Round n round I go, when I'll update next, nobody knows~
I'm adopting certain canon characters and running away with them, don't mind me.
42. Whose Side – 5
Though Drakken hadn't protested, Shego could see he wasn't jazzed by her announcement. She didn't owe him an explanation though, so she did nothing to make up for the brief moment of disappointment that had flashed across his face.
After breakfast, she was instructed to meet him in the garage. She combed out her hair as she waited and double-checked the buttons of her blouse a couple of times, slouched in one of the seats that had been stripped from the Go Jet.
She recognized his footsteps but still turned to be sure it was truly Drakken who finally entered the garage. She held herself, suspicious of the very air in front of her. With Priscilla in town, knowing what she did now, it was hard not to be jumpy. Shego took comfort in knowing she wasn't a ghost haunting the lair after all though. Unlike a ghost, she could at least punch the girl.
That knowledge hadn't made falling asleep last night any easier. The evening had been a disaster, one right after another, but Shilo resigned herself to accepting that she couldn't blame it all on the disowned friend. She'd certainly misread Drakken when she'd made a foolhardy move on the man when the movie failed to take her mind off things, and the fact she hadn't disposed of the medication before anyone could get their filthy hands on it again was another mistake she was responsible for.
She rubbed her eyes with a fist and stifled a yawn, still fatigued having been up the better half of the night. She knew it was bound to be a long day when she spotted a jeep parked on Main Street, not far from Buckley's Brew.
Head lolling back, she called over with a sweet lilt, "Drakken?"
His brow quirked curiously and he grunted, flicking a quick glance her way.
"I changed my mind. I wouldn't mind hanging out at the lair today."
The somber blue man's stony face shifted with a grimace. "Give it up. I'm not surrendering another family secret so you can get a day off."
"Please?"
"Shego," he growled, parking at the curb.
Shilo glanced into the café, through the golden-lit windows. The shop was still closed, yet Priscilla was inside, although Abigail didn't seem especially pleased with her presence.
"Fine," she sighed, grabbing her go-bag from the bench between them. She hesitated, hugging the bag to her chest. "If I need a getaway driver back to the lair, I can count on you, right?"
He grumbled something unhappy about the van, but the second she popped the door, he blurted out, "Yes! Yes, of course."
"That's what I thought," she said with a pleased smirk as she climbed out and shouldered her bag.
"You'll be alright?" called Drakken before she could shut the door. "With…her?" His distrust as he glanced behind Shilo was almost on par with her own.
She heard the jingle of the doorbell then and grit her teeth. Her fist tightened on the strap of her go-bag, but she gave the apprehensive man a playful salute as she turned about on her heel. "Catch ya later, Doc," she declared.
She didn't care so much that she practically turned right into Priscilla, and didn't bat an eye as she gave the girl a rough shove out of her way. Without sparing a goodbye, Drakken burned rubber in his haste to avoid the troublesome blonde. Priscilla gave Shilo a wry smirk from outside the storefront, and she hoped it would be the last she saw of the girl.
"I don't like her," were the words Gail used to greet Shilo that morning, slipping behind her uninvited to retie Shilo's apron extra tight as the day began. "She'll fit right in."
"Yeah, neither do I – wait, what?"
"She starts as soon as there's an opening." The stout young woman thumped Shilo on the back as if consoling her. "But don't worry. You're not getting sacked. Yet."
"Buck says I could be getting a promotion," came another voice from the window to the kitchen. Chester leaned through it, arms folded. The slender woman with the shaven head and a few extra piercings smiled warmly over to Gail. "Better catch up, sugar."
"Oh, I'm way above you and you know it," chastised Gail, wagging an empty mug at the other girl. "That oven's fried your brain. You're too busy kneading dough to rack up points."
Promotions? Points? A question died on the tip of her tongue when Shilo caught a glimpse of a regular strolling past the storefront. "Look alive," she snapped over, backhanding Gail in the hip before the girls could continue arguing.
Chester vanished back into the kitchen then, Gail returned to her post, and Shilo stood behind the counter ready to figuratively tackle the first customer of the day.
Over her weeks at the café, she'd learned Jackass Joe's work ethic was practice for henchhood, positioning would-be henchwomen in the least compatible positions. While Chester and Gail had their own personal challenges to power through, Shilo was doomed to wear a fake smile for hours on end that cramped her cheeks, forcing pleasantries for each customer to keep them coming back.
The one who had it easiest of all was Buckley's own daughter, who, according to Gail, was bound to be out a job soon if Priscilla joined their ranks. Unsurprisingly, the teenager had been suspended from school. Buckley wasn't especially happy about it – she had wanted better for her child – but clearly, the girl was happier on the drudgery of dish duty than having a half-blind gym teacher checking her out.
At nine o'clock on the dot, a heavyset woman Shilo had never seen before came stalking in off the street, her footsteps as heavy as her mug was surly. She wore a suit straight out of the '60s, complete with a plaid pencil skirt, which all looked rather itchy. Maybe that was why she scowled so fiercely at Shilo when she gave the rehearsed greeting, "Welcome to Buckley's Brew—"
"Cut the horsecrap," growled the woman, whipping out a card from her breast pocket to flash Jackass Joe's donkey logo. "Where's Joanne?"
Shilo's jaw fell open and a bewildered, "Uh," fell out. She cast a quick glance across to Gail for guidance, but the girl was frozen in place, facing the nearest coffee maker and back to the woman she'd been indifferent to until now.
"Well?" snapped the impatient woman, smacking the service bell on the counter to demand attention. Shilo noticed her pull a clipboard out from under her beefy arm then, grunting disdainfully as she scribbled on it. "Each second you make me wait is a point off." It sounded like a warning.
Though still white as a sheet, Gail bolted without ever turning to face the woman. She was no help to Shilo.
"I – uh – who are you?" she uttered, perplexed as the bitter lady crossed her arms to wait.
"Who am I?" She arched a thick eyebrow at Shilo before shaking her head and scribbling again on her clipboard. "Why don't you make yourself useful and get me one of those…" She waved her pen around to point at the fritters.
"That'll be—," Shilo began but bit her tongue at the withering scowl the cross woman fixed on her again. Something told her the woman wouldn't be paying. Left alone and unsure what to do about her, Shilo merely complied, handing over the snack and muttering, "On the house."
The woman, who had still yet to introduce herself, grunted in lieu of thanks and went to the table in the far corner, nearest the hall leading to the back. Shilo had come to recognize those who sat at that particular table, set apart from the rest, usually meant business. Given the guest was scrawling words across another sheet of paper that looked like a form, Shilo got the hunch that this woman meant serious business.
Aside from the scratching of pen on paper, the café had gone deathly quiet. The tick of a clock plucked at her nerves.
Before long, Shilo found herself blurting out, "How do you know Buckley?"
Looking something like a gargoyle and just as pretty, the woman went still for a moment. Shilo swore she heard her neck creak as she turned her everlasting sneer back up at her. "Are you girls always this chatty?"
Shilo almost answered, but instead pressed her lips into a flat line, zipped shut.
Evidently not talking was not the response the woman sought. She stood, squaring her shoulders, and her glare bore down on Shilo with a severity and authority she wasn't used to. She nearly caved under it. "If you want to make it in this field, you will answer to your superiors, woman," ground out Buckley's visitor.
"Look, lady," Shilo snapped back, stamping down her rising nerves. "You aren't the boss of me. I don't even know who you are."
"Of course you wouldn't," scoffed the woman, gesturing curtly to the storefront. "Joanne gave you a call, but you were too busy out gallivanting around with some boy, so I'm told."
Her cheeks warmed a little and she gripped the counter. She didn't dignify it with a response though.
A moment later, Buckley's old pickup truck pulled up out front. At the hasty parking, Shilo would have expected the woman to be in a foul mood, as had been the case when Dr. Drakken had first brought Shilo to the café, but she was only dumbstruck now as the giant woman came barging in with a broad smile and open arms.
"Hatchet!" she boomed, her warmth filling the room.
"I'm not a hugger," the visitor quickly shot down in a reminding tone, one hand up to halt the larger woman – though not by much – and Buckley dropped her arms. "Joanne, I thought you were more organized than this—"
"I know, I know," sighed Buckley, waving dismissively as she swooped around the grumpy woman. "I wasn't expecting you until noon, that's all."
"The early bird gets the worm," said Hatchet. "But it looks like all you have for me today are maggots."
Buckley's warm home-baked smile fell. Shilo had never seen such a worried look flash in her eyes before. It was hard to imagine anything could scare Buckley, as big and gutsy as she was, but maybe Shilo was wrong about her. The former henchwoman cleared her throat lightly and gave an ear-piercing whistle that gave Shilo a start.
After a moment, she heard the whisper of Buckley's girls in the back, hissing amongst each other as one shoved another, and finally the girls came strolling out, backs straight and faces blank. Shilo realized then that all three had been hiding from the guest – leaving Shilo to face her alone. She should have expected as much from them, leaving a comrade to fend for herself. Henchfolk weren't known for their high moral standards, after all – even if teamwork was a desired trait.
With a grunt, Hatchet strolled over to the lineup of women, circling them once like a vulture. She patted Abigail's chubby cheek, commenting, "You've been working in this café a little too long. We can take care of that. And you." She turned a glare on the spindly sharpshooter, Chester. "Do yourself a favor and smack it from her hand and take it for yourself if you catch her snacking." Buckley took a step forward when the guest roughly grabbed her daughter, Hatchet pulling Jenny's hands in front of her. "Too soft," she scoffed before shoving the tender hands away.
Shilo watched as the girl mouthed a small desperate plea to her mother as if begging the woman to defend her, but Buckley remained silent.
"Someone is missing here," said Hatchet, tapping her chin as she studied the girls. "One, two, three…"
With a jump of her heart, Shilo realized she ought to get in line.
The perplexing bitter visitor glared sternly at her before shoving her chin up roughly to stare deep into her eyes. Resisting the impulse to smack her out of her personal space and spit something obscene in the face of the woman in presumed authority over the henchgirls, Shilo measured her breath and held still. She didn't so much as blink until Hatchet backed away from her face, only to snatch her by the wrist instead with a grip strong enough to leave a bruise.
Her beady eyes narrowed behind her gaudy glasses as her grip tightened.
Shilo had never imagined her hand could feel choked, but that might have had something to do with her fingers turning color from the cut circulation. The woman didn't have to verbally command it of her – her eyes conveyed it clear enough.
Sparks crackled from her palm before licks of plasmic flame crawled up her fingers.
"That's what I thought," growled Hatchet, holding Shilo's arm out like a torch.
A yelp caught in her throat as she was yanked away and into the back. She threw a baffled glance over her shoulder at the wide-eyed women staring after her, Jenny mouthing, "Good luck!"
Before she could demand answers, she was all but thrown into one of the two seats in front of Buckley's desk. "Watch it!" she snapped instead, smoothing her hair and scowling as the pushy Hatchet woman plopped down in the other chair.
"No, you watch it," ground out the woman, wagging her pen at her. She licked a thumb and flipped a page on her clipboard. "You have no idea why I'm here, do you?"
And so began Twenty Questions. It felt like more than that.
She asked basic age and health questions almost like a doctor would before moving on to harder questions, like when she quit heroism, how long was she a hero, her opinion on heroes – and while some were easier than others, the fact she had associated with heroes at all in a former life clearly displeased Miss Hatchet.
She moved on to more villainous questions, requesting notable achievements as a miscreant. There was the 24-Seven robbery Buckley's girls could attest to, but when Shilo mentioned the first task Drakken had given her, it began a slew of other questions regarding the local villain. How long had she been working with him, how professional was their relationship, and other questions that left Shilo flustered and on edge. Special skills and what she thought she had to offer as a henchwoman were squeezed into the interrogation.
Miss Hatchet warned her that she was on thin ice and had a snowball's chance in hell, but promised with a grin to put Shilo through the wringer regardless if by some miracle she was granted admission. It was only because Buckley vouched for her that the headhunter bothered interviewing her at all, determining whether she was cut out for henchwork.
When the quizzing was all said and done, Miss Hatchet stood and handed Shilo a pamphlet for Lowerton Hench University. "If you're serious about henchwork, prove it. Get some experience under your belt," she advised. "I'll be checking in."
Glaring at the recruiter's back, Shilo felt a little arrogant for scoffing to herself. She almost burned the pamphlet but crumpled it in her fist instead. She wasn't cut out for henchwork. She was better than that. Who did this woman think she was?
With the door held open and the professional henchwoman gesturing her out, Shilo took her leave, steeling herself to keep from jolting when the bitter woman barked out, "NEXT!"
She did, however, jump to the other side of the narrow hall when the air before her rippled with a faint shimmer and Priscilla Kimbley shoved her aside as she made for the office, the odor of cheap cherry body spray making Shilo's nose crinkle. "Present!" sang Prissy. The sugar-coated warble couldn't have belonged to a future henchwoman, and yet Miss Hatchet checked her clipboard and grunted with a nod to the office.
"And I thought you'd be a no-show," said Miss Hatchet with a note of humor. Shilo thought she even heard her guffaw as she slammed the door shut.
