(no subject)
Heart ache is a lot easier when it is processed through fictional characters. With Dorito dust fingers, she battles through hordes of monsters, leaving her emotions on the battlefield. It’s all too easy when her character can blast through orcs with giant fire balls at a push of a button. In the final hours of the killing spree, Charlie gets the girl; it’s all very unrealistic and cheesy. And vaguely sexist, but Charlie doesn’t have the energy for social justice.
The lack of realism that she enjoyed so much before only frustrates her now. It reminds her why she only plays roleplaying games, the kind that rips your heart out if she gets too into it. Once games with epic quests and magical races offered an escape from her everyday life, but now with magic and hunts controlling her life it’s not the same.
She falls asleep halfway through one of the longest cut scenes imaginable. Her controller is still in her hands as the hours of play gets to her. She’s so exhausted that she doesn’t even dream.
A car alarm outside jolts her out of sleep and leaves her completely disoriented. She sees the carnage of junk food and empty soda cans as she gets up from the couch, which is an unfortunate reminder of how gross the last couple of hours have been.
Charlie forces herself up, and into the kitchen. She loses herself in mundane tasks. Cleaning, eating, watching television…nothing is exciting enough to keep her attention. She doesn’t think about Oz, or the pendant around her neck that is a constant reminder of Dorothy.
After a few hours, Charlie has done everything she can in her little apartment, and if she wants to have fun she’s going to have to leave. She has been a nomad for a while, and every apartment gets old after a while. Finding a new town isn’t as difficult now as it had been before, but creating an identity is always easier than getting used to it. The loudest knock at the door brings her back into reality.
Charlie answers with, “Yea,” but the hallway is empty. Her heart races, and adrenaline tightens her muscles; it is all too familiar. The Winchesters aren’t lying about the dangers of hunting, but Charlie can handle this. Charlie instinctively locks the door - the deadbolt and the chain -- as she braces herself for intruders. She knows where her pistol is. She has a good stash of salt, holy water, and various other ingredients.
She is, nevertheless, startled by the woman on her couch. She screams loud enough for the entire floor to hear. The blonde woman looks almost amused, but she hides her smile.
“It’s good to see I still got it,” She teases with a provocative smirk.
“Who-what are you,” Charlie deflects.
“Relax, I’m a friend of the Winchesters,” She explains, lifting up her chin as she adds, “Even have the scar to prove it.”
Charlie creates distance between them as she walks to the kitchen. She rummages through her cabinet as she makes small talk, “A friend? Is that a code for something or are we finished here?” Charlie questions she pours them each a drink. There only steak knives, but Charlie isn’t picky.
Charlie sips her drink, an effort to act natural, but the anticipation makes her uneasy as she hands the woman her drink.
The woman stares at her, like Charlie is being studied. She pours the drink on her hand and the liquid smokes on her skin, far less painful than if she drank it.
Charlie pounces on her, splashing holy water on the woman. Charlie places the blade at her throat, she is exhausted, and completely on edge but that doesn’t mean she isn’t ready. “Demon,” Charlie realizes, even though the woman’s eyes don’t turn to black. “Why are you here? Are you planning something or are you just bored?”
“If I was, I certainly found my entertainment,” She says, forcing Charlie off her and against the cabinets. “Don’t fuck with me, kid,” she sneers the last word, “you may have a cabinet full of weapons, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get to use them.” She doesn’t twist Charlie’s arm, or attack her. She lets the blade rest against her neck, studying Charlie, but Charlie can feel the power in the other woman’s body.
Charlie is startled; her only plan is completely unsuccessful. “Truce?” She says nervously.
“Truce,” Meg says, placing a firm kiss on Charlie’s cheek. “Now, information: can you give that to me?”
“If you give me a name,” Charlie says defiantly.
“Do you really think you are in a position to bargain?” Meg asks, but Charlie does not relax her hold on the blade.
“First your name, then your history with the Winchesters; then I’ll see if you can leave here alive,” Charlie’s voice shakes in her throat but she knows she sounds powerful.
“Like it rough huh?” The woman teases, she finds that she likes the power in Charlie; it’s refreshing to have someone so defiant in the face of death. She could kill Charlie almost without meaning to, with a snap of her fingers, and still the woman pushes back.
Charlie’s eyes narrow until the woman sighs and opens up. Her name is Meg, originally Meg Masters. It makes Charlie uneasy, because Meg has appeared in the novels. She has killed the Winchester’s friends, if things did change it puts Charlie in an odd position.
The most important thing about Meg is that she died for the Winchesters, fought so they could escape. “Is that enough?” Meg asks, tired of speaking endlessly, especially without a reward.
Charlie died to save Dean -- he is like an older brother to her. She knows how much you have to love someone to die for them, and she wonders who Meg loved. It stirs a kind of kinship in her, but she fights it.
“I guess I can accept that,” Charlie says reluctantly. She isn’t going to fess up just yet though; she refuses to let this demon wander around out of her sight. Meg might be nice to her, but she isn’t nice to everyone. If she lets Meg go on her own, she might have to clean up her mess further down the road.
It all sounds like excuses, like Charlie’s pushing it off being Meg’s informant; but she makes Meg work. A few heavy bags that are filled with clothes, weapons, and other odds and ends are filling Charlie’s trunk. Meg drags the bags with a sarcastic flare; as if even the smallest act of kindness killed her a little.
“Am I getting a written report or are you just this much of a tease,” Meg complains as she makes her way to the passenger seat.
“I can’t gossip on command, a girl needs a few drinks- maybe an appetizer before she spills all her dirty secrets,” Charlie explains as she starts the car.
Meg huffs, annoyed. It’s hard to not be fussy, and the thought of waiting any longer makes her regret going to the first friend of Winchesters she can fine, but Charlie didn’t run away screaming. In fact, she was pretty fucking bad-ass, and Meg is almost…inspired. It is always easier working with someone who knows what they want.