Cammy decided that she was taking all of this pretty well. It was an incredibly disconcerting and awkward situation to be thrust into, but she was keeping a cool head about it. There was a strange sort of excitement to being dropped into somebody else's life, seeing everything through their eyes in the most literal sense. Even though said life had to be Vega's. She didn't know what she expected as she explored the place in search of a computer. He had to have one, even if she didn't picture him as being particularly proficient with one.
She was momentarily distracted from her search when she passed an open window. She couldn't help but stare. The view was astounding. Blue water sparkled under the noon sun. People milled about on a shoreline that stretched away in either direction, their towels and blankets and umbrellas like multicolored polka dots scattered haphazardly across the sand. Her own flat was in a taller building, but it certainly didn't look out on anything so picturesque. "Wow," she whispered, leaning her hands on the window sill. She could see why it was left open. The salty air was warm without being overbearingly humid. She liked England. But this was nothing to complain about.
Eventually she tore herself away from the window. His laptop sat on a coffee table, and she dropped heavily onto the couch before turning it on. Of course his computer would require a password. She closed her eyes for a second. If she had Vega's brain, then she had to know the password. It was strange, but before she even knew what she was doing, her fingers roved over the keyboard, entering a seemingly meaningless combination of numbers and letters. It was easy, as if it were her own. That made her a little worried. If nothing in his mind was private from her, then the same would go for her mind with him.
The desktop was immaculate and the computer itself was clean. She thought of her own laptop and how nearly half of the desktop was filled with random images, text files, folders, programs she'd downloaded once and never used. How stray cat hairs or crumbs had laced their way around parts of the keyboard. Then there were all of the smudges and fingerprints on the screen. Compared to her computer, his looked like it'd just come out of the box.
Of course, her curiosity got the better of her before she ordered her ticket, and she found herself clicking on a few files here and there. There were a few incomplete interviews with some media outlets. She sifted through them, only half interested. Most asked boring questions anyway. There was a file that essentially amounted to a 'to-do' list. Not terribly exciting either. Didn't he keep anything juicy on here? Apparently not. But then, if he did, did she really want to find it?
With that curiosity addressed, she went to buy the ticket. That necessitated payment information, and she twisted her lips to the side as she glanced around. She never carried a purse, but carried around a small backpack instead. If this were her home, where would she put it? And would men put their wallets in a similar place? It had to be around somewhere, so she stood up and searched for it.
The flat was very neatly organized, very clean, and these things made it easier to search. She thought of how hard it might be to find something in her own home, where she tended to just leave things wherever they fell. Whether she wanted to or not, she began to feel embarrassed about him being there given how orderly he seemed to like his home to be. But then, maybe her home would be cleaner too if she could pay someone to pick up after her.
No luck in the kitchen, so she wandered back into his bedroom. It was on the dresser, along with a few other random pieces of junk to make her feel less like a slob for once. She opened it, pulling out the first card she saw, stopped and glanced at his ID. Wasn't everyone supposed to look terrible in these pictures? She scowled a little. Someone as evil as him should look it, but he didn't. He got to be pretty, with a charming smile that looked genuine and never forced. Isn't that how Satan was, too?
The other items caught her eye. She uncrumpled a small piece of paper, a receipt for some coffee. There was a book, and she didn't know what a gaucho was, much less what made one insufferable, so she pushed it aside. Reading hadn't ever been much of a hobby of hers anyway. She could imagine someone like him bragging about how well-read he was, so it didn't surprise her that he might have books around. Under it was a notebook. Maybe that would be interesting. He seemed self-involved enough that it was almost a given that he kept a journal of some sort. She looked around, as if nervous someone would walk in and shout 'caught you!' But of course, nothing like that happened, so she opened it.
And it was just as boring as everything else so far. A list was on the first page, almost all of it crossed out. It was his groceries. Pages of other expenses like bills and rent. He was infuriatingly boring, wasn't he? She picked through a few more pages. 'You sound like a braying donkey...' he'd written beside some random sentences he'd jotted down-a phone number, a time, some kind of shorthand she wasn't interested in since it seemed to be about bullfighting. There was a doodle of a man in a business suit holding a phone to his ear, only instead of a person's head, it was a donkey with its mouth open and she smiled at it. She flipped a few more pages, and stopped when she saw more drawings. She didn't think of he had any normal hobbies, but these were quite nice. It made her wonder how long he'd been interested in art or-
I don't hiss or wince when he smacks me in the back of the head like that. I don't give him the reaction he's looking for. Why should I? It'll only make it worse and I swear I'm going to be the bigger person here. "Don't ignore me when I'm talking to you," he says and I nod. Sure, yes, just go away and let me finish. This has been weeks upon weeks of work and it's due tomorrow and such a significant part of my grade, I can't mess it up. "Next time I tell you to do something, I mean right when I say it!"
"Okay." He's kind of drunk, and I wasn't going to argue with him because he doesn't pull punches when he's drunk. Maybe I'm not used to having to do a whole lot around the house but he's on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. It's like he wants to make up for how easy my mom's always been on me. He thinks I don't do enough. She always told me just to worry about school. I figured it was a fair enough trade but he doesn't agree.
"Okay?" He hits me again and I do wince that time, hand flying up to the side of my head. It's never hard enough to hurt too bad and I try not to let things escalate. Just placate him and save my mom the trouble. "I think you mean, 'yes, sir!'" I don't say it because I don't respect him and surely I'm entitled to some dignity in my rapidly disintegrating life. I don't know why she married him, I'd rather be starving and living under a bridge than with this creature. "You want to be a smart ass?" he says when I don't correct my alleged mistake.
"Don't do that!" I finally break my stoic resolve when he picks the pallet up, and smears it across the canvas. All that work, completely undone in the blink of an eye and why did I have to be so damned stubborn?! I can only stare in horror as the pallet, which sticks to the canvas for a few seconds, falls away to the rug. It reveals a ruined, muddy mess and I want to scream at him but what would that get me?
"Maybe you'll learn to respect me next time." I don't answer, just staring, all that work. I don't think self-pity really gets anybody anywhere, but I can't help but wonder for a minute, why does he hate me so much? I was fair, I gave him a chance, but he never gave me one. Day one he said she should send me off to school in another country. That I cause my mom more trouble than I'm worth, that I'm going to be unemployable and completely unable to support her later in life. He acts like I terrorize him merely by existing, like because my mom pays me any attention whatsoever, I'm taking it from him as a personal slight. I just hate him, that's all there is to it, and I've never hated anybody before. That man is a monster and I'll die before I ever come close to being anything like him.
She shook her head, eyes squeezing tight. Were those memories of his, jumping out to the forefront of her mind? It was so vivid that she even felt a bit angry about what had happened. There was a pang of guilt for having witnessed such a pathetic moment in his life. People who hit their kids were a special sort of awful. But no amount of abuse justified him in killing people, in working with Bison. She wouldn't feel bad for him. She tried not to think more about him or his past, fearing what kind of memory she might end up evoking.
So he'd wanted to be an artist, or at least, had a passion for it. She supposed it made sense that someone so obsessed by beauty and aesthetics had an interest like that. She looked back down at the page, wondering if he was any good. It was some woman's face drawn multiple times with different expressions and at different angles and... "Wait a minute," she whispered. It looked quite like her, and she frowned. Was this weirdo obsessed with her or something? She flipped the page. A woman with hair reaching down her back in waves walked through tall grasses. Her back was to the viewer, one arm out, fingers grazing the tops of the blades of grass, and only a profile of her face was offered. But even that was enough to give Cammy the creeps. He'd written something there: "The earliest thing I remember." She thought about ripping it out and throwing it away to show him that she saw his weird little drawing, and didn't feel flattered in the slightest. Why couldn't she be the muse of someone who wasn't a bloodthirsty killer?
With a frown, she decided to stop looking through his things before she became creeped out even further. She supposed she deserved it for snooping, but who wouldn't in a situation like this? She knew she wouldn't find anything linking him to Shadaloo here-Bison, at least, wasn't stupid enough to allow someone like Vega to risk connecting himself to the organization. So there really was no good reason to keep looking, save to satisfy her own curiosities. She went back to the computer to order the ticket. She was eager to be back home in a familiar environment.
Having finished that task, she set about finding something good to eat. She was mortified to find that there was no cereal. Not a pastry. No biscuits. Nothing to satisfy her sweet tooth. No wonder he was so crazy. He couldn't mellow out with a dessert. She frowned as she picked through the fridge. There wasn't a whole lot that she could grab quickly and eat. There were some fresh vegetables and fruits, hummus-she nearly gagged at the thought of it-some cheese. She began to wonder how frequently he shopped for groceries. How often was he even here at all? She finally settled on some round, red fruit that looked as if it were wearing a tiny crown. She wasn't much on fruit, but when she sniffed it, it gave off a kind of pleasant odor. It was worth a shot. She cut it in half, and the resulting, juicy mess made her curl her lip. But Vega's brain was set on eating it after having smelled it, and she had to fend off a craving for something she'd never even eaten before. She cut the halves into quarters, picked one of the pieces up and inspected it closer. "You'd better be delicious," she muttered at it. She was very happy to find that it was, but the texture was too bizarre for her to enjoy the taste. Crunchy, juicy, and sort of hard, and she had to spit out the entirely unpalatable papery bits. "Ah, I'll pass," she muttered to herself as she tossed the alien fruit in the garbage.
She went over her own morning routine in her head. The flight would depart later in the evening, and she had some time to kill. Usually when she woke up, she ate-real food. But there didn't seem to be any of that around. So she'd have to go out and get something, which required a shower. Her eyes went wide at the thought of that. How was she going to take a shower? Maybe she could close her eyes the entire time until she was dressed again. He'd better be giving her the same courtesy, she thought angrily. She tried not to think about the inevitable as she searched for a fresh change of clothes, and started the shower. She glanced nervously in the mirror. There was an expression she'd never seen Vega wear before-uncertainty. "Okay," she whispered, breathing in deeply. "One, two, three." She screwed her eyes shut and pulled off the clothes quick, as if doing it fast would make things less awkward. And then she was in the shower, dismantling the braid as a way of distracting herself. She didn't want to see him naked, and she didn't want him looking at her that way either. She gritted her teeth at the thought of it. "That jerk," she growled, turning around towards the water and rubbing it in her face. "Why did this have to happen anyway? What have I done so wrong to deserve this?" She turned away, rubbed her eyes as she looked down at the floor, opened them and-
"Ahhh!" she screamed and jumped, nearly falling flat on her back. She clamped both hands over her crotch and squeezed her eyes shut. "That was an accident, just an accident!" she cried over and over as if in apology. But now she was doing worse than before by touching it. She made a noise at that, and held her hands up. "Shower's over!" she cried, turning the water off and grabbing the towel as quickly as possible. This was obviously causing her too much stress, and was it really worth it? Hygiene was important and all but she figured one day without soap wouldn't kill her.
How had she botched that so badly? With a sigh, she screwed her eyes shut again and dried herself off quickly. It was just an accident. She didn't have to tell him she'd felt him up. She groaned at herself, hoping he was faring better. Eyes still shut, she pulled on the clothes and was at last able to look around again. If she was going to be in this body for an extended period of time, she thought she may consider blindfolding herself before showers. With a frown, she reached behind her head and, without thinking, began dividing the hair into two equal amounts and started to braid her pigtails as usual. When she realised they ended much sooner than usual, she glanced in the mirror and nearly choked, forgetting this wasn't her hair. But then she giggled. Would it be wrong of her to take pictures to use as blackmail against the vain celebrity sometime? She frowned when she remembered he could do the same sort of thing to her. This wasn't any fun if she couldn't have an edge over him. Quickly, she unraveled the braids, and put the hair in his usual loose, careless style. After brushing her teeth and finding a pair of shoes, she set out in search of food.
In England, a very irate body-snatched individual was ready to tear his hair out. Something horrible was happening. He felt like he was dying. Wondering if perhaps it had to do with the experiment, he managed to make his way over to the computer and send a message to Bison, practically begging the man to call Cammy's phone. He would've called her, but he couldn't risk putting her in a panic. Plus, he knew for a fact that Bison would call him quicker this way. If he had to go through Cammy to get Bison's number again, it could result in more arguments and threats.
He groaned as he dragged himself back to the bed. His insides were trying to twist their way out of his body, he was sure of it. He dropped onto the bed, curling in on himself. One of the cats jumped up onto the bed to lay next to him, and he half-heartedly tried to push it away. It didn't seem perturbed, and he couldn't be bothered to keep trying. Finally, he heard the phone ringing beside him, and he snatched it up, answering it without even looking.
"What's gone wrong?" Bison asked. The message Vega had sent claimed it was urgent, that it had to be something to do with the body-switch. Bison thought that perhaps it was an unfortunate side-effect of the body attempting to reject his consciousness, or maybe even a degenerative issue with the body itself.
"My insides feel like they're being clawed out by an animal," Vega said. "I have such a bad headache, and I think I might vomit my intestines up."
Bison was quiet for a minute, contemplating the symptoms. "Where is the pain, exactly?"
Vega grabbed his lower stomach as he thought about it. "Lower on the abdomen, or the lower back. It's difficult to say."
Then, Bison sighed. Was this really Vega's urgent message? He laughed a bit, amused by how oblivious Vega was about this, and said, "You aren't dying."
"How can you tell? It feels like it," he muttered into the phone. "It's as if someone's stabbed me in the stomach and started twisting the knife around."
"Because it happens to billions of women once every month, and they all live through it well enough."
Vega blinked rapidly at statement. Maybe he'd momentarily forgotten he was in a woman's body now, but who could fault him for that lapse in memory? He felt suddenly embarrassed and terrified all at once. "What are you saying?"
"I think you know."
Vega groaned loudly. "It isn't funny! Fix this! I don't want to live through that!"
"Be patient," Bison said.
He was quiet for a second as he contemplated the inevitable problem that was coming his way any day now, if the pains in his stomach were any indication. "What...eh, how do I deal with...?"
"Surely you can figure that out on your own."
"She was going to be your replacement body! Shouldn't you know some of this stuff?" Vega cried.
"I was going to cross that bridge when I came to it."
"You're no help!" Vega shouted, feeling on the verge of tears. He was not the crying sort, so why did he feel like curling up into a ball and sobbing as if a beloved pet had just died? "You just don't care about my situation at all, and you aren't even trying to understand the ridiculous things I have to go through!"
Bison sighed. "Get a handle on the situation, clear your head. This is her body talking, not you."
Vega drew his brows together, and rolled onto his back. Was Bison right in that? Was it possible that Cammy's body was influencing his behavior? It made enough sense. Her body would still be the same, after all. He dreaded the thought of becoming some emotional heap of tears in the bed all day long since he was unused to dealing with the kinds of hormonal fluctuations that women had to navigate through. Maybe Cammy had a handle on that, but he wasn't really prepared for it. This was pretty pathetic on his part. "How embarrassing," he muttered finally. But he was too irritated to apologize. "Hurry up and fix this!"
"It's a fairly high priority." Before Vega could argue any further, Bison was gone, and he groaned. The cat laying beside him looked up at the noise, and he turned to stare back at it. The cat meowed once, waiting to be petted. He covered his face with his hands instead, and groaned again. Time could not move fast enough.
I don't like to write abusive fathers to future villains because I feel like it's too often used to stir up pity for the 'misunderstood bad guy' or as a cheap way to infuse drama or even to make it seem like the villain's crimes are excusable. But abuse does exist and I figure a guy who's terrible enough to kill his wife for 'disrespecting' him is likely terrible enough to hit their kid. I'm just not a good enough writer to portray this effectively without melodrama :p And I don't mean to imply that all women are uncontrollably emotional when on their periods. I just think since a guy might not be used to dealing with that sort of thing he'd have a harder time with it.