Hot.
Hot hot hot. So goddamned hot. Duvall squirmed in her couch and smeared the budding sweat off her forehead and tried to think of a single time in her meager existence where she had been this fucking hot. That one time she'd been in Nevada, maybe, but then again she wasn't trapped in a fucking RV then, was she. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, she'd talked to Crenshaw five distinct times about getting air conditioning installed, or hell, just a fan, but no. Magical Girls didn't need air conditioning, and that money could be better spent on random bullshit, and hey, they'd made it this far so they might as well knuckle down! Come on Duvall, get in the spirit of it, we're here to have fun!
God, Crenshaw. Crenshaw, the weasel faced wire frame glasses wearing hat doffing motherfucker. The least she could do was swelter in this miniaturized sixth circle along with the rest of them. The least.
This particular notion drove Duvall, for the third time today, to bang into her phone the exact same message: where the fuck r u
Send. Beat. Duvall peered into the phone and watched as her beloved boss' side of the conversation lay still. Then, a miracle, the little dot dot dot of a message in progress sprung up. Hallelujah, she had the audacity to think, and to continue to think right up to the point that the cute little symbol ducked from sight and no message came. Duvall choked impotently and almost spiked the phone into the floor once, twice, thrice, each time holding herself back because god knew if it broke fucking Crenshaw wouldn't be any help. Instead she seethed, which was luckily one of her most practiced skills.
The RV continued to melt. "Ghh," said the pale Magical Girl handcuffed to the radiator on the other side of the room as froth dribbled insistently from her slackened jaw.
Duvall watched her drool for a while, since she couldn't fucking bear to look at her phone anymore. Who was this girl, enquiring minds asked? Good question, Duvall responded. All kinds of fun possibilities abounded, but none of them really mattered. Down on her luck or something, those were the types friend Crenshaw tended to snag. Not always a safe bet - one time Crenshaw had brought in a goddamned absolute psycho, the RV still smelled like charred laminate from it - but the tattered clothes matched up, so. Probably just some poor kid who couldn't hack it here in Fucking Nowhere, California.
"Kuh," The girl shifted in her drugged haze. Her eyes cracked open and lurched across the room. "Hgghh."
Oh. Was, was she waking up? Duvall stared.
"Mgh. Whermi." The girl valiantly reasserted stability into her sluggish form, only to melt back against the wall in seconds.
Shit, she totally was, goddamnit no no shit. Fucking Crenshaw, where the hell was she? Duvall hurriedly tapped another message out. Crenshaw you asshat get over here ur girls waking up
Not even the dot dot dot now. The blankness of the screen taunted. "Fuck," muttered Duvall.
"Whermi." Eyelids fluttered. The girl furrowed her brow in profound focus. "Whurr. M'eye."
"Uh," Duvall said. "Hey look, just chill alright?"
The girl attempted to drag her hands forward and stared at the floor in kicked puppy confusion when they stayed stuck to the radiator. She tugged harder. "Whurr."
Shit, godfuckingdamnit Crenshaw sedated my fucking ass. Duvall hissed as she stood up and began tossing the room. Okay fine, this was bullshit but fine, she just needed to get the girl's gem out the lockbox and then it was a-ok. Lockbox, lockbox, where the hell was the lockbox, she couldn't see because her sweaty fucking hair was getting in her eyes, fuuuuck!
The radiator creaked. Ping went the bit the girl's handcuffs were looped around. Her body drunkenly slid to the floor, and with the side of her face mushed against it she groaned. "Aaghhh whadjudooo."
"Just hold on, hold the fuck on." Come on, come on, THERE. On the floor under a pile of newspapers for some reason but who fucking cared. In went the passcode, beep beep boop, and, and.
The lockbox didn't open.
Duvall didn't scream. Instead she tried another code, and when that didn't work she tried another one, and when she couldn't even get that one in because her fingers kept slipping off the keys she hurled it into the nearest wall, and then she screamed.
Dribble girl, who had jolted when the lockbox had gone sailing into the side wall, rolled over onto her belly and made a floppy attempt to rise. Her head thumped against the floor when she inevitably failed. "Agghhhghg," she tensed.
Aw fuck was she vomiting. Shit, she was, FUCK. Duvall fumbled her phone as the girl retched. CRENSHAW WHATS THE PASSCODE
Dot dot dot. Message in progress! Duvall writhed in place.
Ding! Oh thank fuck a response okay okay okay, uh. She read it.
Apologies, friend! A few things in town caught my eye, so I decided to take a brief detour. No worries, you'll love what I've found! And don't worry about our new friend, she's really a very nice person so she shouldn't be any trouble. Please fill her in on the situation, if you would. I'll be home soon!
No passcode. No passcode! Duvall almost cried. She looked, helpless, as the girl continued to jerkily empty the contents of her stomach onto the floor of the RV. Jesus fucking christ, this was a nightmare, it had to be, there was no way Duvall was really here in the ass end of the wasteland called California, Sky Valley in a five thousand degree junkyard RV watching a kidnapped street rat puke her guts out, it just didn't fucking compute.
Fuck it, she shoved the phone into her pocket, fuck it fuck it fuck it. She snatched the lockbox in both hands and beelined directly into the front door. The cheap lock popped merrily and out into the desert she tumbled. SHIT, she cried as she toppled through the grimy sand-dirt. When she finally stumbled to her feet she reeled back the lockbox and said it again, SHIT, and then sent it frisbeeing into the barrens in a flash of black. For an angelic moment it just soared, before in a slightly less angelic moment it careened into the ground and skidded clumsily to a stop.
Duvall swallowed. Far enough? She peeked back into the RV. The girl was lying limp on the floor, immersed in a slowly expanding pool of pale vomit. Her chest did not rise or fall.
Okay. Okay, good.
Duvall suffered herself to go into the now thoroughly stinking RV, seize the girl's body by the looseness of her jeans and t-shirt, and haul her out the door. Puke smeared in a trail behind her. Duvall tried to put her upright against the side of the RV, but she kept falling over so eventually she just settled for leaving her on her side. She got a good look at the kid in the process - thin and light and even more horrifically pale in the wake of recent events. Her dead eyes sat wet and dark in her face, gazing bemusedly into the desert.
She sat beside the girl and waited.
A few minutes later Crenshaw pinged her. Is she really that much of a bother? Nonetheless I will tell you: the code is 5729.
Thanks Crenshaw. Duvall let the back of her head bang against the RV.
God it was fucking hot.
About two hours later Crenshaw appeared in the distance, waving her stupid derby hat in good cheer as she rode forth on a hellishly green bicycle.
"Ffffuck," Duvall groaned as she pushed herself up.
"Hello!" called the irrepressible Crenshaw. She weaved and shifted her bike wildly to evade shrubs and rocks, but her voice remained infuriatingly unshaken, as did the heaping clutter in the front basket. "I see you've taken our friend out for some fresh air!'
God, let this shitty girl fall off her shitty bike and break her face. She didn't of course. Instead she pedaled the rest of the way to the RV - with a brief stop to pick up the lockbox - with her face completely unharmed. Smiling, actually. The injustice of this baffled Duvall, but she kept from rectifying it as the girl that was ostensibly her boss hopped off her bike and guided it beside the RV. "Where the hell were you. Drugs wore off."
"Ah my apologies my apologies, I found myself distracted." Crenshaw paused in a split second bow and dug her hands into the depths of the junk basket. She tugged something out and presented it. "But look!"
Baguette. A long plastic wrapped french baguette. In the lull of Duvall's incomprehension she found it forced into her hands. "The fuck?"
"Apparently they sell them in Cathedral City! A worthy distraction, no?" Before Duvall could even comprehend the notion that Crenshaw had somehow gotten to Cathedral fucking City on her bike she whipped out the lockbox and began stride-skipping to the now stirring girl. "But enough of that, our guest was being unruly?"
Jesus. Duvall reeled. "Uh. She started vomiting." The desert wind whispered as Crenshaw 'hmm'd thoughtfully and bent over the now moaning girl. "Look can you take this fucking baguette-"
"We need to calm her nerves. One moment please."
So Duvall took one moment, please, and stood there ridiculous bread in hand as Crenshaw commenced to opening the lockbox. It popped open and in a flash she had the burning sapphire of a Soul Gem perched in her hand. She pressed it towards Duvall. "Please."
Fuck you Crenshaw, every nerve ending in Duvall's body cried. She fought the rising pulse in her head down, shifted the baguette to one hand and tapped the silver ring on her middle finger. Flash, now she was in her bullshit discount monk cowl, whatever. She grabbed the Soul Gem and closed her eyes.
Calm. Calm. Stable. Gem was twisting and turning, it was scared, no, calm. Kind of fucking hard to focus when the girl had started loudly dry heaving, but no, CALM.
It took a few minutes, but the gem settled and its owner went quiet. When she was pretty sure the girl wouldn't start back the moment she lost contact with it she tossed the gem back to Crenshaw. "Your turn."
"Yes, very well." Crenshaw snagged the Soul Gem from the air and without missing a beat tapped her ring and transformed into her own, substantially more distinctive costume. Victorian doctor (or was it watchmaker? some steampunk bullshit) fare, brown tweed coat and new thick lensed spectacles that flashed like some anime shit at certain angles. She still had the black derby, now ten times as annoying for its immaculate make and fit.
Crenshaw did her thing. Little threads of hot white electricity leapt from her hand and into the gem. One, two, three seconds and it adopted a white shimmer, barely visible in the daylight. She appraised it, nodded, and tucked it into her breast pocket. "There. She should be much more reasonable now." She spun around at once and set with confident strides towards the girl. Duvall, helpless, followed. "Now, did you inform her of her circumstance like I asked?"
The plastic wrap on the baguette rattled. "No. Didn't get the chance."
"Ah well, what a shame, we'll just have to do it now." She slammed to a hard stop just in front of the captive. "My friend!" she boomed, a fat psycho grin stretched above her jaw, "How are you feeling this fine morning!"
"Mmmhheyy." The girl rolled her head lazily to stare up at them. Her eyes were lidded in something that looked deceptively like she was high. Probably felt really good, not like Duvall would know.
"Yes, hello!" Crenshaw bowed deeply. "My name is Crenshaw, and this here is my lovely assistant Duvall. And you, my friend, are a very lucky lady!"
The very lucky lady giggled, or hiccupped, it was hard to be sure. "Yeah. Yeah, wow, I'm uh," she worked her mouth like it was about to fall off her face, "I'm feeling it. Lucky. I'm feeling lucky. Wow."
"You should be, you should be." Crenshaw clapped her hands, Duvall winced. "Now! Please tell us your name, if you would."
"Um. I'm. I'm, hah, I'm Indio. Wait no that's stupid just call me, um, just call me Sara. I'm Sara." Indio, or Sara, whatever, limply flopped her manacled hands. "Hey um, hey. So you guys did something, right? I remember, um, I remember something. I."
"Yes I unfortunately had to incapacitate you, nasty business. You were being very irrational, but I apologize."
"Nah. Naahh. I'ss fine. I get like that sometimes, y'know." She giggled. "Aw man. This makes no sense. I should be really pissed. What did you guys do to me?"
Crenshaw was radiant before the question had even finished. She knelt down and placed a hand on Sara's shoulder. "Wonderful things, Sara. Very wonderful things."
Duvall snorted.
Crenshaw prattled on for a while as she was wont to do. Duvall didn't really bother herself with it beyond a point. Same song and dance, world without grief, development stages, blah blah blah. The Sara Indio whatever girl seemed pretty into it, or as much as her truly fuzzy demeanor would allow, but then she hadn't heard this spiel fifty plus fucking times, had she. Duvall just lingered, threw in a token grunt whenever Crenshaw said some shit at her, and tried dearly to weather the horrific lovechild of heat and rambling and stale vomit that was this situation.
At some point she also started eating the baguette. It tasted like losing.
When Crenshaw finally tugged the insensate Sara to her feet and ushered her back into the RV it was mid afternoon, and the sky was just beginning to bruise a pallid yellow. Duvall only realized she was watching it when Crenshaw called in sunny lilt from the doorway: "Duvall, this country is indeed beautiful, but we have work to do!"
God. Duvall rubbed her eyes. "Coming," she muttered, and then she bit off another chunk of the baguette and stood there a little longer.
When she did get back in the RV the scent of baked vomit almost sent her out again, 'work' be damned. She checked her phone to confirm that yes, the smeared hell liquid all over the floor had been marinating in this heat for a total of three goddamned hours. Acidic vapors crawled into her sinuses and stayed there. Crenshaw and her subject didn't seem to mind though. They were still happily chatting. More Crenshaw chatting, actually, and Sara sitting there on the couch in bare awe as she paced and gestured and went on, and on, and on.
Duvall could probably stand it but didn't want to, so she busied herself searching the labyrinthine clutter for a purple dishrag that she hadn't seen in weeks. She finally picked it out of, surprise, another pile of meaningless papers. She hustled the grease slick square of floral print cloth over to Crenshaw and held it out. Crenshaw tapped it and set it glowing blue without breaking her spiel - "Now the issue is that my enchantments are basic by nature but if I have something to start with say another Magical Girl's work then" - and Duvall tossed it to the middle of the patch of sick, stepped on it, and began the infuriating process of jerking it back and forth until the floor was clean.
Didn't take long for the vomit itself to vanish, the dishrag ate it like it ate the rest of the accumulated grime it touched. The smell stayed. Maybe worse, now that she'd been breathing hard. Duvall stared at the literally sparkling floor and sighed and went over to Crenshaw and Sara.
"And so you see," Crenshaw extended an arm towards Duvall with cinematic timing, "That's where my good friend Duvall helps. She has a very rare specialty, very useful, and you should be feeling it yourself right now - emotion magic!" Spread hands, winning smile.
Sara leaned back precariously. "Wow."
Crenshaw's arm fell over Duvall's shoulders, Duvall stifled the instinct to duck. "Yes, and as you can imagine I'm very happy to have her. Without her my work wouldn't be possible - we're sisters in arms, equals on this worthy battlefield!"
"Yeah," said Duvall. With Crenshaw this close you could smell it, this inexplicable burnt wire odor. Mixed with the vomit tang it made for a truly intriguing experience.
A tight squeeze and Crenshaw mercifully released her. "I'd be rather alone without her, I'm afraid. The traveling life doesn't have many friendly faces. Duvall has been very good to me in that regard, so I expect you to treat her with respect."
"Yeah yeah sure, she uh, she seems nice. Nice girl."
'Nice girl'. We kidnapped you, Duvall thought. Crenshaw injected you with enchanted heroin or whatever the shit. Get pissed. You deserve it.
Sara smiled. "So uh. So what now?"
Crenshaw nodded as though Sara had just said some great truth. "Very good, yes. Now you get comfortable. Duvall and I are going to try some things, so you may feel a little strange, and you can't leave this couch. We'll start immediately, if that's fine?"
Nod, nod.
Crenshaw slid onto the couch beside Sara. Duvall, upon being beckoned, took the remaining spot. The springs creaked as she lay back into it. Still hurt, still hot, but less. Her eyes were heavy, they stung at the edges. She wouldn't be able to sleep if she tried. She did try, though. Her eyes closed, and her head beat drumlike, and she gave up in seconds and came back to Crenshaw pulling Sara's Soul Gem from her pocket.
"Alright, Sara. First we'll just test the waters a little. Magical Girls all have their specifics you see. I won't get into specifics unless you want, but we need to find your balance if we want to create complex emotions. Duvall?" She held out the Soul Gem.
Duvall took it. Test the waters indeed. She let herself go a little this time, no canned procedures. Gradients, or maybe levers, or maybe dials rose to her mind. She felt out their contours, their quirks and spacings and other things that didn't meld so well with description. The whole picture of Sara evaded, and the dials were all unmarked. But they were there, and they were many. Ripe for the twisting.
Miss Levine, you are in danger!
Jesus, shit. Duvall twitched. The baguette - which she was still holding - jerked from her fingers and went tumbling across the floor. "Fuck," she muttered.
"Huh?" Sara's head lolled. "Hey Kyubey. Where, where are you?"
The little albino weasel padded inexplicably from behind a pile of miscellaneous bullshit. These are very bad girls, Miss Levine. You may still be able to escape if you flee now!"
Crenshaw stared. Her eyes were dark. "Hello, Kyubey. I wish you wouldn't do this."
"What?" frowned Sara. "No, they're nice. They're cool. Tryna, uh, tryna save the world and shit, I can get with that."
Kyubey stopped just out of Duvall's kicking range. His red eyes bored. To the contrary, their actions threaten existence itself.
Sara scoffed explosively. "Aw that shit again, okay Kyubey I know you're real smart or whatever, but you don't know everything. Maybe this'll work out, yeah? Power of, uh, power of love or whatever. You ever think about that?"
You should leave, Miss Levine. They will make you their test subject if you remain here. You will surely die.
Crenshaw coughed pointedly into her hand. "If she wishes to stay here then that is her right."
Kyubey's placid gaze turned to her. I am merely telling her the truth Miss Harriet. I find your reference to rights curious, however. You have altered Miss Levine's mind to fit your will. Would this not constitute a true violation of her rights?
Crenshaw was silent.
Okay, wow, cool, always nice to see the rat, enough of this shit. Duvall stood up. "Hell are you doing, Kyubey. You wanted to pull this, you shoulda done it three hours ago. This is a loss, get out of here, go make a fucking spreadsheet about it."
There was a nonzero chance of an altered outcome. Nonetheless it appears you are correct. It's very unfortunate, Miss Levine had much potential. Once again your purposeless experimentation claims a useful Magical Girl.
"Yeah yeah get the fuck out." Duvall threw a haphazard kick at him. It missed completely, but it did suffice to chase him away. He vanished as mysteriously as he'd appeared. Shame. Would've been fun, kicking the little bastard around. That kind of stress relief was something to treasure.
Duvall scooped up her baguette and returned to the couch. Crenshaw reinflated a little at her arrival. She placed a hand on Duvall's shoulder and smiled. "Thank you."
Duvall shrugged.
"Sara, I apologize for that." Crenshaw puffed a sigh. "Kyubey doesn't approve of our work. Truly, we're lucky he hasn't sent a terminatrix after us since we arrived."
"Oh yeah it's cool I got it. That's just Coobs for ya, haha."
"Sadly. But!" said Crenshaw, "Let that not deter us. Duvall?"
"Yeah." Soul Gem had never left her hand, all she had to do was focus and there it was again, the expanse of dials and dials and dials. She gnawed a chunk of bread as she began to turn them.
It was good that Duvall enjoyed this, because god fucking damn did it drag.
You had to be careful, was the thing. She'd learned that before she even met Crenshaw. Five consecutive disasters and a terminatrix hunt taught you very effectively that Magical Girls burnt out if you pushed them too hard, got aneurysms or fell into despair or went batshit and never recovered.
So yeah, you had to be careful, and that meant you had to go slow. Little touch here, light twist there. See what reaction you get, maybe go a bit further if it's safe. Fine, except it meant that the sun was down before she was even through with preliminaries. She didn't really notice it, but Sara did, and soon committed to filling the time with inane babble. Kyubey was being distant, new girl in San Bernardino was an overcompensating chump, there'd been a fire a few days ago in Palm Springs. Duvall came to know all these things and more, whether or not she wanted to.
Crenshaw was happy about it. Eager, in fact, to learn more. She and Sara went and went and went, until their words became mush and all Duvall could hear was the flapping of their mouths.
Nonetheless. The work went. Even preliminaries could be fun - see how Sara becomes manic with a flip of this switch, how she slides to horrific confusion with the turning of those dials. This discovery, it was intoxicating. Who is this girl, Sara? What makes her happy, what despairs her? Is she prone to misery, is she overconfident, does she hide herself beneath bravado or bare her weakness wide? Answers awaited, and it was Duvall's privilege to judge their content.
For example: turned out Sara wasn't so open after all. Turn the knobs back towards baseline and she started going quiet. Real quiet. Go beyond a certain point and she wouldn't say anything at all, she'd just pull at the handcuffs and start looking at the door, gauging the distance, tensing. And yet, let Crenshaw's enchantment take the anger and fear away and the chattiness came right back full force. See her on a normal day and she'd be just another asshole Magical Girl. But Sara had multitudes.
Call her weird, call her pathetic. God knew she was. But Duvall breathed this shit. Ever since the first one she'd always look at a girl and wonder. Even Crenshaw, though she hadn't touched that and didn't plan to.
Anyway, she'd figured out Sara pretty damn well in a few hours. Time for the next step, the real shit.
Crenshaw explained while Duvall briefly departed in search of chains. "Now, unfortunately I will have to dispel my enchantment. You may feel rather distressed, I'm sorry to say."
"Aw. Will it be bad?"
Crenshaw sighed. "Possibly. We'll need to restrain you for your safety."
"That sucks." Sara laughed. "But nah, I trust you. You guys are cool."
"Thank you, Sara. I'm glad you understand."
Duvall found them under, of course, yet more trash. She dragged the pair of heavy steel chains over to the couch and wound them clattering around Sara, one around the arms, one a round the legs. They dangled uselessly, but a tap from Crenshaw and they went taught. Sara grunted a little as they pulled her limbs close.
Crenshaw put her hand atop Sara's. "We'll talk you through everything before we do it, alright? Duvall?"
Oh. She was supposed to say something. Duvall slumped back onto the couch. "Ah. Yeah. We're gonna try to make you happy or whatever. Move on from there. Just try to imagine nice shit, I guess."
Sara gave a vibrant thumbs up, though the angle was all wrong what with the handcuffs and all. "Right, yeah. I'm ready."
Crenshaw squeezed. "Very well. Let us begin."
Duvall was already offering the Soul Gem, cupped in her hand. Crenshaw extended a sole finger and touched it. The white sheen on its surface winked out without ceremony.
Go time.
Note: One chapter remaining.