Spiral
Chapter VIII: Terminal
By EclipseKlutz
PG-13, T
Still pending…
Disclaimer: Shall I continue with the "if I"'s or just skip ahead to the part where I don't own it?
A/N: Because I love you guys so much for all the reviews (and also because I lack a life), I now present to you the longest chapter yet... but only bya page...
"…What I really meant to say
Is I'm sorry for the way I am
I never meant to be so cold…"
Crossfade: Cold
She didn't talk much afterwards. Instead she just followed him, a vacant expression harbored on her face as though she was trying to figure something out, only speaking when it seemed required or when the man in charge of rental cars kept glancing oddly at Syndrome and she was forced to intervene, claiming he was her step-brother and not the escaped convict whose picture frequented the television screen every five minutes. The man had only reluctantly accepted her answer, finally handing over the keys to the moss-colored bug Syndrome had very unhappily been forced to settle with after hearing they were out of hummers.
After this she didn't have to talk as Syndrome seemed to be mumbling enough for the both of them as he complained about the rental car system. Yet her silence was short lived as he quite quickly took a wrong turn and she found herself obligated to point out that they wanted to go to the airport, not Mexico. After she was sure he was on the right track she allowed herself to relax, leaning her head against the back of the seat and closing her eyes—she still hadn't gotten that nap after all.
He allowed her, something she wasn't sure whether to interpret as a sign of hospitality or guilt. Sure, he wasn't like her; he didn't take the comfort of silence over exhausted arguments, yet instead choosing the opposite way around, arguing with every living soul (and in some cases nonliving) that crossed his path, yet leaving her out of it.
She stifled a yawn and allowed her thoughts to drift off to happier, or at least less sullen, topics until finally she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
-z-
Syndrome drove the car into the nearest open space, quietly contemplating just how he was going to wander into an airport, past heavily armed security guards and well-informed citizens, without getting dragged back to the loony bin. He couldn't afford to go back there now—and he personally didn't want to be locked up in one of the even tighter security cells with more ill-mannered yet otherwise thoroughly useless guards holding very heavy sticks.
Yeah—not going back there sounded like a good idea…
He began inspecting himself in the rearview mirror, trying to decide just how obvious he was the "highly dangerous" criminal depicted on television. After a moment or so he concluded that his hair in the pictures was his old evil genius look—his hair now, well, not so much. That was a significant difference… right?
He twisted in his seat and tapped Violet's shoulder. She groaned and shoved his hand away, yet blinked all the same before offering groggily, "What?"
"We're here," he answered blandly, motioning at the parking garage around them. "Like it? Home sweet home."
The look she gave him in reward of his sarcasm, he decided, was priceless, yet she stumbled uncoordinatedly from the car anyways. Watching her, he made a mental note to lower the Nyquil dose next time and followed her movements with slightly more grace.
"So," she asked after a moment as they walked side-by-side through the parking garage, "where are we going and how are you going to manage to get on the plane?"
"Is it really that obvious?" He asked, running a hand through his orange hair.
She nodded, slowly, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "The guy in charge of rental cars figured you out."
"Yeah, but he was probably eyeing the next red-haired guy with the same theories," Syndrome argued weakly. He paused a moment then: "Okay, what're we gonna do?"
Faint traces of an almost malicious grin creased across her face as she answered, "Did you see any drug stores on the way here?"
"One…"
"Was it nearby?"
"Uh-huh…"
"Okay then, in the car and let's get going."
-z-
He'd been left to sit in the car, debating whether to be horrified or grateful, as she wandered into the oversized drugstore with his credit card (under a pseudonym, of course). She arrived just as he decided that somewhere in between the two emotions was his best bet, yet this quickly gave way to terror as he noticed the two bulging grocery bags in her grip.
One held a backpack, camouflage colored, for which she explained only hastily as she slipped a few books and magazines into its front pocket: "We need a place to put it when we're done…"
The other bag, he found, was what he really had to dread. She pulled out a canister of black washable spray paint and informed him to close his eyes before drenching his hair with the foul-smelling substance. Afterwards she combed his hair back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, tying it with a white band before slapping a Steelers hat on his head (why a California drugstore had one, he'd never know). She leaned back to admire her work, nodded to herself, and handed him a contact case, which he only needed to open to find an explanation.
A half hour later he had black hair with a few red "highlights", brown eyes, and a wretchedly bright yellow shirt that matched his hat only too well. She seemed relatively happy with the outcome, but he… well…
"You're gonna regret this one, Parr," he stated, his brow furrowed into a boyish scowl as he caught his reflection in the mirror.
She simply nodded, offering an uninterested "uh-huh" in reply.
-z-
"Your plane will be waiting at terminal C-8. Have a nice flight," the man behind the counter said in black voice, his expression and uniform as mundane as his tone.
Syndrome nodded him off, readjusting the way the backpack dangled off his shoulder as he dragged Violet towards security. They only had eighteen minutes… less than.
He shoved his way into the shortest line, leaving Violet to offer insincere apologies as he dumped the bag and his shoes into a plastic gray box and pushed it onto the makeshift conveyer belt. She was much less ecstatic as she put her own shoes in a separate box and watch him step uncertainly into the scanner.
He got through.
A small sigh of relief escaped his throat as Violet finished slipping on her shoes, and he grabbed her hand the moment her heal entered the last one.
"Excuse me, sir?" One of the female security guards called after them.
He turned, on the verge of becoming hysterical, as the guard addressed him, "Hm?"
"You left your bag… and your shoes."
"Oh."
Another two minutes passed as he managed to put his shoes on the wrong feet and slip the backpack on upside down, minor dilemmas that Violet quickly helped him correct before steering him away by his elbow muttering so that only he could hear, "You know, for a mad genius, I'm seeing very little of the genius part."
He glared at her yet didn't respond, simply continued walking in silence and sulking. Nine minutes left… they'd just passed C-2.
"The Steelers suck!" a burly man cried at him stopping in front directly in front of them as he pointed self-importantly at the Browns jacket he wore. "The Browns are the best team—why don't you Pittsburgh folks just face it?"
Violet rolled her eyes, ignoring the way Syndrome tensed beside her at this new delay, "If I recall correctly, the Steelers pummeled the Browns in the last match… and the one before that."
He blinked at her and opened his mouth to respond, yet Syndrome angrily cut him off, "Get OUT of my way."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll move you."
"Oh God," Violet murmured. "Can you make things easy for me once, please, Buddy?"
"Buddy?" The man repeated, apparently having heard her. "A sissy name for a fan of a sissy team."
"I don't care about the goddamn team," Syndrome answered, narrowing his eyes, his voice suddenly taking on a tone like poisoned honey, "and I'm late for my flight. So, please move."
"Again: Or what?"
"Please stop?" Violet pleaded feebly, her tired voice suggesting that she knew her efforts would wield no results.
As she had expected, she was ignored, and Syndrome stepped forward to deliver a well-aimed right hook at the man's jaw, repeating his earlier statement darkly as the man staggered backwards, "Or I'll move you."
The man quickly regained his balance and charged forward, sending blow after blow at Syndrome's face and chest, only to be quickly beat back. Syndrome would press persistently forward, forcing the slightly bigger man to give ground before he could retaliate; the man's fists were quicker than Syndrome's, and he had a bloody nose long before any part of the man's face became red and raw. Yet the fight was quick, stopped minutes later by three heavily armed security guards who pulled the men a part as the third, and only female, began to check pockets for IDs as she asked for the police over a sleek, black walkie-talkie.
She finished with the man after a minor argument, in which she dominated, and was slipping his wallet into his guard's hand as she turned to Violet. "Miss, you're an acquaintance of Mr."—she looked over at the open wallet in the guard's fist—"Barry Owens?"
"No, the other guy," Violet answered weakly, trying to figure out which alias, if any, would be present on Syndrome's ID.
The guard nodded, "You'll have to accompany him, do you mind?"
"No."
"Good."
With this, the guard to Syndrome and paused, a slight smirk forming on her face as he hissed in an almost accusing tone, "You."
Her smirk widened as she announced to the other two guards, "Well, boys, looks to me like we've got the infamous Buddy Pine. Again."
A/N: Okay, not much of a cliffhanger, huh? Anyways, I apologize for the football controversy and the bashing of either team--technically Buddy should be wearing the Browns hat as I'm from Ohio and he's stuck here as I plot the story... Also am leaving town fortwo days tomorrow morning, yet if you guys can do me a tremendous favor and get me over sixty reviews, I will update as soon as I get back.
Again, don't have enough time for review responses - need to pack - but thank you for the wonderful reviews you have given me. Well, until next time--see ya. And please review.