Hi everyone,
Been a while since the last update, but this story is far from dead. Plenty of ideas left. Friends talked me into looking into this World of Warcraft thingy and it's taken quite a bit of my time. In any case, this chapter is a tad more mature as it contains some swearing, a love scene and one serious case of I-phone abuse. :) References include the classic Laurel and Hardy silent movie Two Tars. Also, expect some WoW in-talk. Those familiar with WoW will recognize, others will wonder what the hell they are talking about. Which is exactly the sense I want to convey. :)
Hope you enjoy!
Life Sucks!
Chapter 11 : Claymores just wanna have fun.
Clare was quite satisfied with today's turn-out. It was lunchtime and Stinky's was packed with people from the nearby offices looking for a quick quality meal. Not only was it comforting for Clare to know that in the days where McDonalds and Starbucks ruled supreme there were still plenty of people who went to an independent for a good meal experience, it also meant quite a bit of extra income for her and Ophelia.
Clare jotted down some more orders on her electronic notepad while two more meals were pushed through the service hatch from the kitchen. Clare directed a waitress to bring the meals to the waiting customers, and worked the cash register for a customer who had just paid.
It was a busy time, but it was also a comfortable time. Other youma-touched often came here to spend their lunch-breaks or to get some food when they were hungry. Stinky's had become a popular hang-out for those youma-touched who lived in the neighborhood.
Yuma was sitting at the counter, sipping a latte while chatting with Clare in between orders from other customers.
"It's a fascinating find," Yuma said. "Lead is a soft metal, so it's not often an intact lead figurine from the early Roman empire is found."
"So what would one of those figurines be worth?" Clare asked.
"Oh, nothing much. But it is a very nice piece," Yuma said.
A few moments later, Isley entered the diner. With a frustrated look on his face, he plopped down on the seat next to Yuma at the counter and growled slightly. "I hate my job," he sighed. "I hate my office, I hate my colleagues, I hate my boss, I hate my files and I hate my life."
"cappuccino?" Clare asked.
"Please," he said. "Seriously, I've half a mind to go back to the office in my fully Awakened form and slaughter the whole blumming lot of them."
"You're just frustrated because Jean's on that nature photography project in Indonesia for the next two weeks," Yuma smiled. "She'll be back soon enough."
"Well, that's part of it," Isley said. "But it has more to do with the fact that my colleagues are sniveling morons who can't do anything right and blame me for their own incompetence. Which means I have to complain at the manager's office, get everything audited and then nobody knows anything anymore. And we're only halfway through the day. Better make that an Irish cappuccino, Clare."
Clare blinked. "You want me to pour whiskey in a cappuccino?"
"Sacrilege," Yuma shook her head.
"You don't work at my office, you can't possibly know," Isley shot back. "Even Dilbert would go insane there!"
The imported Italian coffee machine gave a gurgle and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. After topping off the milk, Clare poured in a small batch of whiskey and handed it to Isley. Isley took the cup and slammed it down in a single draught.
"That hits the spot," he said.
Just as Yuma was making a comment about the consistency of lead statuettes, Cynthia entered the diner with a sunny cheerful smile on her face. "Hi guys!" she waved and plopped down at the counter right next to Isley. "Check this out!" she said and produced a brand-new cellphone.
"Ah, is that the new I-phone?" Yuma asked.
"Yeah!" Cynthia raved and switched it on. "Look, it's got e-mail, games, MMS, SMS, GPS and a lot more abbreviated stuff. I, uh, just don't know how to use those things yet. But who cares, it makes me hip and that's all that counts."
Cynthia bit her lip while fiddling with the delicate phone. Yuma, Clare and Isley shared a look. "Uh, Cynthia, I thought you and technology didn't mix," Clare said very diplomatically.
"You tend to break stuff," Isley said, considerably less diplomatically.
"Oh, buuu," Cynthia winked. "Here, help me pick out my new ring tone."
The phone produced a very annoying techno-beat.
"Uh. No. Just. No," said Yuma.
"Okay," Cynthia smiled. "How about this one?"
The phone produced a cutesy rendition of 'Up goes the weasel', complete with bells and whistles.
Before anyone could say anything, Ophelia burst from the kitchen like a guided missile. She jumped over the counter and ran towards the door with a big smile on her face. "Icecream-man! Icecream-man!" she shouted before almost running through the doors leading outside.
"See, I like that one," Cynthia said.
"Uhm," Yuma said. "I, uhm, wouldn't want to be you when Ophelia finds out there isn't going to be any icecream."
"Is that why you stopped selling icecream?" Isley asked.
Clare nodded while cleaning a few glasses. "Whenever there was a shipment of icecream, Ophelia felt obligated to eat herself sick."
A few seconds later, Ophelia entered the diner once more. This time, he childlike excited smile had made way for an expression of thunderous rage.
"Right, Clare," Isley said while he and Yuma picked up their drinks. "Yuma and I am going to sit over there for a moment, out of rage."
While even Clare kept her distance this time, Ophelia stalked over to Cynthia, who was blissfully unaware of the danger she was in.
"Hi Ophie," Cynthia greeted cheerfully. "Do you want to see my new phone?"
Ophelia ripped the phone from Cynthia's hands and narrowed her eyes.
Soon the clientele was startled by a bloodcurdling scream.
"Oh, the humanity!" Yuma cried out while covering her eyes.
--
"Dammit, I've called her five times already to apologize and Cynthia just won't pick up," Ophelia spat as she threw down her cellphone in disgust. Break-time was over, most of the clientele had left and the quiet hours of the afternoon had started. Ophelia sat at the counter, picked up her cellphone and dialed again.
"Uhm, Ophelia," Isley scratched his head. "If you really want to apologize to her, I think you should wait until the doctors at the emergency room are done removing that I-phone from her stomach."
"Pfft," Ophelia rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry now, and I might not be in an hour. Strike the iron when it's hot, I always say. I think I'll just keep calling her until she picks up."
"Yikes," Isley bit his lip. "I hope Cynthia didn't have it set on vibrate before the... incident."
"It's sort of out of character for you to feel sorry for anything, Ophelia," Yuma said.
"Yes," Ophelia shook her head while redialing. "I really lost it and I'm very sorry. I mean, how could I do that do a beautiful phone like that? It's awful when you think about it."
Yuma bit her lip. "So, uh, you're not sorry about hurting your friend? Your friend Cynthia who's having her stomach pumped as we speak."
"Who?" Ophelia raised an eyebrow while redialing. "Who are you referring to? No, no, I mean that poor phone. Argh... I feel guilty. It was such a nice phone and there's no telling what that stupid Cynthia's evil stomach acids are doing to the electronics right now."
"Leave it alone, Yuma," Clare said. "It's Cynthia's own fault. I've warned her about Ophelia and she still keeps provoking her."
Isley sighed. "Well, time for me to get back to work. Enough entertainment for today... I'll let the office suck the remaining life-force from my body," he sighed. "Thanks for the coffee, Clare."
The youma-touched said their goodbyes and Isley left for work. Yuma sat back in the booth, fished a laptop from her backpack and popped it open.
"No lectures today?" Clare asked.
"Nah," Yuma said. "I don't have to be back at the University till two. Have some time to kill still," she said, while logging on.
"And you," Clare sighed as she crossed her arms.
"What? Huh? What about Ophelia?" Ophelia asked defensively... while redialing.
"Hurting Cynthia is one thing, she can heal," Clare said calmly. "But the customers you scare off never come back."
"And those who do come back are endlessly entertained every single time," Ophelia retorted while redialing. "Stop oppressing me, Clare!"
"Holy crap!" Yuma called out from behind her laptop. "There's a flamewar going on at the forum!"
The forum being one of her pet-projects, Clare forgot all about scolding Ophelia and rushed over to sit next to Yuma. "Who are involved?"
"Miria and Undine," Yuma shrugged. "Who else? No doubt Undine wrote a post, Miria came in with a sensible counter-argument which Undine promptly misinterpreted and made her go off her rocker. I'm not sure what it's about, but it's mostly Undine throwing insults at Miria while Miria is trying to tell her she's overreacting."
"As usual," Clare sighed.
Clare peered at the screen intently. Miria and Undine really didn't get along. They never had. Undine never trusted Miria's judgment and Miria abhorred Undine's brash recklessness. Of course, both had their supporters. Whenever the two of them clashed on the forums, it was usually Tabitha, Isley and Cynthia who picked Miria's side, while Ophelia, Dauf and Agatha always sided with Undine. Others, such as Jean and Deneve, did their best to remain neutral while Clare and Helen always had a field day playing moderator. Thankfully, this was taking place during working hours, so it wouldn't turn into a battle royale. Helen, in the meantime, was moderating and was doing well keeping Undine in check.
Clare sighed. She'd always suspected that the reason Undine lived on the other side of the world was to able to get away from Miria.
"Really?" Ophelia said, stopping redialing for a moment. "Push over, I need to type some messages on the forum. I have no idea what the topic is or why they are fighting, but I need to show some support for my buddy Undine."
"You are NOT throwing oil on the fire!" Clare stressed while prompting Yuma to shut down the laptop. "It's bad enough when friends fight, and even worse when it's encouraged."
"But Undine is always right, even when she's not!" Ophelia tried to stare down Clare.
"And that's why I don't want you anywhere near this computer."
Ophelia grumbled and leant back in the booth. "Stupid Clare... thinks she can boss me around... no control over my life... who does she think she is? My handler? Heh, I killed my handler. And my second handler too... "
And so Ophelia did the only thing she could think off right now: redialing once more in a futile attempt to get Cynthia to answer her phone.
--
Later that date, Clare had closed off at the diner and arrived at her apartment. Ophelia had left earlier today and Clare was surprised to find the apartment darkened. But the sounds of sword combat coming from the bedroom was indicative enough.
Being youma-touched, neither Clare or Ophelia needed as much sleep as humans. In fact, one full night of 6 hours, combined with some short 30 minutes of rest could last them an entire week. As a result, they had a lot more free time to spend than the average human. Like the others, Clare and Ophelia usually filled this extra time with hobbies.
Clare had her forum, loved reading and enjoyed papercraft in her free time. Ophelia, however, was entirely different story. Her infamous short attention-span, mixed with her violent impulses, meant she went through hobbies as fast as a jet breaking the sound-barrier. Ophelia had tried keeping a bonsai, but Clare had found the little tree cut to ribbons in the trashcan the very next day. Ophelia had tried making model airplanes, but that hobby was abandoned after she had managed to accidentally superglue her braid to the table and smashed the delicate plastic models in a fit of anger.
The shortest time that Ophelia ever had a hobby was stamp collecting. Ophelia had bought an album, consequently tore open everybody's mailboxes in the apartment buildings in the entire street with her brute strength, ripped the stamps off the envelopes, put them in the album and promptly proclaimed her collection 'Done and finished'. The album was still in the bookcase, and Clare knew that Ophelia was quite proud of it.
The hobby she kept the longest was violent computer games, as there were so many of them. But even so, there was one game she had been playing for an exceptionally long time... especially by Ophelia's standards.
Clare skulked into the bedroom and saw Ophelia sitting cross legged on the side of the bed with a laptop in her lap, playing intently.
Ophelia let out an annoyed grunt when Clare turned on the light on the dressed, but kept quiet afterwards. Clare tossed off her shoes, crawled on the bed and sat on her knees behind Ophelia. She felt Ophelia relax slightly when she started to massage her shoulders gently.
"World of Warcraft?" Clare asked.
Ophelia smiled and cocked her head backwards a little, allowing a brief rub of cheeks between the two women before she went back to her game.
"I'm having fun. I was corpse-camping," she grinned.
"What?"
"You kill this low-level dork, you see?" Ophelia grinned evilly. "And as soon as he comes back to his corpse and comes back to life, you kill him again. And if you're standing in the graveyard, he won't be able to respawn there either, heheheheheh."
"Hmm," Clare shook her head. "Are you going to be thrown off a server again because everybody hates you?"
"Actually, I'm having so much fun!" Ophelia chuckled. "I found a player who's just as evil, sadistic and mean as I am! We both did a dungeon, and then we went back to the low-level areas to terrorize the low-level players! We killed so many noobs, it was so funny. And now we've joined this PUG raid and we're gonna make sure they all get wiped right before the end-fight. We're both gonna pull a Leeroy when they're discussing strategy. It'll be hilarious!"
"You actually made a friend," Clare said. "I need to call the pope. Also, I don't know anything about half the things you just said."
Ophelia looked up again and stuck out her tongue. "For your information, she was very cool, and had great taste. Played a level 70 blood elf protection paladin. Called herself Ribbon-loli."
"Ribbon-loli?" Clare asked while rubbing Ophelia's shoulders. "That's an odd name."
"We've set a playdate for tomorrow," Ophelia said. "We'll be going to Southshore with high level characters and smash the place up!"
"Having fun ruining other people's fun," Clare shook her head. "That's so you. Still, all this roleplaying stuff with characters and somesuch. It's a bit beyond me. "
"Oh ye of little faith," Ophelia shook her head. "This isn't about just making a character. This is about optimizing your character so you can do the most damage. A well-made protection paladin can make the enemies beat themselves to death on her armor. You see, you start out by putting your talent points in to the tree by a well-crafted plan, like so," she said, showing Clare a screen on the monitor which made absolutely not sense to her. "Then when you're ready for combat, you just go like Seal of Righteousness, activate! Avenger's Shield to the face! Judgement of Righteousness, bitch! Consecrate! Holy Shield! Wash, rinse, repeat until everything's dead!"
"Well, as long as you're happy," Clare said and continued to rub Ophelia's shoulders while she kept playing.
"I'm always happy when commiting carnage," Ophelia said. "Virtual or otherwise."
"Shame about Undine and Miria," Clare said.
"Miria should mind her own business," Ophelia scoffed. "If Undine wants a boytoy, that's all her decision."
"That's the sad part," Clare sighed. "She was just warning Undine to be careful, and not reveal too much. Undine mistook this for a personal attack and flayed her for it."
"Pfft," Ophelia scoffed.
"You don't like Miria, do you?" Clare said, briefly kissing the top of Ophelia's head.
"I don't like people," Ophelia said. "Everybody sucks. But some people are less sucky than others."
Ophelia cocked her head backwards again, offering Clare a cheeky half-smile.
Clare raised an eyebrow in response. She knew what that look meant.
Ophelia grinned at Clare as she typed in a message. 'Logging off for sex now. Bye losers!'. A flurry of 'WTF?!', 'No Way' and 'What about the raid?!' popped up. The last message was a whisper from the player called Ribbon-loli which read 'LOL! At least you got your priorities straight. I'll make sure this group gets wiped. Talk to you tomorrow'.
The next thing Clare knew is that she had been thrown on the bed, while Ophelia had her squarely pinned down and treated her to a very forceable kiss. Rather than enjoying the kiss, Clare tried to move her one free leg so that she could snake her foot between Ophelia's knees. She succeeded and managed to flip her beloved over to repay the favor. But just as Clare leaned in for a gentler kiss, the much stronger Ophelia made it quite clear she wasn't in the mood for just any game.
Clare gasped when Ophelia held her throat with one hand in a vice-like grip. As Clare was struggling for breath, Ophelia cocked her head to one side, closed her eyes and offered a much cheekier and warmer grin. As Ophelia increased the flow of her yoki, she released Clare... signifying she wanted to play a game of a very different nature.
The released Clare increased her yoki slightly as well, telling Ophelia she accepted her invitation. Ophelia responded by lifting her T-shirt over her head and throwing it across the room. Clare quickly did the same, and it didn't take long for them to send their last clothes flying and ended up rolling over the bed kissing and embracing.
By the time the two lovers had synchronised their yoki, Clare was almost overwhelmed by the sheer power of Ophelia. She threw her head back and let out a laboured groan before pushing back with her own yoki. Ophelia reacted as if being hit in the face with a whip and relented somewhat, only to push back with full force, sinking down and biting down hard in the flesh of Clare's shoulder.
For them, the sex they often enjoyed was a fun past-time experienced through their physical bodies alone. But this wasn't sex for them: this was making love.
By focusing the majority of their yoki upon the pleasure-centers of their brains, they created a spiritual union that went much deeper than mere physical sex. It was a competition of will and the more they fought each other, the more they stimulated each other.
Clare yanked on Ophelia's braid with super-human strength, forcing her lover to release her shoulder. They kissed again, this time focusing the remainder of their yoki to the very tips of their tongues, literally making sparks fly as they assaulted each other's minds once more.
And so it continued, Ophelia's raw power against Clare's subtle finesse.
The powerful Ophelia's main tactic was to overwhelm at all fronts, while Clare's lesser power forced her to be more clever. Her tactic was to try to stab through Ophelia's defenses with subtle moves and pressing the right buttons at the right time.
Slowly but surely, the lovers increased their yoki at the same time, upping the scales as the game continued. They held each other as they wildly rolled over the bed, kissing and caressing as they started to lose sight of their surroundings and purely focused on each other.
This technique, which they had discovered more or less by accident, could be done by all the youma-touched, but as they had been together for such a long time, they had honed it to perfection.
But make no mistake, the object of the game was to win. And so far, Clare was winning.
Ophelia stopped moving, threw her head back and closed her eyes. She was sweating profusely and let out a few ragged breaths as she tried to put up a resistance to Clare's assault.
However, whenever Ophelia was losing, Ophelia started cheating. She recovered enough made a grab for Clare, looking her in the eyes while grinning wickedly... just before ramming Clare's head into the wall. Needless to say, this wasn't very good for Clare's focus. While Clare tried to recover, she found herself pinned by Ophelia, who was gently cupping one of Clare's breasts with her free hand. Ophelia giggled when the double whammy of mental and physical stimulation decreased Clare's focus even more.
Clare gritted her teeth: she was determined not to lose. It took her all her remaining willpower to break free of Ophelia's hold. Barely being able to control her movements, she snaked an arm behind Ophelia's and yanked on Ophelia's braid as hard as she could. This action interrupted Ophelia's focus and allowed Clare to retaliate with a few stabs of her own. She pinned her Ophelia down to the bed, madly kissing her once more but this time keeping the focus.
Ophelia assaulted her with twice the power, making Clare's head ring from all the stimulation as she straddled her lover while she held down her arms. Ophelia was half delirious with pleasure and offered little resistance this time.
"You..." Clare gasped. "Are mine. All mine."
"You... always... wanted me..." Ophelia closed her eyes and laughed like a madwoman. Then suddenly, she opened her eyes again, glowing deep gold this time.
"You are CONDEMNED to me!" Ophelia giggled, made a grab for Clare and pushed her down again. Clare was not relenting and fought back with all her power, feeling the veins hardening in her cheek. The lovers continued rolling over the bed, never clear on who was winning. Both realized that they were moving fast to the inevitable crescendo.
One last kiss, one last caress. They held each other tightly as the build-up of power in their bodies exploded outward in release. All around them the sheer power crackled in the air. Electronic devices went haywire all, a crack appeared in the windowpane nearest to them and as Ophelia and Clare threw each other across the bed and both screamed their release, every single fuse in the building blew.
Utterly spent and covered in sweat, they lay sprawled on the bed. It took Clare some time to crawl her way up to Ophelia and lay her head on her shoulder. Ophelia, her expression one of tired accomplishment, wrapped an arm around Clare and ruffled her hair somewhat.
"L-love you..." Clare whispered.
"I... understand," Ophelia sighed between ragged breaths. "I... love me too."
"I feel completely legless," Clare sighed. "And we need to get a new alarm-clock. We fried another one."
The two lovers lay in silence for a moment. Somehow, during the lovemaking, Ophelia's braid had gotten loose. Clare gently rubbed her fingers through the soft grayish hair.
"Hmm, I like your hair loose," Clare said. "You should loosen your hair more often."
"Nah," Ophelia shrugged. "People might mistake me for Irene."
Clare snuggled up and lay her head on her lover's shoulder for a bit.
"So," Ophelia grinned wickedly. "Wanna fuck some more, Clare?"
"Are you kidding?" Clare panted. "We barely have any energy left! We needed a full week regain our full yoki last time."
"Are you kidding? Last time we almost Awakened right here in bed. This time we weren't even close to using that level of power." Ophelia licked her lips. "We... could do it the old-fashioned way until we build up to a second go."
"You're incorrigible."
"So that's a 'no', then?"
"I didn't say that!" Clare protested quickly.
"Goody!" Ophelia giggled like a schoolgirl.
--
"Clare and Ophelia are going at it like horny rabbits," Helen grinned. "Poor Tabitha. She's gotta have some major sensory overload right now."
"I know," Deneve replied. "I could feel that yoki-discharge from here. Those two should keep their private moments more... private."
Helen slipped on the couch and handed Deneve a cup of water while she was watching an old Laurel and Hardy movie on the television. It was night outside and the only light in the apartment came from the television and a single dimmed reading light on the other side of the room.
"Thanks," Deneve replied while she stretched slightly. She wasn't tired, as she had slept a full night three days ago, but she felt as if she'd been mentally trapped between a rock and a hard place.
"Hey," Helen grinned as she fished a plastic bag with dried leaves from her pocket. "Want some of this? Just got it from Sadik, good Jamaican blend. It'll help you think."
Deneve shook her head. "No, thanks. Not tonight."
"Hmm," Helen opened the bag and shook a little bit of the leaves on a piece of paper to start rolling a blunt. Deneve smiled and shook her head: Helen always knew how to enjoy herself.
But that was Helen. In every era they had lived, Helen had always found the best ways to enjoy herself. If any of the claymores could say that they had truly lived, it would be Helen. Wether it was a village fair in Ireland, a ho-down in Virginia, a speak-easy in New York, a sock-hop in Minnesota, a discotheque in Paris, a house-party in Berlin or a lounge in Amsterdam, Helen had always been the life of the party. Guilt-free pleasure was her raison d'etre, ever since the moment she'd been freed from the obligations thrust upon her by the Organization. And Deneve had always been along for the ride. The two of them had had adventures all over the world.
They'd been crewmembers on the voyages of Captain Cook, they had ridden with Pancho de Villa during the early days of the Mexican revolution, travelled the silk route by foot just for the hell of it and had even spent some time trekking through Africa by elephant.
Deneve simply couldn't imagine life without Helen. They weren't lovers, such as Clare and Ophelia. Nor was there a complicated deep romantic friendship between them, such as Miria and Tabitha enjoyed. No, Deneve was just Deneve and Helen was just Helen. Comrades in arms and friends for life... and considering they were technically immortal, that meant that their friendship ran very deep.
Deneve watched Helen as she lit up her blunt and leaned back on the couch with her arms folded in her neck to puff away quietly. Helen clothes belied her light-hearted ways: simple jeans and sleeveless linen tank-top... it offered a nice view of the tattoo which Helen had had put on her arm on a whim back in the eighties.
"Hey, I remember this one," Helen said. On screen, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy were stuck in a traffic jam. Tensions ran high and Laurel, Hardy and the other motorists/actors were busy ripping apart each other's cars. "Wow, this was one of the first movies we ever saw."
"I remember too," Deneve closed her eyes and smiled. "It was in that small stuffy cinema with the burly pianist down the street of our apartment."
"Remember how amazed we were? Black and white moving pictures on a screen without sound. A play without actors. Wow. We were so easily pleased back then."
"It was completely new," Deneve said. "It got old fast when we got to the point we went to the movies three times a week."
"Look at that, all those cars destroyed," Helen took another puff from her blunt. "Cars were so expensive back then and they destroyed, what? Fifty cars? Seventy? Just for this movie alone."
"At the very least," Deneve said.
Helen remained quiet for a while. "I still say we should have kept that old T-Ford we got. We could made a lot of money if we'd sold it today."
"Helen," Deneve crossed her arms. "That car wasn't even second-hand, it was more like tenth-hand. It left a trail of screws, oil and parts where ever it went!"
"Are you kidding, it was an experience! We raced through the streets at 20 miles per hour and we wore those silly little leather caps with goggles. You were so scared in that car."
"I was not!"
"Yes, you were!" Helen protested. "You were clawing at the dashboard, shrieking like a cheerleader in heat whenever we made a bend!"
"You exaggerate," Deneve pressed. "Though, I must admit, the age and state of the car combined with your heinous driving skills might have been... unnerving at the time."
"Hah, you were scared," Helen giggled. "Hey, we finally talked Undine down, by the way."
Deneve nodded. However much she liked Undine, she couldn't support some of her actions. Undine's more or less constant efforts to try to undermine Miria's position and character were simply unacceptable and it had caused more than a little friction between them over the past centuries. Miria was her friend, and Deneve still consider her her superior in many ways. Miria had taken a lot of efforts to make sure each and every one of the claymores and other youma-touched were kept safe, but that was something which was not always appreciated by some.
"Undine has a big mouth she must learn to keep shut at the right moments," Deneve sighed. "But after all these years, I'm afraid she never will. Miria just asked her to be careful and she just blew up."
"Miria should learn some people are just lost causes, then."
"Undine is not a lost cause," Deneve said. "She's just... wayward, that's all."
"So..." Helen said, intending to change the subject.
"What 'so'?"
"So so."
"How so?"
"So like this."
"So like what?"
Helen narrowed her eyes and glared at Deneve. "Oh, fuck off," she snorted.
A smile tugged at Deneve's lips. "Hmm," she rubbed her chin. "Odd saying, really. How does one actually 'fuck off'. In a literal sense, I mean. I can see the possibility when told to two persons, but when told to one person, it seems a tad more difficult. And in public? What will the neighbors say?"
Helen smiled and shook her head. "Fuck off again," she laughed. "I was going to say. 'So...'."
"And we're back at 'so' again," Deneve said. "Hmm, I'm detecting a recurring theme."
"Oh, fuck off a third time!" Helen laughed. "I was going ask if you were going to let me help you think or not."
Deneve sighed heavily, but couldn't help but smile. She was a private investigator, looking into matters for people with money. She mostly specialized in finding things that were lost, be they persons or items. In many ways, Deneve was a walking anachronism. When on the job, she mostly still dressed and acted like a thirties gumshoe, complete with hat and trench-coat. She brought in enough money to live off comfortably but was careful to keep a low profile and cover her tracks. Since Deneve had been doing this job for roughly seventy years so she knew many tricks.
Helen's career, on the other hand, could best be described as 'professional slacker'. Helen was a person with a frightening amount of luck, as she tended to fall ass backwards into the money with very little effort on her part. But then again she was the kind of person who could win a hundred thousand dollars at the blackjack table in Las Vegas, lose it all the next day and not care.
Sometimes Helen tagged along for an investigation (often unasked) and she had to admit that Helen had some good insights on occasion.
"Alright," Deneve said. "Got a case from a woman whose husband disappeared a week ago. Father of two, good job, nice mortgage, lives in suburbia. He left for work one day and never came home. Never arrived at work either, I've checked."
Helen shrugged. "Sounds boring. I bet he's at the bahama's boning his 20 year old secretary."
"Nah," Deneve said. "He's a church-going accountant who works at an insurance company. Boring is his raison d'etre. Also, no money has been withdrawn from any of his accounts and there is no fraud cases at his company. You usually need money to emigrate. There's been no demand for ransom, no sign of life or traces. This guy just disappeared and this is someone who doesn't have the skills to disappear."
"Hmm," Helen rubbed her chin. "So maybe he ran into the wrong kind of people and they did him over?"
"I thought of that," Deneve said. "His wife told me he always walks to work by the same route, so I followed that and asked around. Showed his picture to shopkeepers. That gave me the only lead I had."
"What?"
Deneve seemed far away for a moment. "Well, this cafe owner said she'd seen the guy in front of the store the day he disappeared. In fact, he was talked to by a kid. Some nine-year old girl who was standing in front of the store."
"What did they talk about."
"She doesn't know, as she didn't hear them. But the strange part is that the kid led him into an alley for some reason, and they didn't come out again."
"Weird," Helen said. "You think the guy... well, you know. Was into little girls?"
"It's possible, but I doubt it," Deneve said. "In any case, the owner didn't trust this one bit and was about to call the police when the girl come out of the alley again... alone."
"The guy wasn't there?"
"Nope," Deneve said. "And he wasn't in the alley, the owner checked later. But then there's the kid."
"What about the kid?"
"The owner said the kid appeared 'changed'."
"Changed?"
"When kid talked to the man, she was apparently cute, innocent and spritely. But when she passed by the store after coming out of the alley alone, the owner said she was anything but. The kid gave the owner a brief look through the cafe window and it apparently made the hairs on the back of the owner's neck stand up. She said and I quote : 'She looked at me as if I was a cockroach about to be squished underneath her shoe'. She said she'd never seen so much hate and disdain in anyone's eyes, and that is was as if this kid was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders."
"So what are you going to do?"
"She gave me a good description of the kid," Deneve said. "I'll be checking some school yearbooks on their web sites and hotels in the area. Also, I'm going back to the alley tomorrow. It was getting dark, so I couldn't check for clues."
"You know what I think?"
"What do you think?" Deneve sat up, ready to hear Helen's insights.
Helen seemed thoughtful... and then grinned broadly. "I think you should take the last puff from this blunt before it's all gone."
Deneve plopped back on the couch and shook her head. "Fuck you..."
And after a comradely slapping of the wrists, Deneve decided to go against her better judgment and accepted the blunt.
"Fuck you too, bitch," Helen said with warmth in her voice as Laurel and Hardy destroyed some more cars in the background.
Next time, Undine's frustrations, Clare's road rage, Dauf's confusion and Deneve's investigation. :)