Been swinging dead animals in a room that's too small...
Ran didn't know what he expected to see when he drove into Chicago, but as he pulls the stolen car off the main highway onto a small road, he knows he's not impressed. Something smells, and he can practically feel the death radiating from the city's pores
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Even though she looks like she would celebrate with a shopping spree, she's really not that interested. She spends enough of her time pretending that she's into these kinds of things. Of course, sometimes the persona takes over, but gawd. She has better ideas of what to do with her time.
Although, right now, she's going to bitch at one of her relatives on the phone, who is questioning whether or not she's safe to go home. Ugh. Just because her mother killed herself and all that nonsense doesn't mean that she's going to just off herself in the next two minutes.
«You don't need to keep worrying» she whines in Japanese on the phone. «I have to go. Really. Just, go.»
She flips her phone shut, and turns to Ran, flipping her head to the side and pressing her hands to her hips. "Like, oh my gawd, why are you like, staring at me and stuff?" she asks. He wasn't staring at her, but she feels like harassing a random stranger. A hand makes its way into her purse, and she turns on her recorder. "You are like, such a perv. That's like, you're like, that's like, barf me out."
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She's blond, he decides, with really big breasts and a bad fake tan. She's probably gigantic as well, enormously tall and dressed like a complete slut. He doesn't really have issue with slutty girls, but they flirt with him and it makes him very uncomfortable. He doesn't see the point of flirtation. Sex's purpose is reproduction, and that can be done without an unnecessary amount of eye-fluttering and posturing.
He stares at her feet, not looking up, fingers playing with the holes on his jeans. He's a bit smelly from not showing, but he has no place to go. He doesn't hate to be clean, but it's not high on his list of priorities. Finding a place to sleep is, and understanding why the fuck he's a bleeding angel.
"I'm not fucking looking at you," he replies, his annoyance making his Irish accent more prominent. Normally a lilt, the distinct accent sounds strange issuing from his mouth.
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"Like, not now," Molly says. "But you were like, totally looking up my skirt and stuff earlier. Oh my gawd, why do they even like let people like you out in public? That's like, grody to the max. I should like, totally go and find a police officer or something because like, seriously, like having you out here is like, totally not safe and stuff. And besides, you're like totally pushing on my bitchin' style."
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"Fine. Your skirt. It was just so fucking cute I couldn't resist," He mutters sarcastically, too tired to smack her. Besides, the general populace seems to frown on hitting women, something he can never understand. Women can hit back just the same as men can, but he never gets in trouble for punching a man. People just coo at him and assume he was being abused. Just because he's short doesn't mean he's weak and powerless.
Eventually he might use that to his advantage, but for now he just wants to wallow.
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She leans forward slightly, but stops, nearly falling over and making a miffed noise. The stench. The stench.
"Oh, gag me with a spoon," she says, faking a few extra chokes. "Do you like, ever bathe or anything? That's like, totally not awesome. Oh my gawd, you're like, homeless aren't you? I've got like, a homeless guy hitting on me and shit and it's like, totally nauseating and gross. I should totally like call the cops and stuff because you could like, pull this stuff on someone else and they might not be as, like, yanno, understanding as me and stuff."
God, this feels good. She hasn't felt like this in far too long. Since she psychoanalyzed the shrink in the rehab facility, actually.
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"But you forgot to ask if I care, which I fucking don't," he finishes rudely, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. He's actually rather cute, but he doesn't put any effort into his appearance because he doesn't care. He could probably enrich his life if he bothered to care, but like manners, he finds it a waste of time.
Time that can be spend playing Gears of War and eating Bagel Bites. Now he really wants Bagel Bites and he knows he's going to have to walk past her to do so. He wonders if he can get arrested for shoving her really hard and running away.
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But if the boy's going to offer to be humiliated, of course she'll take it. There is nothing more satisfying than a healthy dose of humiliation. Of course, it doesn't escape Molly that he's being sarcastic. She's far more perceptive than most people give her credit for. Of course, part of that might be the fact that she's actually a manipulative sociopath who spends her time reading people pretending to be a vapid valley girl. Kind of a big gap right there. Whatever.
"You like, pretend like it even seriously matters if you care," she says, letting a few huffs into her voice. "Ugh. I am like, totally going to call the police now, on your grody ass."
She pulls her cellphone back out of her purse, flipping it open.
"We'll see if they like, care and stuff that you totally don't care."
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The movement unfortunately forces him to actually look at her, as opposed to staring past her right ear, and he looks directly into her eyes. His stomach lurches, and a wave of nausea hits him hard. He feels like he's been punched in the face by a 500 pound gorilla, and he takes a step back, hands coming up to press against his skull.
He has no idea what this is, but suddenly, he realizes why he's in Chicago, and it's her.
Fucking perfect.
He feels that twitching at his spine, and he can't stop it this time. He feels pain, such pain, blistering at his skin and sending his senses into overdrive. He doesn't scream, because he actually revels in the pain, giggling softly, loudly, audibly. He just hates the wings, and what they symbolize.
When they finally emerge, covered in a slight mucus and definitely not pretty at first glance, they aren't the wings one imagines Ran might have. They're feathery, pure, pearlescent white, with blood red lines running unevenly through them, appearing like veins against the snowy backdrop. He hates them because if he was going to have wings, he'd want to them be black, magnificently scary things, instead of delicate pieces of art.
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He took.
Her phone.
Now, she really couldn't care less about the wings. She knew he was an angel the entire time, which is half of why she was goading him of all people.
But he took her phone.
"That's like, totally not cool," Molly babbles, charging him in an attempt to get her phone back. While she might seem just annoyed on her exterior, he'll be able to tell the truth -- she's livid and mildly frightened. There are things on that phone that no one needs access too. She's gotten in enough trouble as of late. She doesn't need to add to the pile. "You need to like, give that back."
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It so is.
He takes a few steps back, phone still in hand, wings drying off from their expulsion, finally puffing out and looking rather beautiful, but he's not interested in that in the least bit. "I like totally don't think so," he says, imitating her voice. It's taken him a while to pick up on the tone, but he's actually a clever boy when he's not being a complete idiot. "I like, wanted a phone this cute for so long." The likes are giving him a headache, but he supposes it's worth it.
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"Like, whatever," she says, giving him a vague wave and turning to walk away. She has the ability to fry the data card, which she'd prefer not to do, considering she stashed some notes in there when she couldn't find her recorder due to being insane. But if she's going to prove that she's able to control herself, this is the first way to start.
Besides, she needs to do a couple more lines because her thoughts are starting to get hard to separate again. She doesn't need an attack coming on in public.
"If you like, totally wanna draw attention and stuff to yourself by having your wings out in public, like, it's your own funeral."
She starts walking away, pulling out her headphones and putting them on. Emotional repression is go time! She can press this back. She's only been taught to do it for 24 years. Soon enough, she's not feeling angry or desperate at all. In fact, she's feeling kind of gleeful.
It helps that she's listening to one of her torture tracks.
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"You're my...whatchamacallit," he knows Dylan explained it to him, and he's combing his brain for the proper words. "Ward. That. So apparently I have to fucking go with you." He's not precisely happy about it, which is why he uses the word fuck. It might be petty, but it makes him feel so much better.
He holds out the phone as a sort of piece offering, but then realizes she can't hear him, so he picks up his pace and crosses in front of her, indicating that she needs to take the headphones out.
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She's not taking her headphones off, though. If he's going to drag her out of her blissful torture garden, he's gonna hafta do it by force.
To make things especially more awkward, she's going to go into the coffee shop now, and beeline for the women's restroom. She needs to freshen up. By which she means do a couple of lines.
Enjoy that, Ran.
She does exit the bathroom, finally taking her headphones off now that she can focus. Now, it's time to order coffee. Coffee is very important. She sniffs, rubbing her nose, and sauntering up to the line.
Maybe the creepy smelly angel is gone now.
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But he knows he doesn't have a choice, and that he's compelled, and a bunch of shit he doesn't really understand, and when he almost walks away, he can practically imagine the old man with a long white beard and robes popping and and giving him a speech about his destiny.
He sighs, and walks his filthy body into the coffee shop. Luckily for him, the barista thinks he's a sad little runaway, and he gives her his best puppy eyes. She rewards him with a coffee and a muffin, and he munches on it while he waits for Molly, half hidden by a large plant frond.
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She's not exactly looking for Ran anymore. He's not within her scope of interest right now. She needs to get back to the sorority house and dig through her notes. Possibly see if she can find a subject to take out some of her excess energy on.
It's been made very clear to her, what happens if she doesn't keep her Calling under control. She shakes her head, trying to clear it as she beelines towards the door. Right. Headphones go back on now.
Glorious torture tapes.
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He wonders if this means a slap. Usually girls slap when he touches them in an unwelcome manner, even if he has no intentions of ravishing them or whatever word those sappy novels like to use. He's only read one...once. He didn't much like it.
"You're my fucking ward!" he yells, probably louder than necessary, but he's extremely tired now and he wants his bloody Bagel Bites. Muffins are delicious, but nothing beats bagels...bagels with sauce and pepperoni. He really needs to stop dwelling on them.
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