Okay, so i updated, this idea has been bouncing around in my head ever since i saw Kill Bill. This chappie goes out to Kikoken, it would't exist with out her review. Garnering legal hiney protection for a moment here: Nancy Sinatra owns the song, i own the fic, and Capcom owns the hottest half demon twins i've ever laid eyes on. T.T Life can be unfair. Thanks to the muses of sudden inspiration, hopefully they'll dictate something a little bit up beat next time.
drabble takes place post temingru.
Bang Bang I shot you down
Bang bang you hit the ground
Bang bang that awful sound
Bang Bang my baby shot me down
Now he's gone I don't know why
And till this day sometimes I cry
He didn't even say good bye
He didn't take the time to lie
'Why? Is one woman really worth that much?' he'd glared at her then, the mask pulled away to reveal the ugliness she'd known had been there the entire time. Bang Bang, and he'd been dead at her feet. Her father, her only father in this life, and she had put the bullets-half a remaining clip-into his goddamning face. Not all demons were bullet proof. Humans were even less so.
Nancy Sinatra sang the melancholy tune, her voice carrying over the static of car's crappy fm/am radio. Bang, Bang. It was difficult to believe the woman's cool voice could compete with the soaring desert temperatures. The junker she was driving didn't even have ac. And still the song was enough to send a chill down her spine. Bang Bang, my baby shot me down. Ha. Her father had never used pet names. She wasn't her daddy's baby, she was Mary, her mother's daughter. Nothing more in the eyes of the world, and certainly nothing less.
In the seat next to her the old revolver sat basking the steady shaft of sunlight. It was the gun she'd trained with after her mother had passed on, it was the gun she killed demons with. It was almost unperceivable against the weapon's dark metallic shine, but her father's blood still coated the muzzle of it, the splotches of rusted red looked brown in the sun light. It was a disgrace, letting that monster's defiled blood coat her weapon. With her luck, it'd never come off if she didn't remove it soon.
The car rocked along the uneven gravel road, bottoming out occasionally. It was a good ten minutes to the missionary yet. She was itching to get the hell out of her mobile oven. Reaching over she turned the radio off as the burnt out shell of the missionary came into view. The place where her mother lay in the ground along with so many others she had known. The building itself was built on a cliff near the ocean. The rhythmic pulse of waves always reminded her of the time they had lost. Of the time that had been taken away from her. Everything had started here, next to the salty tempest Mistress, her salty body kept everything hidden. The secrets she had absorbed, watching the missionary dance in flames on it's cliff that night, and she never told a soul.
There hadn't been much left over after the demon had ravaged her mother's body. It had taken them some hours to fish little Mary out from the well she was still hiding in. The police had collected the bits and pieces, put out the smoking remains of the building, bagged the pieces of her mother for evidence, and called it an attack of rampaging animal. Some of the locals even when as far to blame it on the myth of 'el Diablo azul'. Literally it translated in 'the blue devil'. Truly the crime scene was horrific. Well they were only half right, she thought wryly, there had been a devil in blue. Mostly it was her old man's fault. It had been his inability to love. To understand. He never understood, but that didn't matter. She'd made the bastard pay dead to rights for what he'd done. Handing over his own flesh and blood for power. A demon's power. Even now it made her lip curl and her nose wrinkle with disgust.
Jerking the wheel to the side, the car came to a halt before the abandon ruins of the monastery. Time and weather had failed to completely erase the scorch marks created by unnatural, hellish heat. Nor had it faded the long jagged claw marks that marred the building's walls. Reaching for the revolver laying in the seat, Lady got out of the rental death trap. Until the men at the garage fixed her bike, she was stuck with the junk. The dark shades hide the multi-tinted irises as she took in the lonely, over grown graveyard. Slamming the door, she tucked the revolver into her belt, boots grinding against the ground.
God it was hot. Her tongue was sticking to the top of her mouth, dry as cotton. She had almost forgotten how hot it could get out here, as if the car hadn't been bad enough. Licking chapped lips, she made her way out to the desolate graveyard. The place was smaller than she recalled. More gritty, it seemed too desolate and unloved than she remembered. The garden the nun's had planted went up with the monastery, leaving the place drier for it. With enough time, this place had become nothing more than a shadow of the life it had once possessed. Her father had killed the memory of this place as much as he had killed her mother. After all that had come to pass, the ocean could reclaim this place, but not until she did what she came here to do.
The headstone was unmarked save for the words 'Mother RIP'. There was no birth date, no death date. The former she never knew and the latter she would never forget. The way her mother's eyes had looked, as she watched the hiding place she'd stored her baby away at. Even as the demon tore her flesh, her father laughing insanely, Kalina hadn't let Arkum know where her daughter lay hidden, not more than several feet away, at the bottom of the monastery's well. Perhaps the safest place to be in the midst of a fire. Her mother had protected her, and in return, she'd killed the man who had destroyed her mother. The man who had tore her life apart at the seams. And now that bastard's blood coated her gun's muzzle.
Kneeling, Lady began to dig. The dust clung to the white sleeves of her blouse and to the bottom of her jeans. When she was done a small hole lay between her and her mother's headstone. Dropping the gun, she buried the weapon. Now her father's blood lay over the remains of her mother. Bang, Bang, baby shot you down, you fucking bastard. So why had she given in? Now he's gone, I don't know why, and still sometimes at night I cry. Lady gritted her teeth, blinking back moisture. Damn that song. Bang Bang, you hit the ground, bang bang, that awful sound. He wasn't a father. He didn't deserve to be called a father. He had no more of a soul than a demon did. Why had she cried?
"You can ask her why yourself," Lady murmured to the gun and memories it held, rising, "assuming you can claw your miserable way out of hell." Brushing the dust from her jeans, Lady got back in the car. It was a long way back to town. She drove the rest of the way in silence.