11 – Recycled Steam
By Chronic Guardian
Written for Twelve Shots of Summer: Nine Tales, Week 11 – Resurrection of Evil, United on the Battlefield
Taking on Malevolents wasn't exactly what I would call high-class work, but there is a certain art to it. Namely, you have to be at least marginally synced with your partner to make it happen.
"Okay, so, when you say you're 'Not in the Mood'—" I begin, keeping an eye over our shoulders as we flee through the warehouse in search of strategic advantage. "What exactly are we spittin' on the table here?"
"I'm over these guys," Alison, my living human partner, grunts back. "I'm done with this stupid ghost world where everything tries to kill you."
"Al!" I put on a hurt look to shoot in a tactical gap once I'm sure we don't have a Parasite on our tail. "I will kindly remind you I have refrained from trying to kill you even once."
"Yeah, remind me to make you a medal for that," she replies without missing a beat. "I'll even throw in a silver for Olympic level studied ignorance."
"Whoa there, don't feed me frog sticks, kid! Who got the gold?"
Alison slips behind cover and breathes. "Look, I've gotta give you some credit, Jazz."
"Yeah, well..." I trail off and let the banter die as I sniff the area for irregularities. The particular rubbish flavor Parasites tend to advertise with is fainter, but not gone. Unfortunately, it's now complimented by the strong spice of rancid meat and rotten licorice. "Hey, Al?"
She sighs, but doesn't immediately shut me down. "What's up, Jasper?"
"We're gonna need some more city juice," I muttered. "Get your shirt out and slip me a channeling line."
"City juice?"
"Water, kid. Keep up with the verbal haberdashery, will ya?"
"City juice..." she murmurs absently, now studying our surroundings for a source. In my conscious periphery, I sense her tracing the piping of the fire-suppressant system. "Okay, remind me, where would an abandoned building keep its city juice?"
I take a deep breath and try not to let my exasperation put the brakes on our budding sync. "Water's been cut-off here, kid. We're gonna need to get the mosey-on-the-posey and make some tracks towards..." I close my eyes and take another breath, this one to test the air, "Due north."
She gives me a flicker of annoyance. "Due north?"
"That way," I say, pointing straight back towards the trouble we just finished hoodwinking. "Y'know, but with a detour or two along the way."
"Great… and what about option number two?"
"I—phbbt!" I can't get out my response without a raspberry. "Okay, kid, run another mile south and I'll tell ya if I smell something. Now, if you'd rather skip the cardio, we got a hydrant tap source just across the street that we can open up with no one being the wiser."
"Wow," Alison hardens at the bonafide brilliant advice and hunkers down against her wall. "I am sensing a lot of disrespect in your tone."
"Oh, could we not get into reading the couple's playbook right now?" I hiss back. "I'm tryin' to save your skin so you can at least find Tania before you go live your big, bright, beautiful life as the best girl you can be, so quit being a spiteful little cabbage hat and let's go get some city juice!"
"Okay, listen you washed up misogynist—"
"Misogynist?"
"You're not the only one who knows five dollar words! Now shut up and let me finish."
I suppress an uneasy moan as I sense our pursuer coming closer. She's trying to get me over a barrel by forcing the issue while we're in mortal peril. It's a Stalker coming after us, a particular type of Malevolent that tracks specific kinds of people from anywhere in the world. Whatever Alison's vices and virtues are, something in there is drawing this thing to us.
As an afterthought, I consider that I might also be the bait, but considering how long I've been kicking around the after-life I figure I would've met this mutt earlier. Right now, I need to do my damn job and protect my channeler.
During all this, Alison is hanging out her laundry list of my faults. I talk down to her, I am inconsiderate of her feelings—or feelings in general—I am always resorting to violence to keep us alive, I am pressuring her to live her life according to outdated gender roles. Some of it seems more like dragging up old grievances just to get them out of her system, but I sit tight and try to be productive with our time.
The main water source in the area is still the hydrant to the north, but the longer we camp in our current position the more difficult it's going to be bypassing the Stalker as it winds through the building. There's a little leftover in a make-shift rain barrel out back and a few foreclosed pipes still holding out in the next building over. Our current supply of three water bottles might be enough to slow our Malevolent friend, but it would take a little more skill and sync than Alison currently has to kill it.
"And the way you try to dress up every little sentence!" she goes on. "It's like you can't accept being a no-class, street-sweeping—!"
"Al!" I finally cut her off. "Look, I understand you're upset—"
"Then get upset with me!" she yells, definitely catching the attention of the Stalker as its footsteps quicken. "We only build up power when we're in the same headspace, don't we?"
"I—uh, yes. That's..." I stumble over my words as I try to figure out the sudden u-turn from where I thought this conversation was going. "Sounds about right, kid."
"So quit holding back and let's let 'em have it!"
I clam up my jam masher and nod. It's not my usual modus operandi to linger on life's disappointments—much less their perpetrators—but the kid is right: I am kind of upset with her.
Snatching at the mental threads, I follow her into some form of sync and coil out a line of water like a bullwhip, weaving threads together to give it elasticity and spine. I don't get it quite as long as I would like, but it's a start at least. Alison examines the handiwork for a moment before spinning out of cover and lashing at our quickly approaching enemy with it.
The Stalker is bigger than either of us expect, taking up nearly the whole hallway space with its bristling, wolfish mass. We manage to give it a trim in its cheek fur and enough of a shock that it doesn't immediately pack our bags for the pinebox hotel.
"Is that all you got?" Alison shouts, glaring not at the Malevolent, but at my whip. "Come on! At least give me more zing!"
Gritting my teeth, I chase after those same feelings of helpless belligerence and the cords in our whip temper to a supple steel. Eventually, I mentally catch the rage train Alison has whipped up and just let it carry my thoughts. It's not fair that I've been stuck in this half-life, it's abominable that I have to deal with a young whippersnapper like Alison, and it's just full-stop horrendous that we can't catch a break with all these damn Malevolents swarming around the city!
The whip cuts through the air and sends our wolf-shaped nuisance spinning into the wall. It yelps and scrambles for footing as Alison strikes again. Our connection is volatile, but remains cohesive enough that she can harness it. I pour what I can into the mix and just hope it's enough.
The result is more potent than a bootleg batch of bleach-based moonshine. The Stalker is nothing but ribbons in less than a minute. We're boiling over so bad by then that Alison needs to vent the rest into structural damage. By the time she calms down, it looks like a couple of grizzlies had it out with a buffalo. She sinks to her knees and takes a shuddering breath as the dust settles.
I don't know what to say, but I gather myself together enough to at least make sure we're not drawing anything else towards us. The air comes back empty and stale. Whatever other Malevolents were in the area a minute ago have realized we're nothing to be tussled with.
It's an impression I'm beginning to share.
I lick my lips. "Hey, kid?"
Alison is slowly breathing with her eyes closed and doesn't respond.
"I… I'm sorry if I got carried away back there. I just—"
"Whatever it takes to stay alive, right?" she murmurs.
I close my mouth and nod. I don't like it. There's something about the whole mess that's only going to get worse unless we get it sorted, but Al's right. She's alive, and that's nothing to sneeze at.
"I'll get us a trail," I volunteer quietly. We're not done here, but I can take a hint and put a lid on it. It'll still be there to deal with once we manage to get our acts together.
Even if we let some of it off, most of that steam isn't going anywhere.
-End-
Author's Note:
Hey, look at that! This would be prior to "Frozen Pipes," timeline-wise, but here we are again with Jazz and Alison. We're also almost done with this season's Twelve Shots of Summer, so maybe go and check out some of the other offerings out there! We've put together quite a catalog over the years, including some other Jazz and Alison stories, if this one piqued your interest. I may still be catching my footing, but it's good to be writing again.
I may be playing a little loose with how Sync Channeling works in Twelve Zero Zero for this one, but I wanted a play on words for the Resurrection of Evil prompt with both the Malevolents chasing our heroes as well as Alison and Jazz dragging out their past grievances to deal with. Plus, channeling counts for United on the Battlefield, right?
*Sigh*, it's been too long since I've done this proper...
See you again for one last shot?
-CG
8-13-2022