Terror Aboard the Persephone! (part 5)
Jun. 15th, 2009 07:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlpireTitle: Terror Aboard the Persephone! (Part Five)
Author: girlpire
Rating: PG-13 (or FRT)
Warnings: This part has some violence in it.
Characters: Angel, Spike, Gunn, Connor, Wesley, Xander, Riley, and Kate, plus more OC's than you will probably be comfortable with.
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please do not archive this story anywhere.
Summary: A series of highly improbable coincidences aboard a cruise ship makes stopping this particular apocalypse a bit more complicated than usual for the fang gang.
Author's Notes: This story takes place at some ambiguous point during season five of AtS. Spike is solid, Connor doesn't know who Angel is, and Xander is both-eyed and didn't participate in the BtVS comics. The entire fic spans the course of about five hours.
[Part 1]
[Part 2]
[Part 3]
[Part 4]
***
Terror Aboard the Persephone!
Part Five
***
Connor looked around again to make sure no one was watching, then quickly opened the STAFF ONLY door and slipped inside. Good, it was the right room. The costumes were all hanging on a long rack that went down the middle of the room, each on a hanger labeled with the name of a character. A couple of costumes had fallen from the rack, though, and there were some clothes strewn about the floor. Connor looked down at the pile of black leather he was standing in. People should really take better care of their clothes.
He stooped down to pick up the leather jacket and looked at it. Hey, this was actually kind of cool. It looked a lot like the coat he'd admired on that one guy earlier, the guy who threw the security guard overboard. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and pulled the black leather around himself. It fit him. Neat.
He really should find himself some different clothes to wear too, as well as Jessica. He smelled as much like vomit as she did. He didn't want to wear one of the production costumes because those would be needed by other people later, but it looked like there were some clothes here that didn't belong in the production. A black t-shirt and black jeans. He checked the sizes. They would fit him. And obviously no one else needed them. He folded them over his arm to take back to the stateroom that he and Jess had claimed.
Connor walked over to the costumes and began flicking through them, looking for the one labeled "Persephone." When he found it, he paused. It was a little red sequined number with a diamond shape cut out of the front so that the actor's stomach would show. He imagined Jessica wearing it and whistled out loud. This thing was sexy. Too bad she probably wouldn't be feeling up to performing when the time came. In fact, shouldn't the costume stay in here in case someone else needed to wear it? He should probably take Jess something to wear that no one would need later. Were there any other clothes here that wouldn't be needed for the performance?
There. Connor spotted a shiny green shirt that was lying haphazardly across the rack, like someone had just thrown it there without looking. It didn't appear to go with any of the other costumes, so he figured it was safe to assume it was extra, like the clothes he'd picked up for himself. And there was a black skirt lying on the floor near the doorway as well. Perfect. He'd take these clothes back, and if she felt better later, Jess could always come in here to get her costume before the performance started anyway.
Connor gathered up these clothes and, still wearing the long leather coat, he snuck back out of the room to head back to his friend.
***
The blue-haired demon leader was making its way up to the casino deck with one of the eleven minions. Actually, all twelve of the blue-haired demons were probably following this same course of action, but the six pairs were each going a different route, and Angel just happened to be following this pair. He needed to take them out soon if he was going to get to the other five pairs in time to stop the apocalypse, but they hadn't come to a place yet where he felt comfortable staging a fight to the death. That is, until they came to the ship's laundry room.
This room was very large and almost completely empty. Industrial-sized washing machines and dryers lined two walls, while long metal tables formed a line down the center of the room, stacked with sheets and towels and tablecloths. The rest of the room was bare. There was very little here that could be used as a weapon, and almost nothing that could kill a vampire. It would do nicely for finding out how well these things could fight.
The two demons were approaching a ventilation shaft - likely their route up to the casino deck - when Angel allowed himself to be seen for the first time. He stepped out of the shadows and spoke to them casually.
"So, what are you guys supposed to be, anyway?" he said.
Startled, both demons immediately turned and hissed at him. They crouched in defensive fighting positions. The minion sniffed in Angel's direction and then licked his lips, grinning. "Vampire," he rasped.
Angel sauntered forward a few steps, hands in his pockets. "Now, see, if you're going for vampire," he tutted, "you're doing it all wrong." He pushed his fangs out. "This is vampire," he said, baring his teeth. He gestured between himself and them. "See the difference?"
"You fool," sneered the leader. "We are not the undead. We are Phlegethonites, dwellers of the underworld. We feast on the flesh of your kind."
"Yeah?" said Angel. "Well, you look like a Treasure Troll. Nice hair."
"Let me kill him," said the minion. "This is surely the vampire in black that Azra spoke of."
"If you kill him, he becomes dust," the leader replied speculatively. "But if we capture him, we can devour him alive. It is a rare treat to suck the bones of a vampire."
Angel raised an eyebrow. "Thanks," he said, "but I don't usually go that far on a first date." He took another few steps forward, head tilted at them. "Now, are you going to fight me like good little demons, or do I have to rub your belly and make a wish?"
At that, the two demons glanced at each other briefly, then charged Angel at the same time. He dodged out of the way of the leader and punched the minion soundly in the jaw, sending him flying across the room into a stack of towels. The leader turned swiftly with a hard kick to Angel's midsection, but Angel caught his foot and twisted, flipping the demon over but not quite managing to break his leg. Damn. When the leader landed on the ground, he swiped Angel's legs out from under him with his leg, and Angel landed briefly on his ass but jumped back up just in time to catch the minion leaping at him across the metal table and throw its body head-first against the giant washing machine, knocking it unconscious. Good. One down.
Focusing his attention on the remaining demon, Angel studied the way it fought. The leader was pretty good at hand-to-hand, he decided, but it never even attempted to rip his head off. Probably because it wanted him alive, the stupid creature. Taking Angel alive had been a physical impossibility for even the most competent of villains, and that certainly wasn't about to change. As soon as he had an opening, Angel went for a killing blow to the Phlegethonite leader's chest, intending to rip out its heart.
Only, Angel soon discovered that this particular brand of demon didn't exactly have a heart - at least, not where one would expect to find it. His fist sank squishily into the Phlegethonite's chest cavity, grasping at the nothingness that was inside. They both looked down at Angel's wrist protruding from the pale flesh of the demon's body.
"Okay..." Angel said slowly. "That was unexpected."
The demon leader hissed and pulled away, Angel's fist making a squelching sound as it popped out of the demon's chest, wet with yellowish blood. The scent of lemons bloomed in the air, stronger than before, like an orchard.
"Anyone ever tell you you smell kind of fruity?" asked Angel.
The Phlegethonite growled, "That's enough, vampire. I no longer wish to invite you to our feast. I will watch you turn to dust in my hands instead!"
"Ten bucks says you won't," said Angel.
With a snarl, the Phlegethonite leader charged once more, and Angel could tell this time it was going for the kill. Of course, it didn't get the chance. As soon as the demon was close enough, Angel grabbed one of its arms and quickly twisted it around backwards, sinking his fangs into the thing's neck from behind, the way he'd done many times with humans when he'd been evil. Instead of drinking its blood, though, Angel used his fangs to rip open the demon's neck all the way to its spine, and while it gagged and choked on its own acidic blood, he simply grabbed its head and twisted it the rest of the way off.
That killed it. It's kinda nice how many things decapitation works on, Angel thought. When all else fails, you can usually count on a good old fashioned beheading. Just not with Pyleans or cockroaches. Or things that don't have heads.
Angel dropped the Phlegethonite head with its blue-streaked hair on top of the collapsed body at his feet. His hand and clothes were covered in honey-colored blood, and it was starting to kind of burn. He'd burned his tongue when he bit the demon, too.
The minion was stirring at the other side of the room. Angel walked over and, very quickly, twisted its head off before it fully regained consciousness. Gold blood seeped out. He set the head on the demon's back, then dragged its body over next to the other one's body before throwing a sheet over both of them, just in case someone came down here before the ship docked again. But that was unlikely.
Angel reeked of lemons, and the burning sensation that the blood caused was very uncomfortable, especially in his mouth. He wondered if there were some place he could change clothes on this boat before the blood he'd gotten on himself seeped through the material to burn his skin. It would also be helpful to be wearing something other than black, since the other Phlegethonites were on the lookout for him. He left the laundry room in search of either different clothes or more demons to kill, whichever came first.
***
"What do you think?" Connor asked, turning a circle in front of the bed. He was wearing the black clothes and the leather coat he'd found in the costume room.
"Nice," said Jessica. "A little morbid, maybe. Only vampires and stage managers wear all black."
"Yeah, you caught me," Connor jokingly confessed. "I'm a stage manager."
Jess huffed a quiet laugh. She was lying on her side on the bed, wearing the shiny green shirt and black skirt that he'd brought for her. They fit her better than she'd expected. Her previous outfit was in a pile in the bathtub, along with Connor's. "I wonder who this stuff really belongs to," she said.
"Does it matter?"
"No, I guess not." She sighed. Her stomach was still rumbly. She hoped that if she barfed again, it wouldn't be on her new duds. "Thanks again. For getting me some clothes."
"No prob," said Connor. "Now that you don't stink anymore, are you feeling better?"
"Not really." Jessica closed her eyes. "I'm so mad," she said. "Getting sick today, of all days? Of course that would be my luck."
"Yeah, it sucks," Connor agreed.
"Thanks for staying with me," she said. "I feel really bad that I'm doing this to you."
"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm actually kinda having fun. You know, gambling, breaking and entering, sneaking past security, stealing, lying about my age..."
"Getting puked on."
"As long as we don't run into my ex, I'm cool with it," said Connor. He sat on the bed beside her and then lay back, crossing his arms underneath his head. "And as long as we're hanging out in the off-limits area, there's no chance of running into her, right?"
Jessica sighed again. "Then you're really going to hate me for what I'm about to ask you to do."
He chuckled. "You want me to go back out there and tell them you can't perform."
"Would you? I'm really sorry--"
"No, it's fine," he said, standing up again next to the bed. "Don't worry. It's fun sneaking around here. It's like Spy vs. Spy. I'm all stealth."
Jess smiled at him. "I bet you say that to all the girls who ralph on you."
Connor leaned down and put a strand of hair behind her ear. "As a matter of fact, I do," he said. "But that doesn't make you any less special. I don't let many girls ralph on me." He smiled at her. "I'll be back in a little while, okay?"
"Okay," said Jessica. "Thanks again."
"You know, if you're going to keep thanking me," Connor said as he began walking towards the door, "I'm going to expect you to get a little more creative with it." She laughed softly and he turned to give her a playful grin before slipping out of the large stateroom, shutting the door carefully behind himself.
Jessica stayed curled on her side on the bed, her arms pressed against her stomach. Even in her weakened state, she had to admit that the boy was kind of cute. And he was really sweet, wasn't he? And funny... If she wasn't careful, she could end up with a tiny crush on him before the end of the night. Better not think about it. She closed her eyes and kept them closed for a few minutes, trying not to think about anything or move at all. She was pretty sure she was going to throw up again, but she wanted to put it off as long as possible - even knowing she'd feel better afterwards. It was stupid, really.
She was having a silent argument with herself about whether or not it would be better just to get it over with when the door flew open and slammed shut. She looked up, startled, thinking it was too soon for Connor to be back yet - and wouldn't he have been a little stealthier? - but as soon as she saw who had entered, she sat up and began to scream.
"Shhh! Shut it, you silly girl, I'm not gonna hurt you!" the naked man hissed. He was wearing black socks and had a hand down in front of his crotch, but it wasn't covering much.
"What are you doing here?" Jessica demanded. "Who are you?"
"No one for you to be concerned with," he replied crossly. "But there's a madwoman out there trying to off me, and I'll be damned if I'm falling for that tired plot again. Was just ducking in here for a bit to... to..." He paused, seeming to be at a loss.
"Hide?" Jessica guessed.
"No! Course not. I can take care of myself, thank you very bloody much," the man huffed. "Just wanted to... put her off my scent, like. Just for a moment. Didn't mean to interrupt your..." he gestured vaguely in her direction. "Whatever the hell it was you were doing. Carry on."
Jessica blinked at him but didn't otherwise move. He turned to peek out of the door. Suddenly, he whipped back around and stared at her.
"What?" asked Jessica, a little self-consciously.
"Nothing," the man said. He squinted at her. "Nice shirt."
***
"So the naked guy," Jeff clarified, "is a vampire terrorist named Steve?"
"All I'm saying is, that's what the woman told me," Xander said.
The two old ladies were nodding. "That's what we heard, too," one of them said.
"And me," said a man nearby. "She definitely said Steve was a terrorist."
"That's wild," said Jeff.
"She's probably just crazy, though, right?" Xander continued. "I mean, a woman running around a cruise boat talking about vampires and naked terrorists? That's not so much with the sanity. And did you see the way she was clad?" He held up one finger. "Scantily, my friend. That is the word."
"Wild," said Jeff.
"I, for one, know not to trust everything a scantily clad woman says," said Xander. "Especially when she's clearly upset about whatever happened with this Steve guy. Who may or may not be a vampire or a terrorist. Or naked."
"Oh, he was naked alright," said Jeff. "I saw his junk swinging around."
Xander hesitated briefly. "Be that as it may," he allowed. "Swinging junk does not a terrorist make."
"Well, it sure don't make anything normal," the nearby man interjected.
The old ladies were nodding again. "I think we should call the police," one of them said. "The LAPD. They'd know what to do about a terrorist, right?"
"We don't know that Steve's a terrorist," said Xander. "The only thing we know he is for sure is a nudist."
"Well, the LAPD would know how to handle a nudist too, wouldn't they?" argued one of the old ladies.
"This is wild," said Jeff.
"That half-naked woman had a gun," said the man. "She pointed it at you."
"Yes, but she didn't shoot it," said Xander. "She was just showing it to me. She wasn't threatening me."
"The woman had a gun?" asked another man. "Is she a terrorist, too?"
"The word is nudist," said the first man.
"The word," said Xander, "is scantily. But I don't think she was a terrorist; I think she was just drunk. Or crazy. Right?"
"If there are terrorists on the boat," a younger woman piped up, "then we should do something about it, whether they're drunk, crazy, or naked."
"Oh, they're definitely naked," said Jeff.
"We should call the LAPD," said one of the old ladies again, while the other nodded.
Jeff ran his fingers through his hair. "This is wild," he said.
The younger woman sniffed. "Does anyone else smell lemons?" she asked.
"Before we call anybody," said Xander, raising his voice a bit, "I think the first thing we should do is tell the captain what's going on." He turned to Jeff. "Can you, like, radio the bridge? Is it even called a bridge on a real boat? Sorry, when I get nervous, I think in terms of Star Trek."
Jeff opened his mouth to respond, but Xander interrupted before he could.
"Wait. No. You can't, because there's a short in the intercom system. Damn it." He sighed. "Okay, I'll go see the captain myself. Does anyone else want to come?" He turned to look at everyone, but they were all suddenly looking at the floor or aimlessly around the room. "Fine," said Xander. "Looks like it's just me and you, Jeff."
"Dude," said Jeff. "I can't leave my Bilgilmy table."
"Nobody's playing Bilgilmy," said Xander.
"Yeah, but I can't leave it. That would be totally irresponsible." He clapped Xander on the shoulder. "Let me know how it goes, bro," he said. "Go get those naked terrorist bastards!"
Xander glanced over at everyone else again. "Um, right," he said. "Well, I'll come back in a few minutes and... let you all know what's going on." The two old ladies nodded.
As Xander turned to leave, hoping he was going in the direction of the bridge, he didn't notice that one of the old ladies was already dialing her cell phone.
***
"I am not programmed for custodial duties," said KR491. His visual sensors read the two humans in front of him as dealers from one of the ship's game rooms. Or possibly bellhops. He and KR527 had been guarding the door to the ballroom where the auction was taking place when the two men had stopped to ask them about finding a janitor. One of the men - the one who had introduced himself as Steve - was very aesthetically pleasing, although for some reason 491's revised programming forbade him to acknowledge this information aloud.
"Not programmed for custodial duties," repeated the other, less attractive human male. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"
"The eradication of human vomit is not my objective," explained 491.
"Dude. Eradication? Objective?" This human looked at the other one. "What the crap, man?"
The timbre of the human's voice triggered 491's audio sensors to read its emotional state as confused. The security bot chose his next words carefully, for length. "I don't clean," he said.
The human rolled its eyes, which 491 recognized as a common sign of exasperation. "Well, duh," said the human. "Like that's not obvious."
This was sarcasm. Clearly the human could see that KR491 was not a custodian. Then what did it want from him? "I fail to understand your mission," said 491. "Do you or do you not seek another human employed for the specific purpose of performing menial tasks such as mopping?"
The human stared at him. "Huh?" it said, confused again. If 491 had had programmed in his extensive repertoire of human body language signals the combination of motor skills needed to sigh, he would have.
"Er, yes, we are looking for a custodian," Steve responded for the other human. Ah, so he was both more physically attractive and more intelligent than the first one. KR491 wished to acknowledge this information, but his programming again forbade him. Instead, he put a hand on Steve's shoulder in a show of affection acceptable to his primary command center.
"I am not one," said KR491, aiming his visual sensors intently into Steve's corresponding biological ones, which were a most pleasing shade of light blue with green flecks. "My body has been designed for a far more important purpose."
Steve glanced down at the hand resting on his shoulder and cleared his throat. "Um," he said. "We uh, just wondered if you guys had seen one, is all. We've been all over the boat and can't seem to find anyone to help us."
KR491 squeezed Steve's shoulder in what his primary command center deemed an appropriately sympathetic gesture. "I would certainly help you myself if my programming allowed it," 491 said, "but we have made no visual contact with custodians aboard Persephone, and my objective unfortunately takes higher precedence than your vomit. However, if I may be of assistance in any other matter, please let me know." He continued to gaze attentively into Steve's eyes.
"No, thank you," said Steve quickly. "Really all we need is a custodian."
KR491 recognized the tension in Steve's muscles as a signal of uncomfortableness, although he failed to register a reason for this sort of reaction. Perhaps he wasn't being friendly enough. "Are you sure?" asked 491. He took a small step closer to Steve and let his hand slide down Steve's arm.
"Oh, I'm sure," said Steve, taking a step back. Steve's emotional state seemed to be growing more uncomfortable. "But thank you anyway."
Why was the human so nervous? Perhaps it did need some other kind of help but was afraid to say so in front of the other male. Perhaps it even knew something about the Class 6 demons aboard the ship.
"Would you like to go somewhere more private, Steve?" 491 asked. "There is a storage closet nearby, an ideal place for intimate conversations. I was turned on in that closet earlier tonight."
"Um," said Steve, "sorry, but I'm married? And I think I should just... yeah, I'll just be uh, going. Now."
"Do not be afraid, Steve," said 491. "I have a very large weapon." But as he was saying this, the two humans were already hurrying away, Steve's body language still suggesting some level of discomfort while the less attractive human was stifling a laugh. KR491's visual information processor whirred as he pondered why the men left so quickly.
KR527 turned to him. "You do have a very large weapon, 491," he said. "I would be jealous if I had the emotional capacity for such a feeling."
"Thank you, 527," said 491. "I have often admired your weapon as well."
The two bots had long electro-pulse guns strapped to their backs.
They turned to watch the two humans disappear around a corner. "My systems fail to comprehend that guy's problem," said 527.
***
When Connor slipped past the STAFF ONLY door into the costume room for the second time, he was unsurprised to find that some of the costumes had already been removed from the long rack. Call time for the performers was in just a little while, and there were a couple of people entering and leaving the room through the door opposite him, which was labeled TO STAGE. He assumed the dressing rooms were through that door as well as the backstage area and wings. Trying very hard to look like he knew where he was going, Connor followed a guy about his age who was carrying a short toga costume through the stage door. The guy glanced back at him briefly but didn't pay him much attention.
The backstage area wasn't very well-lit, but Connor could see several people clustered near the two dressing room doorways, talking in hushed tones. He approached slowly, noticing that most of them were already in costume, although some of them were standing there with their costumes in hand, having stopped to listen to the argument that had apparently broken out between the director and one of the performers who wasn't yet in costume. The guy he'd been following stopped to listen as well.
"You can't do this to me, Phil!" the director was saying. "Where the hell am I supposed to find a new Hermes in--" He glanced at his watch. "Twenty freaking minutes!"
"I'm sorry," Phil said quietly, in a tone that implied he'd already apologized many times. "But there's just no way, man. No. Way."
Connor noticed that Phil had his arms wrapped around himself and was slightly hunched over. Even in the dim lighting, his skin looked a sickly greenish tint.
"I swear if I dance one step tonight, I'm gonna hurl again," Phil went on. "I'm real sorry, man, but I just can't do it."
The guy Connor had followed in rolled his eyes. "You been eating at El Sombrero again, Phil?"
"Bad burrito," Phil whispered. "Don't remind me."
"So, no Hermes," the director was saying. "We already didn't have a Hades, and now we have no Hermes. Wonderful. This is just perfect." He didn't sound very much like he thought it was perfect.
Phil looked startled. "No Hades? What happened to Frank?" he asked.
"Frank," said the director, "had his nose broken in the casino room by a... a naked saboteur!" The director threw himself dramatically into a chair beside the dressing room doorway.
"A saboteur?" Phil repeated. "You mean like, a half-goat man?" He turned to another performer. "What the hell happened?"
"Frank got elbowed in the face," the girl explained patiently. "His nose is broken."
"But like, by a half-goat man? Naked?"
"I heard he was a terrorist," whispered someone else.
"What am I supposed to do?" muttered the director, face in his hands. "No Hades, no Hermes. The two male leads. All I need now is for my Persephone to back out..."
Connor tore his attention away from the strange conversation between the performers and cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said, approaching the director. "I um. I have a message from Jessica Grant?"
The director looked up at Connor's apologetic expression. His shoulders slumped in despair.
Quietly, Phil's puzzled voice asked, "Frank's a terrorist?"
***
Continued [here].
***
Author: girlpire
Rating: PG-13 (or FRT)
Warnings: This part has some violence in it.
Characters: Angel, Spike, Gunn, Connor, Wesley, Xander, Riley, and Kate, plus more OC's than you will probably be comfortable with.
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please do not archive this story anywhere.
Summary: A series of highly improbable coincidences aboard a cruise ship makes stopping this particular apocalypse a bit more complicated than usual for the fang gang.
Author's Notes: This story takes place at some ambiguous point during season five of AtS. Spike is solid, Connor doesn't know who Angel is, and Xander is both-eyed and didn't participate in the BtVS comics. The entire fic spans the course of about five hours.
[Part 1]
[Part 2]
[Part 3]
[Part 4]
***
Terror Aboard the Persephone!
Part Five
***
Connor looked around again to make sure no one was watching, then quickly opened the STAFF ONLY door and slipped inside. Good, it was the right room. The costumes were all hanging on a long rack that went down the middle of the room, each on a hanger labeled with the name of a character. A couple of costumes had fallen from the rack, though, and there were some clothes strewn about the floor. Connor looked down at the pile of black leather he was standing in. People should really take better care of their clothes.
He stooped down to pick up the leather jacket and looked at it. Hey, this was actually kind of cool. It looked a lot like the coat he'd admired on that one guy earlier, the guy who threw the security guard overboard. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and pulled the black leather around himself. It fit him. Neat.
He really should find himself some different clothes to wear too, as well as Jessica. He smelled as much like vomit as she did. He didn't want to wear one of the production costumes because those would be needed by other people later, but it looked like there were some clothes here that didn't belong in the production. A black t-shirt and black jeans. He checked the sizes. They would fit him. And obviously no one else needed them. He folded them over his arm to take back to the stateroom that he and Jess had claimed.
Connor walked over to the costumes and began flicking through them, looking for the one labeled "Persephone." When he found it, he paused. It was a little red sequined number with a diamond shape cut out of the front so that the actor's stomach would show. He imagined Jessica wearing it and whistled out loud. This thing was sexy. Too bad she probably wouldn't be feeling up to performing when the time came. In fact, shouldn't the costume stay in here in case someone else needed to wear it? He should probably take Jess something to wear that no one would need later. Were there any other clothes here that wouldn't be needed for the performance?
There. Connor spotted a shiny green shirt that was lying haphazardly across the rack, like someone had just thrown it there without looking. It didn't appear to go with any of the other costumes, so he figured it was safe to assume it was extra, like the clothes he'd picked up for himself. And there was a black skirt lying on the floor near the doorway as well. Perfect. He'd take these clothes back, and if she felt better later, Jess could always come in here to get her costume before the performance started anyway.
Connor gathered up these clothes and, still wearing the long leather coat, he snuck back out of the room to head back to his friend.
***
The blue-haired demon leader was making its way up to the casino deck with one of the eleven minions. Actually, all twelve of the blue-haired demons were probably following this same course of action, but the six pairs were each going a different route, and Angel just happened to be following this pair. He needed to take them out soon if he was going to get to the other five pairs in time to stop the apocalypse, but they hadn't come to a place yet where he felt comfortable staging a fight to the death. That is, until they came to the ship's laundry room.
This room was very large and almost completely empty. Industrial-sized washing machines and dryers lined two walls, while long metal tables formed a line down the center of the room, stacked with sheets and towels and tablecloths. The rest of the room was bare. There was very little here that could be used as a weapon, and almost nothing that could kill a vampire. It would do nicely for finding out how well these things could fight.
The two demons were approaching a ventilation shaft - likely their route up to the casino deck - when Angel allowed himself to be seen for the first time. He stepped out of the shadows and spoke to them casually.
"So, what are you guys supposed to be, anyway?" he said.
Startled, both demons immediately turned and hissed at him. They crouched in defensive fighting positions. The minion sniffed in Angel's direction and then licked his lips, grinning. "Vampire," he rasped.
Angel sauntered forward a few steps, hands in his pockets. "Now, see, if you're going for vampire," he tutted, "you're doing it all wrong." He pushed his fangs out. "This is vampire," he said, baring his teeth. He gestured between himself and them. "See the difference?"
"You fool," sneered the leader. "We are not the undead. We are Phlegethonites, dwellers of the underworld. We feast on the flesh of your kind."
"Yeah?" said Angel. "Well, you look like a Treasure Troll. Nice hair."
"Let me kill him," said the minion. "This is surely the vampire in black that Azra spoke of."
"If you kill him, he becomes dust," the leader replied speculatively. "But if we capture him, we can devour him alive. It is a rare treat to suck the bones of a vampire."
Angel raised an eyebrow. "Thanks," he said, "but I don't usually go that far on a first date." He took another few steps forward, head tilted at them. "Now, are you going to fight me like good little demons, or do I have to rub your belly and make a wish?"
At that, the two demons glanced at each other briefly, then charged Angel at the same time. He dodged out of the way of the leader and punched the minion soundly in the jaw, sending him flying across the room into a stack of towels. The leader turned swiftly with a hard kick to Angel's midsection, but Angel caught his foot and twisted, flipping the demon over but not quite managing to break his leg. Damn. When the leader landed on the ground, he swiped Angel's legs out from under him with his leg, and Angel landed briefly on his ass but jumped back up just in time to catch the minion leaping at him across the metal table and throw its body head-first against the giant washing machine, knocking it unconscious. Good. One down.
Focusing his attention on the remaining demon, Angel studied the way it fought. The leader was pretty good at hand-to-hand, he decided, but it never even attempted to rip his head off. Probably because it wanted him alive, the stupid creature. Taking Angel alive had been a physical impossibility for even the most competent of villains, and that certainly wasn't about to change. As soon as he had an opening, Angel went for a killing blow to the Phlegethonite leader's chest, intending to rip out its heart.
Only, Angel soon discovered that this particular brand of demon didn't exactly have a heart - at least, not where one would expect to find it. His fist sank squishily into the Phlegethonite's chest cavity, grasping at the nothingness that was inside. They both looked down at Angel's wrist protruding from the pale flesh of the demon's body.
"Okay..." Angel said slowly. "That was unexpected."
The demon leader hissed and pulled away, Angel's fist making a squelching sound as it popped out of the demon's chest, wet with yellowish blood. The scent of lemons bloomed in the air, stronger than before, like an orchard.
"Anyone ever tell you you smell kind of fruity?" asked Angel.
The Phlegethonite growled, "That's enough, vampire. I no longer wish to invite you to our feast. I will watch you turn to dust in my hands instead!"
"Ten bucks says you won't," said Angel.
With a snarl, the Phlegethonite leader charged once more, and Angel could tell this time it was going for the kill. Of course, it didn't get the chance. As soon as the demon was close enough, Angel grabbed one of its arms and quickly twisted it around backwards, sinking his fangs into the thing's neck from behind, the way he'd done many times with humans when he'd been evil. Instead of drinking its blood, though, Angel used his fangs to rip open the demon's neck all the way to its spine, and while it gagged and choked on its own acidic blood, he simply grabbed its head and twisted it the rest of the way off.
That killed it. It's kinda nice how many things decapitation works on, Angel thought. When all else fails, you can usually count on a good old fashioned beheading. Just not with Pyleans or cockroaches. Or things that don't have heads.
Angel dropped the Phlegethonite head with its blue-streaked hair on top of the collapsed body at his feet. His hand and clothes were covered in honey-colored blood, and it was starting to kind of burn. He'd burned his tongue when he bit the demon, too.
The minion was stirring at the other side of the room. Angel walked over and, very quickly, twisted its head off before it fully regained consciousness. Gold blood seeped out. He set the head on the demon's back, then dragged its body over next to the other one's body before throwing a sheet over both of them, just in case someone came down here before the ship docked again. But that was unlikely.
Angel reeked of lemons, and the burning sensation that the blood caused was very uncomfortable, especially in his mouth. He wondered if there were some place he could change clothes on this boat before the blood he'd gotten on himself seeped through the material to burn his skin. It would also be helpful to be wearing something other than black, since the other Phlegethonites were on the lookout for him. He left the laundry room in search of either different clothes or more demons to kill, whichever came first.
***
"What do you think?" Connor asked, turning a circle in front of the bed. He was wearing the black clothes and the leather coat he'd found in the costume room.
"Nice," said Jessica. "A little morbid, maybe. Only vampires and stage managers wear all black."
"Yeah, you caught me," Connor jokingly confessed. "I'm a stage manager."
Jess huffed a quiet laugh. She was lying on her side on the bed, wearing the shiny green shirt and black skirt that he'd brought for her. They fit her better than she'd expected. Her previous outfit was in a pile in the bathtub, along with Connor's. "I wonder who this stuff really belongs to," she said.
"Does it matter?"
"No, I guess not." She sighed. Her stomach was still rumbly. She hoped that if she barfed again, it wouldn't be on her new duds. "Thanks again. For getting me some clothes."
"No prob," said Connor. "Now that you don't stink anymore, are you feeling better?"
"Not really." Jessica closed her eyes. "I'm so mad," she said. "Getting sick today, of all days? Of course that would be my luck."
"Yeah, it sucks," Connor agreed.
"Thanks for staying with me," she said. "I feel really bad that I'm doing this to you."
"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm actually kinda having fun. You know, gambling, breaking and entering, sneaking past security, stealing, lying about my age..."
"Getting puked on."
"As long as we don't run into my ex, I'm cool with it," said Connor. He sat on the bed beside her and then lay back, crossing his arms underneath his head. "And as long as we're hanging out in the off-limits area, there's no chance of running into her, right?"
Jessica sighed again. "Then you're really going to hate me for what I'm about to ask you to do."
He chuckled. "You want me to go back out there and tell them you can't perform."
"Would you? I'm really sorry--"
"No, it's fine," he said, standing up again next to the bed. "Don't worry. It's fun sneaking around here. It's like Spy vs. Spy. I'm all stealth."
Jess smiled at him. "I bet you say that to all the girls who ralph on you."
Connor leaned down and put a strand of hair behind her ear. "As a matter of fact, I do," he said. "But that doesn't make you any less special. I don't let many girls ralph on me." He smiled at her. "I'll be back in a little while, okay?"
"Okay," said Jessica. "Thanks again."
"You know, if you're going to keep thanking me," Connor said as he began walking towards the door, "I'm going to expect you to get a little more creative with it." She laughed softly and he turned to give her a playful grin before slipping out of the large stateroom, shutting the door carefully behind himself.
Jessica stayed curled on her side on the bed, her arms pressed against her stomach. Even in her weakened state, she had to admit that the boy was kind of cute. And he was really sweet, wasn't he? And funny... If she wasn't careful, she could end up with a tiny crush on him before the end of the night. Better not think about it. She closed her eyes and kept them closed for a few minutes, trying not to think about anything or move at all. She was pretty sure she was going to throw up again, but she wanted to put it off as long as possible - even knowing she'd feel better afterwards. It was stupid, really.
She was having a silent argument with herself about whether or not it would be better just to get it over with when the door flew open and slammed shut. She looked up, startled, thinking it was too soon for Connor to be back yet - and wouldn't he have been a little stealthier? - but as soon as she saw who had entered, she sat up and began to scream.
"Shhh! Shut it, you silly girl, I'm not gonna hurt you!" the naked man hissed. He was wearing black socks and had a hand down in front of his crotch, but it wasn't covering much.
"What are you doing here?" Jessica demanded. "Who are you?"
"No one for you to be concerned with," he replied crossly. "But there's a madwoman out there trying to off me, and I'll be damned if I'm falling for that tired plot again. Was just ducking in here for a bit to... to..." He paused, seeming to be at a loss.
"Hide?" Jessica guessed.
"No! Course not. I can take care of myself, thank you very bloody much," the man huffed. "Just wanted to... put her off my scent, like. Just for a moment. Didn't mean to interrupt your..." he gestured vaguely in her direction. "Whatever the hell it was you were doing. Carry on."
Jessica blinked at him but didn't otherwise move. He turned to peek out of the door. Suddenly, he whipped back around and stared at her.
"What?" asked Jessica, a little self-consciously.
"Nothing," the man said. He squinted at her. "Nice shirt."
***
"So the naked guy," Jeff clarified, "is a vampire terrorist named Steve?"
"All I'm saying is, that's what the woman told me," Xander said.
The two old ladies were nodding. "That's what we heard, too," one of them said.
"And me," said a man nearby. "She definitely said Steve was a terrorist."
"That's wild," said Jeff.
"She's probably just crazy, though, right?" Xander continued. "I mean, a woman running around a cruise boat talking about vampires and naked terrorists? That's not so much with the sanity. And did you see the way she was clad?" He held up one finger. "Scantily, my friend. That is the word."
"Wild," said Jeff.
"I, for one, know not to trust everything a scantily clad woman says," said Xander. "Especially when she's clearly upset about whatever happened with this Steve guy. Who may or may not be a vampire or a terrorist. Or naked."
"Oh, he was naked alright," said Jeff. "I saw his junk swinging around."
Xander hesitated briefly. "Be that as it may," he allowed. "Swinging junk does not a terrorist make."
"Well, it sure don't make anything normal," the nearby man interjected.
The old ladies were nodding again. "I think we should call the police," one of them said. "The LAPD. They'd know what to do about a terrorist, right?"
"We don't know that Steve's a terrorist," said Xander. "The only thing we know he is for sure is a nudist."
"Well, the LAPD would know how to handle a nudist too, wouldn't they?" argued one of the old ladies.
"This is wild," said Jeff.
"That half-naked woman had a gun," said the man. "She pointed it at you."
"Yes, but she didn't shoot it," said Xander. "She was just showing it to me. She wasn't threatening me."
"The woman had a gun?" asked another man. "Is she a terrorist, too?"
"The word is nudist," said the first man.
"The word," said Xander, "is scantily. But I don't think she was a terrorist; I think she was just drunk. Or crazy. Right?"
"If there are terrorists on the boat," a younger woman piped up, "then we should do something about it, whether they're drunk, crazy, or naked."
"Oh, they're definitely naked," said Jeff.
"We should call the LAPD," said one of the old ladies again, while the other nodded.
Jeff ran his fingers through his hair. "This is wild," he said.
The younger woman sniffed. "Does anyone else smell lemons?" she asked.
"Before we call anybody," said Xander, raising his voice a bit, "I think the first thing we should do is tell the captain what's going on." He turned to Jeff. "Can you, like, radio the bridge? Is it even called a bridge on a real boat? Sorry, when I get nervous, I think in terms of Star Trek."
Jeff opened his mouth to respond, but Xander interrupted before he could.
"Wait. No. You can't, because there's a short in the intercom system. Damn it." He sighed. "Okay, I'll go see the captain myself. Does anyone else want to come?" He turned to look at everyone, but they were all suddenly looking at the floor or aimlessly around the room. "Fine," said Xander. "Looks like it's just me and you, Jeff."
"Dude," said Jeff. "I can't leave my Bilgilmy table."
"Nobody's playing Bilgilmy," said Xander.
"Yeah, but I can't leave it. That would be totally irresponsible." He clapped Xander on the shoulder. "Let me know how it goes, bro," he said. "Go get those naked terrorist bastards!"
Xander glanced over at everyone else again. "Um, right," he said. "Well, I'll come back in a few minutes and... let you all know what's going on." The two old ladies nodded.
As Xander turned to leave, hoping he was going in the direction of the bridge, he didn't notice that one of the old ladies was already dialing her cell phone.
***
"I am not programmed for custodial duties," said KR491. His visual sensors read the two humans in front of him as dealers from one of the ship's game rooms. Or possibly bellhops. He and KR527 had been guarding the door to the ballroom where the auction was taking place when the two men had stopped to ask them about finding a janitor. One of the men - the one who had introduced himself as Steve - was very aesthetically pleasing, although for some reason 491's revised programming forbade him to acknowledge this information aloud.
"Not programmed for custodial duties," repeated the other, less attractive human male. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"
"The eradication of human vomit is not my objective," explained 491.
"Dude. Eradication? Objective?" This human looked at the other one. "What the crap, man?"
The timbre of the human's voice triggered 491's audio sensors to read its emotional state as confused. The security bot chose his next words carefully, for length. "I don't clean," he said.
The human rolled its eyes, which 491 recognized as a common sign of exasperation. "Well, duh," said the human. "Like that's not obvious."
This was sarcasm. Clearly the human could see that KR491 was not a custodian. Then what did it want from him? "I fail to understand your mission," said 491. "Do you or do you not seek another human employed for the specific purpose of performing menial tasks such as mopping?"
The human stared at him. "Huh?" it said, confused again. If 491 had had programmed in his extensive repertoire of human body language signals the combination of motor skills needed to sigh, he would have.
"Er, yes, we are looking for a custodian," Steve responded for the other human. Ah, so he was both more physically attractive and more intelligent than the first one. KR491 wished to acknowledge this information, but his programming again forbade him. Instead, he put a hand on Steve's shoulder in a show of affection acceptable to his primary command center.
"I am not one," said KR491, aiming his visual sensors intently into Steve's corresponding biological ones, which were a most pleasing shade of light blue with green flecks. "My body has been designed for a far more important purpose."
Steve glanced down at the hand resting on his shoulder and cleared his throat. "Um," he said. "We uh, just wondered if you guys had seen one, is all. We've been all over the boat and can't seem to find anyone to help us."
KR491 squeezed Steve's shoulder in what his primary command center deemed an appropriately sympathetic gesture. "I would certainly help you myself if my programming allowed it," 491 said, "but we have made no visual contact with custodians aboard Persephone, and my objective unfortunately takes higher precedence than your vomit. However, if I may be of assistance in any other matter, please let me know." He continued to gaze attentively into Steve's eyes.
"No, thank you," said Steve quickly. "Really all we need is a custodian."
KR491 recognized the tension in Steve's muscles as a signal of uncomfortableness, although he failed to register a reason for this sort of reaction. Perhaps he wasn't being friendly enough. "Are you sure?" asked 491. He took a small step closer to Steve and let his hand slide down Steve's arm.
"Oh, I'm sure," said Steve, taking a step back. Steve's emotional state seemed to be growing more uncomfortable. "But thank you anyway."
Why was the human so nervous? Perhaps it did need some other kind of help but was afraid to say so in front of the other male. Perhaps it even knew something about the Class 6 demons aboard the ship.
"Would you like to go somewhere more private, Steve?" 491 asked. "There is a storage closet nearby, an ideal place for intimate conversations. I was turned on in that closet earlier tonight."
"Um," said Steve, "sorry, but I'm married? And I think I should just... yeah, I'll just be uh, going. Now."
"Do not be afraid, Steve," said 491. "I have a very large weapon." But as he was saying this, the two humans were already hurrying away, Steve's body language still suggesting some level of discomfort while the less attractive human was stifling a laugh. KR491's visual information processor whirred as he pondered why the men left so quickly.
KR527 turned to him. "You do have a very large weapon, 491," he said. "I would be jealous if I had the emotional capacity for such a feeling."
"Thank you, 527," said 491. "I have often admired your weapon as well."
The two bots had long electro-pulse guns strapped to their backs.
They turned to watch the two humans disappear around a corner. "My systems fail to comprehend that guy's problem," said 527.
***
When Connor slipped past the STAFF ONLY door into the costume room for the second time, he was unsurprised to find that some of the costumes had already been removed from the long rack. Call time for the performers was in just a little while, and there were a couple of people entering and leaving the room through the door opposite him, which was labeled TO STAGE. He assumed the dressing rooms were through that door as well as the backstage area and wings. Trying very hard to look like he knew where he was going, Connor followed a guy about his age who was carrying a short toga costume through the stage door. The guy glanced back at him briefly but didn't pay him much attention.
The backstage area wasn't very well-lit, but Connor could see several people clustered near the two dressing room doorways, talking in hushed tones. He approached slowly, noticing that most of them were already in costume, although some of them were standing there with their costumes in hand, having stopped to listen to the argument that had apparently broken out between the director and one of the performers who wasn't yet in costume. The guy he'd been following stopped to listen as well.
"You can't do this to me, Phil!" the director was saying. "Where the hell am I supposed to find a new Hermes in--" He glanced at his watch. "Twenty freaking minutes!"
"I'm sorry," Phil said quietly, in a tone that implied he'd already apologized many times. "But there's just no way, man. No. Way."
Connor noticed that Phil had his arms wrapped around himself and was slightly hunched over. Even in the dim lighting, his skin looked a sickly greenish tint.
"I swear if I dance one step tonight, I'm gonna hurl again," Phil went on. "I'm real sorry, man, but I just can't do it."
The guy Connor had followed in rolled his eyes. "You been eating at El Sombrero again, Phil?"
"Bad burrito," Phil whispered. "Don't remind me."
"So, no Hermes," the director was saying. "We already didn't have a Hades, and now we have no Hermes. Wonderful. This is just perfect." He didn't sound very much like he thought it was perfect.
Phil looked startled. "No Hades? What happened to Frank?" he asked.
"Frank," said the director, "had his nose broken in the casino room by a... a naked saboteur!" The director threw himself dramatically into a chair beside the dressing room doorway.
"A saboteur?" Phil repeated. "You mean like, a half-goat man?" He turned to another performer. "What the hell happened?"
"Frank got elbowed in the face," the girl explained patiently. "His nose is broken."
"But like, by a half-goat man? Naked?"
"I heard he was a terrorist," whispered someone else.
"What am I supposed to do?" muttered the director, face in his hands. "No Hades, no Hermes. The two male leads. All I need now is for my Persephone to back out..."
Connor tore his attention away from the strange conversation between the performers and cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said, approaching the director. "I um. I have a message from Jessica Grant?"
The director looked up at Connor's apologetic expression. His shoulders slumped in despair.
Quietly, Phil's puzzled voice asked, "Frank's a terrorist?"
***
Continued [here].
***
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 11:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 01:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 02:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 04:46 pm (UTC)This in voice line made me laugh out loud: And did you see the way she was clad?" He held up one finger. "Scantily, my friend. That is the word. This one, too: Swinging junk does not a terrorist make. No, no it doesn't.
Thanks for another great chapter in this wildly entertaining story.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:11 am (UTC)best. phrase. ever. :D
No, no it doesn't.
good to see we are in agreement on this point. heh.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 07:06 pm (UTC)My love for you grows boundless! Oh darling!
I was turned on in that closet earlier tonight.
*rolls*
So, wait, just to clarify: Nekid Spike (And isn't it wonderful how he always ends up nekid?) is with Jessica, who is ill. They need a Hermes, a Hades, and a Persephone. And hey - we have two people on board, at least, who need clothes - oh wait, Three! That demon blood is probably going to eat away Angel's clothes. He should /so/ be Hades. Interesting dynamic with Kate as Persephone, though. Hope she isn't completely sober before show time! And Spike is mercurial enough to do Hermes without a moment's preparation!!
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:17 am (UTC)and i'm glad you like the bots. they were originally going to be another type of demon instead, but i changed my mind at the last second. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 08:08 pm (UTC)D
P.S. What a laugh, Angel knows about trolldolls!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 05:17 am (UTC)I'm wondering if it is Angel who is the toga carrying man that Connor is following. Heee...I, too, want Angel as Hades. Looks as if there is a part for all of them... :0)
More please.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:22 am (UTC)oh, and that wasn't angel. angel would have reacted to seeing connor on the boat, and he wouldn't have known phil's name. that was just one of the performers that connor followed because he was a little lost.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 10:41 am (UTC)LOL! The robots are awesome.
So Connor's dressed as Spike now—that'll end well, I'm sure of it. :-)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:24 am (UTC)and yeah, pretty much everything that happens - you can be sure it'll end well. heh.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 12:20 pm (UTC)"Would you like to go somewhere more private, Steve?" 491 asked. "There is a storage closet nearby, an ideal place for intimate conversations. I was turned on in that closet earlier tonight."
"Um," said Steve, "sorry, but I'm married? And I think I should just... yeah, I'll just be uh, going. Now."
"Do not be afraid, Steve," said 491. "I have a very large weapon."
LMAO. Loved the poor, confused bots and their conversation with Riley.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-19 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:40 am (UTC)ps. love the icon. i've never read the graphic novel, but i really enjoyed the movie. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 06:22 pm (UTC)The comic and the movie are pretty similar. I really like them both and I think Marjane Satrapi paints a more real picture from Iran than many newspapers do (when they are only showing bearded man and women in chadors)