What to do about Magik?
Author's note: I'm a big fan of David Wong (real name Jason Pargin) books. His first novel is John Dies At the End and the collection of deranged visual imagery he paints always leaves me stunned and in awe. I had just gotten done reading his latest work If This Book Exists, You're in the Wrong Universe (oh and I own all of his books in hardbound so that should make him happy) and mused upon how Illyana might interact with his universe. Which somehow turned into a Thanksgiving story.
I figure this chapter takes place after Illyana regained her soul but was very persona non grata with most folks due to her actions. Oh, this is a one shot chapter unless I somehow come up with a story for them.
Note that this chapter is an attempt to write in Mr. Pargin's style, word choice, and visualization, which I assure you I completely fail at. But perhaps, one or two paragraphs raise to his level of creative visualization.
Part 76a: Location… Undisclosed
"Don't look now, but the blonde babe at the counter is really a demon" whispered John.
So of course I turned to look, generating an annoyed second whisperer from John. "Dude, what did I just say?"
"Don't look." Was my whisper back.
"And what are you doing?"
"Looking."
Which just initiated growling noises from John as he resumed grabbing more bags of extra spicy fried pork rinds.
John likes to imagine that we're secret agents keeping the world safe from nefarious evil forces, which I suppose we are. Although secret agents is pushing it, think ghost busters meets dazed and confused and you'd be more in the vicinity then thinking we resemble James Bond in any way. And no, we are NOT associated with any governmental agency, although the cops do call us from time to time.
We, that is John and I, I'm Dave by the way, were on an emergency Thanksgiving shopping run. Amy, my girl friend, had run out of some ingredient and sent us out; and no, the flaming hot pork rinds were not on her list. Nor was anything else that John was buying as Amy was not stuffing the turkey with pork rinds, Slim Jims, devil's piss energy drinks, Jalapeno and squid flavored popcorn (import from Japan, our Seven Eleven has connections or is cursed, your choice as to which), Ghost Pepper Cheese puff balls (brand name Beelzebub Balls, why not put the devil's balls in your mouth), some Spam sushi that had probably only been under the heat lamp for a few days, Wasabi flavored jello mix (how the hell does this product exist anyway, try googling it and the Jello web site has no hits), and a liter bottle Habanero Vodka (infused with the great taste of burning heat).
John currently has this belief that most parasites can't handle spicy stuff so he makes his intestinal track a Scoville index wasteland as John also thinks that they like to strike when you're on the john (meaning toilet). If John was gay, and he's not, I suspect anyone attempting ass action with him would find their dick melting, or some interdimensional demonic parasite is going in from the assward direction. In short intestinal napalm.
BEGIN SCENARIO
John somewhere, about to sit on a toilet, and yes this has happed at our place (Amy and mine) more times that I like to remember. But just as easily could be at our towns single Chuck E. Cheese (why having a rat as pizza joint's mascot makes sense to anybody is beyond me).
Ass Cannon Status: Loading…87%
Hmm good enough might be John internal thought, if his ass had a power meter as he settles down.
Now imagine you've taken you're kids to the rat pizza place, their off playing games and you're enjoying the ambiance and fine food, only to hear the following shouts from the rest room.
"NOOO! Don't Do It Anakin! I have the high ground!"
"Oh… you want some of this do you? Well… You underestimate my powers!"
"Eat Hot Flaming Death From Above Mother Fuckers!"
As he drops ballast like some kind of fecal pyroclastic flow while laughing manically. And thus turning the air unbreathable as screaming kids flee the rest room.
Sigh… John can so be John, which is why he's currently banded from Chuck E. Cheese. Hopefully this fad will pass like all the others.
END SCENARIO
Me? I was clutching a package of Stove Top Stuffing and a pound of Jimmy Dean ground sage sausage, proof that I was both able to read a shopping list and was able to follow it so in the upper fifty percent of the male population according to Better Homes and Gardens.
Hmmm, if I seem... well... a bit blasé about the demon thing... well... the Midwest town of Undisclosed, Undisclosed because no way am I using this place's real name, is known for strange things. Not that most residents could see the things John and I do but John and I were... um... blessed is not quite the right word. Call it capable I suppose. We were capable of perceiving things that most can't.
Now, when I say demon you might be thinking some massive horned entity, dripping slime, covered in scales, having a tail, and if John is describing it then there will be a massive groin bulge. Also the entity is usually covered in blood and gore because encounters like that tend to be our reality. And it happens way more then I want, they typically end with John trying to use his five barreled shotgun.
Usually.
This case... well... she did have a tail, and dainty red horns on her head. But other then that, and the designer jeans she was wearing, she just looked like you're usual ten out of ten C cup plus sized hot blonde looks like (i.e. unattainable).
A blue eyed blonde who was sucking on a straw as she stared back at us.
"What now?" I whispered as she turned and walked out the store.
"We do what we do best!" Boasted John as he ran after her, still clutching his hand shopping cart.
"Fucking up is what we do best." Was my soft grumble as I followed after John, after first putting down my groceries and making eye contact with the clerk who just gave me a shrug as he knew both of us and understood that John was not stealing.
So, I emerged from the Seven Eleven to find John making the sign of the cross with two Slim Jims while bellowing "The Power Of Jesus Christ Compels You!"
"To do what?" Was the blonde's disinterested reply with that tone of voice that just so informs you just how out of reach a woman is compared to your situation.
Confronted with this banishment failure John savagely bit off one end of a Slim Jim, plastic and all, and made an inquiry as he chewed. "So… don't like Slim Jims?"
A scrunched up look of slight disdain and disgust from her as her tail swished back and forth. "No."
"Bet I know why. Do they give you gas?"
Now, asking a woman about body functions in general and farts in particular is not a recommended conversational tactic or pickup line. Girls and guys really differ on those topics. Guys can spend hours drinking beer and having farting contests. Girls… no idea if girls do that in private but somehow I think the answer is a big no-no.
The blondes eyebrows rose in surprise at the audacity of John's question, then narrowed in anger.
John pumped a Slim Jim grasping fist in triumph. "Knew it! Here's a clue Beelzebabe, the Catholic church is the secret owner of ConAgra Foods and holy water is one of the ingredients!"
By the way, I don't know a single woman who actually eats Slim Jims. Oh, and if you check for the expiration date on a Slim Jim you'll find that there is none. I suppose if the Egyptian Pharaohs had been buried with Slim Jims then they'd still be edible. Me, I like to think of them as zombie meat sticks and no I don't indulge. Although I sometimes think twenty percent of John's dietary intake is Slim Jims.
With that it was time for the big guns as John dug out his IPod from his shorts and hit play. Why play you ask? Demons just can't stand music, drives them nuts.
The song Safety Dance by Men Without Hats blasted forth, as much as an IPod can blast with just a tiny speaker that is.
We can dance if we want to
We can leave your friends behind
'Cause your friends don't dance
And if they don't dance
Well, they're no friends of mine
Say, we can go where we want to
A place where they will never find
And we can act like we come
From out of this world
Leave the real one far behind
…
Which caused the demon to…
Um…
Usually they scream and flee. This one… well…
First she just stared a John like this was the oddest thing she'd ever seen. Then gave a laugh as she started dancing. Then she sang along with the lyrics.
…
We can go when we want to
Night is young and so am I
And we can dress real neat
From our hats to our feet
And surprise 'em with the victory cry
Say, we can act if we want to
If we don't, nobody will
And you can act real rude and totally removed
And I can act like an imbecile
…
Which left John, and I, perplexed. So John did what John always does. He went with the flow and began to dance and singing along as well.
…
And say, we can dance, we can dance
Everything's out of control
We can dance, we can dance
They're doing it from pole to pole
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody look at your hands
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody's taking the chance
Safety dance
Oh well, the safety dance
Ah yes, the safety dance
…
Which resulted in the two of them dancing in front of the Seven Eleven while I blankly stared at the sight.
…
Oh, the safety dance, yeah
Well, it's the safety dance
It's the safety dance
Well, it's the safety dance
Well, it's the safety dance
Oh, it's the safety dance
Oh, it's the safety dance
The song ended and she just kept laughing until she sat down on the curb wiping laugher tears from her eyes. "Thanks. Shards I needed a good laugh."
John sat down besides her. "Just what kind of demon are you?"
A sigh from her after she took a long sip. "The kind with a soul."
Wow. Um. That's a first. I sat down on the other side of her.
John followed up with "Bad day?" after spitting out some plastic from the Slim Jim.
She replied. "Yeah. Day. Week. Month. Year. Life. Things are just… not going well."
"Bad situations or bad choices?" Inquired John.
Another sigh from her as she rubbed her eyes. "Both… Not… What I did no longer makes sense anymore. Man… talk about the fuckups of fuckups. Like I always picked the wrong thing to do."
Guess even demons can be fuckups. Which did made me wonder about what could she have possible done.
John pulled out a cigarette. "Mind if I smoke?"
"Naaa."
"Want one?"
"No, those things will kill you."
And a heath conscious demon as well.
I asked. "So why here?"
A shrug from her. "Just started walking as it were. At one point I got thirst so decided to get a Coke. This place feels… like I feel I guess."
"Up and coming?" Was my attempt at wit.
"Despair." Was her reply. "Spiritual rust belt. Like forgotten stuff in the back of the refrigerator."
"Not Pepsi?" Was John's statement. We'd found that for some reason most infernals went for Pepsi. Man if only Coke knew that, just imagine the ads.
"Blah." Was her reply so not a Pepsi girl I guess.
"Want to talk about it?" Was my contribution.
"No."
And us, meaning John and I, were kind of out of options at this point because… well… when a guy says they don't want to talk about it then guy code says leave it alone. And when a girl says they don't want to talk about it then we, meaning guys, have no clue as to what to do as that either means the woman wants you to keep at it or, if you do keep at it and she really meant that she didn't want to talk about it, then being stung by a swarm of wasps in your privates is preferable to what the woman be doing to you.
She looked liked she wanted to cry, but didn't know how. Which was a weird kind of vibe. The conversation dried up at this point as this was really out of our normal experiences, meaning dealing with a depressed demon hotie who's holocaust appeared more personal then general.
That's when my phone rang. It was Amy. I answered and gave a short summery of the situation and Amy once again demonstrated just how much smarter she was about such things.
"Amy wants to know if you want to come over have Thanksgiving with us?"
The blonde froze. Then gave a few long blinks. "Um… like… now?"
"Sure." Was John's reply. "Assuming you like turkey and stuffing."
A slow nod of agreement from her, like she was expecting this to be some kind of trick, which it wasn't. And that's how we met Magik, turns out she loves pumpkin pie.
She'd return and hang out with us from time to time, even helped on a few cases.