths and watching the sun rise outside the window, she decided to go to work. The cold wasn't that bad after the hot water and cloths, so Blossom found herself leaving the apartment even before her blond sister managed to wake up.
It was still early, so she took her feet to work instead of the car. Some physical movement always made her feel better. Staying at home only had her mood hit the floor, and if the mentality was broken, the body would feel ten times as heavy.
The fresh air made wonders, and she kept a high enough speed to warm the muscles. After the terrible night and day, everything felt much better. Taking the short cuts, Blossom smiled as she opened the doors to Mojo oil, passing straight by the reception. It was currently empty, and that suited her just fine. Glancing at the clock on her arm, it was barely half seven. Plenty of time before people actually came to work. It was much easier to find the door without any fever, and the current code was working. The day was going marvelous.
Upon turning the door, Blossom felt the heat in the room. The windows were open, letting cold air in, but it felt like she had hit a wall of heat. As if the ovens were running on top power. It was good for her cold skin.
If the heat was unexpected, then what she saw next came as a never happening chance in a million years. Brick was sitting on a chair, chest bare and pants loose around his waist. His well built muscles were glistering in sweat, and she could see a dark hue upon his chins. The sight had her freeze in place, unsure of how to react. Walk up to him and check if he was okey? His eyes looked delusional, and the man was breathing visibly heavy as she saw the glistering chest rise and fall. A part of her wanted to walk out and never return. It was just too embarrassing of a situation to ever come across. Never had she ever wanted to see this part of her counterpart.
It took a few seconds of focusing before the crimson haired boy noticed the intruder. His eyes went from soft and dreamy to something harsh and confused. If there was something they had it common, it was that neither backed down, and couldn't stand not understanding the situation to it's fullest.
«Bossy?» he muttered, licking his lips. At the sound of his harsh voice, she sidestepped her trance and went in, aiming for the white coat. Beside the cold, she was feeling just fine and good enough to work.
«I told you to stay home,» he muttered and she heard the squeaking of a chair. He was moving around, the girl concluded as she dressed up and placed her jacket on the wall, regretting the loss of head she had worked up. Her temperature immediately dropped and she had to straighten up to shake off the clattering of her teeth.
«You told me to stay home if I was feeling worse or the same, and I'm honestly feeling better,» she shoot his way, feeling the good day fading away. If only he hadn't been there, she could be doing work on her own. They had already talked about what was going to happen next, and it wasn't like she couldn't handle the work on her own. Brick didn't need an assistant in the first place, so for her to be there was slightly silly.
Brick was leaning out of the window, completely ignoring her. She noticed how soft his skin seemed, and how broad his shoulders were. Annoyed with the distraction he provided, she growled.
«Get some freaking clothes on, dude.»
«Dude?» The man laughed. «You sound just like your brute of a sister.»
«Buttercup isn't a brute!»
«She's more manly than Butch ever will be,» the man laughed, and she saw how the fever was radiating from his body. This could be dangerous, she thought. What if he fainted? Could Brick even get sick, with chemical-x in his system? She didn't think so. However, there was no denying his statement. Blossom remembered once how Butch had pierced his arm with a piece of metal and Buttercup had teased him about how he had to take a shot or else he would die. The green ruff had almost fainted on the spot, when Brick had pulled it out and smacked him over the head, calling him a moron in the process.
The snickering faded, and his feverish face was replaced with a very serious one. Blossom felt her heart skip a beat; this wasn't the control-freak Brick, the once who had threatened to cut her hair of if she didn't do as he wished or glued her pencil to her desk, causing her psychological trauma for not being able to take notes for that class. It was neither the one on the battlefield, that wanted to torture her until she died of pain or submissive to his demands. No, this was a complete other one; just a man, staring at her as if she was his equal. Not friendly, but not a fiend either. A comrade in arms.
«I think I've fucked up, Bossy,» and his eyes rolled up into his head as the man fell over and hit the floor, whirling up dust and lay still as a dead fish. Shocked, confused, not sure what to do with herself, Blossom opened her mouth, before closing it. What was happening? What could have caused her counterpart to turn this sick, looking at her like that, fainting? Brick didn't faint, ever. He would spit everything in the face and run off laughing like a maniac.
«B-Brick?» Blossom stuttered, catching herself before it went too far. Leaving her chair, she kneeling before him and turned him over. He was so warm, so sweaty she had to wipe it off on her coat. The man was still breathing, just very heavily and it sounded like something was moving around in his lounges. Blood? She horrid thought, fishing up the phone in her pocket. Midway in the call, Blossom's brain started working again. No hospital could cure Brick. Their equipment wouldn't work on a superhuman. Normally, she would call the professor when something she couldn't explain came up, but the pinkette didn't have the luxury of talking to the dead. So she stared out in the blind as someone answered the call on the other end, asked several times if someone was there before she snapped out of it.
«It's nothing,» she muttered before hanging up. Out of old habit, she placed her thumb in between her teeth, and started biting. Think, she scolded herself. The biting became harder, until the little nail she had snapped, drawing blood. The taste of copper reached her tongue and it somewhat helped.
«Exactly what were we working on?» Blossom muttered as she left Brick to his state and went up to the desk, searching among his papers. From their shared time in high school, she recognized his handwriting straight away. Words flew by, and her mouth widened more and more as her brain was trying to understand what she was reading. The metabolism in the inner and outer muscles are overpowering their workable functions, detaching the symbolic co-working of the normal organisms in the- what the hell was this? She swallowed as words flew by. Twisting the papers, she turned, read, worked with the article until her eyes landed on a circled word. Chemical-xy. What the hell was that? It was the last thing he had written. Her eyes went to the waiting sample on the desk. Shaken, she leaned over and stared into the microscope. Everything was as anticipated, blood, cells, until something dark, in the form of a pil touched one of them. She could visibly see it twitching and turning, as if in pain, before spiking and mutating abnormal.
Turning to the unconscious man, Blossom grabbed his shoulders.
«What the hell have you done, Brick? You can't go around playing god! This isn't normal! You've creating something far more sinister than chemical-x!» Blossom shouted, swallowing, cold air seeping out of her mouth. Due to it's thinness, it was getting harder to breath.
«What have you done?!» Blossom managed to caught before her head hit his chest, pain and ice filling her inside. She could feel everything freeze over, as if death was skipping around inside her body. A weird, whistling sound came from her throat, and it was so awful she found herself sobbing. Her tear fell on to the chest and immediately steamed off. Brick was burning up, and in a quick flash of desperation, Blossom leaned in to the skin and laid there. She was shuddering, but the heat was somewhat making her shaking stop.
As if receiving new oxygen, Brick took a large breath and stared around. Blossom was gripping herself, trying to hold on to what little life she had left. It was hard, and oh so heavy to lift his arms, but he did. They found their way around the small form, and as her coldness colided with his burning fire, he felt something react. Ten minutes later, he wasn't about to explode, his body wasn't sweating any more, and for the first time in his life, he could feel the cold. It was such a soft and reassuring feeling, making him hug her tighter. Hungry for her to give it all to him, Brick hugged Blossom as firm his tired arms could muster.
«Brick,» she muttered into his collarbone, tickling the skin there, «that hurts.» He could feel her struggling to get free, so he released her. Both, now back to normal, moved away awkwardly. Blossom wanted him to hold her again, was ready to welcome the heat, while Brick longed for the coolness of her skin. They sat there, not sure what to do first, before Blossom remembered her discovery. Like a switch, she turned her angry head his way.
«What the hell are you experimenting exactly,» she demanded, pointing at the papers at his clueless face. The man let his crimson orbs travel to his own work, before sighing loudly.
«It's nothing,» he muttered as he took himself up and pulled the t-shirt over his head, temperature returning to normal. Whatever had happened upon their skin had prevented him from blowing up like a nuke.
«Like hell this is nothing. What's chemical-xy?» He snapped his head her way and she saw anger there. This had her furious. Brick was experimenting on something so dangerous, without telling her, and he had dared to place it inside their bodies. Working for him, she could do. Taking commands from him, she could do. Listen to him insulting her sisters, she could half way tolerate, but experimenting on her without her consent, that's where the girl drew her line.
«You went thought my stuff?» He growled, breast puffed and eyes glaring. His muscles were clenching and unclenching, appearing to be twitching. The man was thinking about hitting her. Brick was thinking about beating the living shit out of her, just minutes after he had held on to her as if she was life itself. How dare he!
«You're actually rude enough to accuse me of trespassing when you're using my body as your own private experiment!» She roared eyes glowing with fierce fire. If she could shoot him in the head with a shotgun, she would. Bang, bang.
«I own you,» he screamed, full of himself and his arrogance. Snapping her head back, as if he had physically hit her, Blossom lowered her shoulders.
«This is a new low, Brick Jojo, and that's saying a lot in between the tricking me and trying to kill my sisters. I quit.» Walking past him, she dropped the white lab coat to the floor. Picking up her things, Brick managed to regain himself.
«You can't quit!» turning toward him, she could see how the disappointment in her eyes was getting to him. «You're fired,» he said, words almost soft, as if he couldn't believe it himself, yet refusing to back down.
«Fine,» Blossom bitterly snarled before exiting, practically running out of the building. Whatever the day had started as, it was no more. The lovely bright sight of the sun wasn't half as helpful as she had hoped, and the breeze was gnawing its way at her bone marrow, making her knees week. The cold wasn't half as bad as before, but she could feel the aftereffect of Brick's sick experiment. Angry, she stomped her way over the parking lot and waved skirmish at the fast passing car; it had honked and almost scared her to death. Judging by the sun, they had been passed out a couple of hours on the floor.
She could still feel the sensation of those strong arms, wrapped around her. Despite their calm nature the last decade, he was still firm, built like a warrior. Did he do some self training on his spare time, she wondered. Dismissing the thought with a snarl, the redhead wanted to puke. He had been so sweaty, and she could still smell him on her. She was going to take a long shower when getting home.
Half way, it stared to rain. It was so out of the blue, her hair was soaked together with her flooding boots before she managed to take shelter. Standing rather awkwardly at the side of a hotel, she blinked out at the huge drops falling from the sky. They quickly filled the streets, drops turning to puddles and as they connected, she watched a small river be born. Too bad it was headed straight for the sewer. On top of her shaken day, this was everything that was missing to complete it to shit.
Blossom rarely hated days; she saw the potential they held and ceased every opportunity. Challenges were gazed upon as a rare chance to prove her worth, or improve; but this wasn't like one of those days. This wasn't a day she laughed in the face and picked her working speed up, no. These were one of those heavy days, that sat deep in the core and weighted heavily down on the shoulder. Days she usually spent inside, avoiding anything that could turn ugly.
Minutes turned to an hour, and well knowingly she had stretched her luck, a man dressed for his job asked her politely to come inside and book a room, or leave on her merry way. It was a five star hotel, so she could understand how they didn't want anyone hanging outside and dragging it down. If she had the money, she would avoid going home and rent a room, taking a day off from her average shitty self. This wasn't the case; the redhead had no money she could waste in such a place, and apologized for the intrusion, and gravely stepped back into the pouring rain. It wasn't as bad as first it fell, but the rain was far from pleasant.
The passing light from speeding cars mocked her, together with the watching, pitying eyes. Did she look homeless, walking in the rain, soaked to the bone? She would have thought so herself if she was outside of the scenery.
The road was heavy, each step hurt, and every drop felt like another tear at her bad mood. The melancholy of her surroundings had the redhead wanting to cry. Grey, shaded, wet, dark; a combination of illness that tainted her soul, painting it painfully hurt.
When the lone block came to sight in the distance, the girl was shuddering so hard she had to force herself into a slight jog. Blossom could feel her blue lips, the deadness of her skin, and shaking of the freezing bones. Whatever good Brick had done to her body with his over head, was quickly fading away in this rain. She ran in the door, and pushed the elevator button over a douzen times before the light started moving downwards. It felt like an eternity was passing by as she lay arms around herself, trying desperately to keep a hold of the little warmth she had left. As the doors came apart with an annoyingly cheerful ping, a woman with blond hair and brown eyes gasped. Judging by the reaction, she looked horrible. Like a drowned cat.
«Come, honey. Don't stare, it's not polite,» the woman muttered as she dragged along her small girl, those blue eyes huge with wonder, the brown hair braided at two sides.
«Mommy,» the girl tried to say, but the woman dragged her so fast with her the finger barely managed to point at Blossom before they went around the corner and out of sight. Not wasting any second, she entered the elevator and pushed the round button with an eight on it. Tripping, she remembered the last time she had been there, the nice neighbor had saved her after she had puked all over the place and fainted. And it had all been Bricks fault, just like now.
Her eyes turned dark. If she ever saw any of the Jojo boys again, it would be too soon. Butch and Boomer she could ignore and threaten to stay away, but the sight of Brick would bring her to murder. It was a new feeling to her, the need and want to kill someone. The smug ruff had it coming for a very long time now. He was famous for pissing people off and testing limits.
At the fifth floor the machine stopped, and a man with dark hair and a pierced lip stared blinking at her shaking form before gripping the back of his neck and waiting outside until it shut. She guessed he either didn't want to join for the way up then go down, or didn't want to be in her company. From the stares people had given her, she was probably looking awful.
Finally reaching her floor, she went for the apartment, cursing as it was closed. What she wouldn't give for just ripping it open and head straight for the shower. The meter was going far over 40 degrees. Fishing the key out of her pocket, she unlocked the door and entered the dark apartment. How long had she taken to get home? Sure, it only took about fourty five minutes to walk to the Jojo corporation, but she hadn't really been that long gone, had she? Where was Bubbles?
Blossom dropped the jacket to the floor, leaving it for herself to bother with later. Quickly scanning over the area, she couldn't find her blond sister. Buttercup wasn't expected home just yet, so she didn't think much of her absence. Bubbles on the other hand, was odd. Where could the blonde had gone off to?
It wasn't like Blossom wasn't happy she went out – because frankly she thought her little sister had stayed inside for far too long – but she could at least tell her. Her phone didn't show any sign of messages, and Blossom had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Shrugging it off, because Bubbles knew how to take care of herself, she went for the bathroom. The wet cloths were a nightmare to remove, but eventually she could enter the shower and turn the hot water on.
Her body was hurting, frost was leaking out of her mouth, and her fingertips were blue. The girl couldn't feel her toes, and her skin was deeply numb. The water was wonderful, and a huge sigh of relief came from her parted lips. Closing her eyes, she relaxed, let go off all thoughts of the loathed Jojo, and blanked her mind.
Upon exiting the shower, she threw a towel around herself and went for the kitchen. Her stomach was growling loudly in protest from the unusual temperature change, but she never got so far. Something was creepily tapping at the window. It sounded faint, hesitant, as if a branch was swaying in the slow wind. The only problem was that this was the eight floor, and nothing could reach it. Turning her head, she approached the closed window. Her sister always insisted on closing the curtains when they slept, but never explained why. Blossom had thought it was her wild imagination running loose, but now she wasn't so sure any more. Could the abnormality happening to her body effect her sense of reality?
Carefully gripping at the curtains, she opened them with wide eyes, mouth half agape with shock.
Buttercup was groaning loudly. Curses her head was pounding like a group of oxes on rampage. The harsh light was stinging her eyes through her eyelids, so she covered her head with the closest, soft thing she could find, thinking it as a pillow. It had an odd, familiar smell. Strong, spicy taco with a hint of forest. It wasn't obvious there at first, but the longer she felt it, she thought of hard work, hours upon hours in the wild, rock climbing without a rope and other dangerous sports. It had her blood pumping. It wasn't her smell.
Confused, she opened her eyes to stare down at the black jacket. It was a mistake because of two things. The light was a lot worse then first anticipated, and the jacket belonged to a certain black haired ruff. New gained disgust filled her as she threw the jacket across the room, remembering the event from before. Butch had captured here; the least place she ever wanted to be on earth. Buttercup had heard that her blue sister often came here for inspiration to her paintings, but neither she or little miss leader came there after the professor had died. It was just too painful.
«Wakey, wakey,» someone shouted as the door flew open with a loud crash, making her jump in the sheets. Upon turning, she had found the pillow and was headed off to dreamland as the intruder had so rudely announced himself. Butch was giving her a pleased, smug smile. Buttercup would give away a piece of her soul to be able to rip it off and shove it up his ass so he could have a taste off his own crap.
«Go away,» she groaned, not in the mood for his obnoxious games. Taking it as an invitation, the ruff went straight in to the bed with her, taking up all the space. The sudden lack of space and feeling up against the wall quickly passed her conscience before Buttercup turned to violence. Pounding loose on the intruder, Butch quickly turned around with a smile, making disgusting and childish sounds. He pretended to cross sword with her, yelled out as she clawed at his arm, saying something about poison from the ugly witch. Her kicks didn't falter him nor his cheery mood, and as they brawled, Butch only using half of his strength to hold her off, and was laugh wholeheartedly at her. Buttercup couldn't stand people laughing at her, and as her hot head took over, the green puff chased him through the house with threats and punches.
Whatever melancholy this place had awoke in her, was out of mind. The only thing left in her pretty little head was killing this waste of air. Butch kept taunting her down the stairs from the second floor, and as he dodged her charges, they came in to the kitchen.
«Oh, shoot,» he turned and went for the stove. «The pancakes are burning.» Breakfast filled her lounges, and Buttercup became week in the knees.
«Is that, bacon?» she shaken said, eyes beaming from on top of his shoulders. He had two pans on the stove, one from the bacon and the other for the pancakes. Her stomach growled loudly.
«Damn straight it's bacon. Can't start a proper day without the delicious taste of pork butt.» Buttercup wrinkled her nose at him, making the green man laugh. Anything disgusting her was a point for him.
They both watched as he turned the pancake, revealing it's complete state. On autopilot, Buttercup grabbed a plate from one of the cabinets without looking, and held in in front of her, waiting for the well earned breakfast. Bacon was going to do well with her pounding head. Butch flipped the pancake into her plate. It would have impressed any other normal girl, but then Buttercup wasn't normal, and not interested. She got a couple of pieces bacon and munched it down with her fingers. Blossom had been screaming at her every time she even thought about eating anything with her fingers, while Bubbles had been concerned with the bacteria from her skin. When they had split up, she had started the old habit, which had never really died down. Butch didn't seem to mind as he picked a piece of bacon from the pan and propped it steaming hot into his mouth.
Half way through her third pancake, Buttercup had removed her grogginess and was lowering her shoulders. The food was fantastic; way better than what she had managed to make for herself these last lone years. It bothered how she could get use to this, even moderately like it. Butch standing at the stove, making half asses jokes and being civil with her. She didn't want that. Buttercup didn't want a happy-clown-land Butch whom wanted to get along with her. It made it just that much harder to reject him and hating him. They were suppose to hate each other, not get along and eat freaking pancakes to breakfast.
«Why am I here?» she asked, leaving the pancake on the plate. Butch stopped his humming and she could feel his shoulders stiffen up. Something was going on, and Butch was the last person capable of holding his mask. For some reason, the blue ruff was the best at keeping secrets and defending his cool, while Butch took a clear first place when it came to loose mouthing and thoughtless speech.
«I've already told you. I'm going to train you to become-»
«Yes, yes,» she impatiently interrupted him, knowing his dill, but she was going to break it. Butch had a limit to how long he could keep anything to himself. It was just the way he was biologically built. «I heard you the first time, but I don't believe it. You don't need people to do shit for you. You're Butch freaking Jojo. If you want anything done, you do it yourself,» Buttercup said.
«Why, Butterfly. Who would've thought you were keeping such a good eye to me? Do you want me to accept your feelings?» he smugly rose an eye at her, making her throw the brow and white plate at the wall, breaking the beautiful, old pattern. Buttercup was probably going to hell for ruining something so sacred, but she couldn't care less.
«Don't fucking play with me,» she rose from the kitchen table and glared at him. If looks could kill, he would be twelve feet under. «You're up to something, and I don't know yet what it is, but I won't just go along with this as if I accept it. Because I don't, you slimy toad,» the green girl snarled before exiting the kitchen.
«That's a rather rude way of saying thank you for the breakfast,» he yelled at her, but she wasn't listening. Storming out the door, she heard him bang with the pans before running after her.
«Wait, hold up,»
«Stay away from me. I'm leaving this place, and I don't give a fuck if you're trying to stop me,» Buttercup screamed. She missed home. Her cozy little apartment with her known walls. She missed her every day job at the bar he so rudely had taken from her, and she missed her coffee beans.
«Butters, I wouldn't be running out here in the cold like this, you're not wearing any pants,» he shouted, staggering her on her place. No wonder her feet were hurting, her skin was shuddering, and the red hue on her cheeks became a new shade of red. They hadn't gotten that far, and as she turned to go back, a finger was pointed at his ogling eyes.
«I'll fucking poke them out if you stare any more.» He turned his head, but she could still hear the snicker. «Fuck off,» she said, and sprinted back and up the stairs, aiming for her room. Her pants were on the floor together with her shirt. He hadn't removed her bra, thank god. How come she hadn't noticed before? It wasn't like the house was any warm, or she used to walking around in just her pants – well, yes she was. When living along, watching tv in only underwear was the best feeling ever – no. It was something more. Being around Butch, she didn't feel moderate. It wasn't like she needed to watch her language around him,
Was she comfortable around him? It sounded so surreal, but it was the only reason she could come up with. There was just no way she felt comfortable around him. He was the enemy, they were trying to kill each other, they couldn't stand being in the same room. But, a small voice whispered. He did make her breakfast. None of her ex's had done that.
Snorting, she slipped in to the pants and picked up her sweater. Buttercup couldn't remember removing her cloths yesterday. Had he taken her there? Undressed her? Oh, she was going to kill him.
A small thought came to mind, so she went down. Butch was cleaning up after him. What the holy fuck had smacked him in the head? Leaning against the corner of the door, she watched him clean up.
«You ready for some work out?» he said, while picking up the plates from the table. Of course he knew she was there.
«How did you know what room was mine?»
«Huh?» He said confused.
«Yesterday. I didn't get in bed by myself. I think I passed out half way in our dare game,» she said, staring at the floor. When he had picked her up and taken her back, they had done a game of dare. She had admitted to sleeping with two guys at the same time, while he had tried to piss with the wind against him. Remembering right, it went as it always went.
«Yeah, Hi-hi-hi-hi,» he suddenly stuttered. Hi? It was a slip up, she could tell by looking at his half panicked face. So close. He had almost broke.
«Hi what?» she asked, hoping to corner him further.
«Hi-hi-hilariously enough you still have a green poster with monster on it,» he laughed awkwardly, but it was true. The green poster was the same she had had upstairs, and when younger, he had also had one in his room. She had seen it once at a party, stumbling upon Butch as he had taken a girl to his room. It had been a topic of truce, which both agreed, it was awesome. She didn't know if he still had it. She certainly didn't. It went in to the dumpster with over half of her room when the professor had died and she had to find a place to herself.
«Sure,» she muttered and turned away from him. He quickly finished up and lead her out and back. The wind was strong, but not so it was hard to breath against. Whenever he had time to set up all the equipment, she couldn't understand. The fire from yesterday was no sight of, and she wondered if he had fixed that too.
«So, let's get started,» he grinned sadistic.
Hours later, Buttercup was back to scratch one. Whatever respect she had had for Butch before was gone. Breakfast? Screw it. Saving her from the thing yesterday? Fuck that. Taking the dirty plates? Like hell. She saw red. For the last hours he had tried to show her his method of training, it had been the most fucked up thing she had ever seen. Simple pushups turned to tons of bricks on her pack with only one hand as her alliance. He had been sexually harassing her to push her further in to battle, and it was showing how he was enjoying himself. It was making her sick to her stomach, and as he had smacked her over her lovely behind in a up straight pushup, it was the last straw. The smack had been enough to flip her down and he had then laughed at her weakness.
«You're dead, Bitch,» she growled and charged him. At first, it had been fun to block her attacks and smack her down on her ass, but as the anger in her grew, so did her foul mouth.
«You're just a low life excuse, born from a dirty mans toilet. You shouldn't even be around; you ruff gang is just a waste of air and I hate you all. I wish you were dead, twitch,» she said, triggering the predator inside of him. Grabbing a hold of her arm, he twisted it behind her back, locking his other around her neck. He could tell it would bruise straight away.
«Take it back. I don't know what I've done to you that's made you so angry these last days, but you're just a snotty runt, Butters.»
«Hell no,» she growled, struggling in his hold. It was agitating him to go further. Bending her arm to almost breaking point, he told her to tap out. Her hand didn't, and instead she was fight him with every part of herself. It was as if he was looking back to when they were kids. Whatever they did and managed, neither refused to give up. Her arm broke in his grip, and as she cried out, he let go of her. It was already late evening, but he had made up his mind.
«This was a damn bad idea,» he said, ice cold in the voice. «We're leaving. I'm tired of your ungrateful ass. You're trying to break my things, ruin my car, run away when I expect things of you, and on top of that, you're just another lousy bitch.»
Sorry for the late update! Here it finally is. So what do you guys think? Where is Bubbles, what is happening outside Blossoms window, and will the greens ever get along? Maybe they already are... Leave a comment! Cheers, until next time!
SweetAngel98: Hey, thanks for the comment from so long ago! I read it the same day, and I'm so sorry I haven't had the time to update before now. School is really hectic, and it's only going to get worse. I've been sneaking in sentences here and there, so this part might be a little broken.. Anyways, thanks for the wonderful comment! It's made my day for so long now!
FFLuvr: Yes, Blossom has the blue liquid 'chemical-xy' inside of her. Ace lives in room 825, sorry if it came out wrong or if I've messed up the numbers. Why do you think Ace is lying about raping Bubbles? Maybe he didn't, or maybe he did? We'll just have to see! I can't really tell you how things are going to go forwards, so you're just going to have to read the exciting new chapter! Thank you for the wonderful reviews, they really made my day, and I'm so sorry for not being able to update before now. School's really hectic.
BlueScarlet465: I can't tell you why the boys did what they did or what's going to happen so far, but I hope you will stay and read it yourself. I'm so sorry for the late update, things have been hectic here with school and I've only managed to write sentences here and there. Thank you for the wonderful and fantastic comment! It made my day.
Big thanks to Shayran16 and Cutiefoo21 for following this story! Welcome abord the train! And another mega thanks to gigiright, Shayran16 and Darkjuliet4444 for adding this to their favorites! This means alot to me guys, so thank you so much for this!
And you silent readers out there, you're all awesome! Leave me a small comment on your thoughts for the chapter, and I'll see you guys next time!