Dear Life, New Beginnings
Dear Diary,
I swear this is going to be the last time I write to you. God it pisses me off that I can't just burn you right now and not give a rats ass I just did, it really, really does…but I guess that doesn't matter much in the end, does it? I'll just have to settle on ignoring you for now then…
Today I finally got a job. Some blue skinned wacko named Doctor Drakken hired me; didn't really tell me why he was looking for a bodyguard at first during the interview, but it wasn't exactly Hard to figure it out when he finally brought me to his ‘lair’.
I honestly thought I was going to blow my fucking lid at the end of the day. If it wasn't him complaining to me how he wasn't respected enough for his genius and talking about the ‘brilliance’ that is outsourcing, he was trying to sell to me some harebrained scheme of how he was going to conquer and rule the world after wiping ‘that smug red-heads face’ off the Earth. I didn't even bother asking the idiot who he was talking about after he started crying like a baby because he smacked his toe against a cement column.
Only a day in and I already feel like an over clocked factory worker with all that whining, constant tinkering, muttering, the damn sink faucet dripping even though he seems to be able to build How Many death rays?
I thought I left all the stupidity when I quit that gig as a superhero…guess I gave too much credit to the baddies.
But it's not so bad, I think. At least I'm actually getting paid for this and the money I've been offered is more than enough to keep me around for a while. Sure, might be boring sitting around and dealing with his annoying rambling but it seems comfy enough around here. Never knew people completely off their rocker knew anything about good living arrangements.
Hell if that'll be enough to make me do any handiwork, though.
Well whatever, I can always get a new contract if this one doesn't work out. Not as if the worlds supply of deranged lunatics is going to go dry anytime soon.
Ugh…I really don't want to write this…but I…
Never mind, Dr. D's calling. I'll finish this later.
Closing the book with a sigh and checking that the page is marked, she pulls away from the desk and stares.
She really hates that book, she decides. It's the only part of her life that has survived over the past years since she’s left them other than the green and black leotard she wears. Everything else that is evenly slightly linked to her former life (that she knows of) is burning now or has already been burnt; she dislikes her past, you see, it having never been the most accepting place for her.
Maybe she could find that acceptance she wants as a full-fledged super villain instead of a hero?
She gets up and discards the book. Putting it into a wooden case, she locks it and places it under several books within a drawer beside her bed. She locks the drawer, leaves the room and locks it. She knows she's being ridiculous with her privacy, but she doesn't care. If the way she's been living over the past four years shows anything about her at all, it's the fact that it's nothing like the way she lived before she was sixteen.
Turning on her heel, she leaves down the corridor. Not sparing so much as a glance or care towards the features of the hall, the pictures on the wall, or any bit of the abode she might as well call home at all. She really couldn’t give less of a damn about her environment or the man. This try at a new level of villainy isn't to make friends, isn’t to pull up a picket and claim some land for herself. She's here to send a message, one that can heal her wounds from that past with the wounds it will inflict on them with the news. She only hopes that this news reaches them as quickly as possible, she wishes it reaches them as quickly as possible. Her fulfillment coincides with the possibility that when it happens (and it will happen), they cry the same tears they've made her cry.
She hates them. She really fucking does.
“Shego!” Drakken calls, probably eager to get started with the plan he's been working on. Not that she cares much about him and what he feels, but she moves forward and towards her employers’ voice.
Stepping into the large laboratory type area, Shego looks at the blue skinned man standing by a table in the middle of the room tapping his foot impatiently. She wondered at first what could have brought that change upon him, having found a sort of kinship and connection with the discolored man because of her own odd coloration. She wondered what kind of life he's led and how he's had to lead it because of this deformity, as others label it, because she herself knows the feeling of people looking down at you with not so much more reasoning other than the skin tone you have. Of course she had been granted much more than that, not just the odd skin tone, but the similarity in itself and all the trouble it brought her in the past was enough to pull her to this particular madman for whatever comfort it could bring.
Maybe she shouldn't bother with trying to figure it out actually. She had already let it influence her choice of employer.
The Doctor spots her as she steps out further onto the metal grating, alerting him to her presence. “Finally you're here! What took you so long? I'm going to be the one paying you, you know!” he babbles, obviously frustrated by the attitude she's showing the first day on the job. She worries for a moment, concerned she might have actually ruptured something. Sooner rather than later she realizes that her former life and current resume can get her a job with any one of the multitudes of villains in the world and there aren't much people like her in turn. So she snorts and folds her arms, glaring.
Blinking at the gesture, the mad scientist is left not knowing what to say. A few more moments and a snappy remark from her bring him out of his trance and he starts explaining, nervously, the plan he's concocted. She listens to it of course, not knowing anything about the scientist and his tendencies and not wanting to have him spreading bad word about her before letting her the chance to prove herself, not only to him, but also proving to the rest of the villains that want her, the rest of the world that's seen her exploits and to those people that should be outright fearing her, that she is the most dangerous woman in the world.
Feeling a vibration coming from her neck, the pale skinned girl notices that there's a growling sound being emitted from the back of her throat. It only serves as a new aggravation though, showing and further proving to her that the revolted feeling inside her gut is actually there whenever she stares into their faces. To her it's the same kind of nauseous feeling she gets when she's had one too many burritos. It's not hard to admit that she's so disgusted by her family that comparing them to a sick pain in her stomach is unappealing. Or accurate.
But she'd rather punch them then let herself feel sickened by their existence.
Having remembered that she's to be listening instead of getting thoughtful, Shego cringes at the possible repercussions that could come if he's noticed that she's not really in her right mind set today.
Looking around the room it doesn't take her long to spot the doctor who, unexpectedly, isn't doing what she thought he would–which is throw a tantrum–but instead is inquisitively staring at her with a simple, possibly morbid, curiosity. She of course–having lost most of the apprehension at the look—barks at him to mind his own business. He looks outraged for a moment, completely infuriated that even an employee of his is treating him like nothing more than a delinquent, but moves back on track quickly after she lights up her plasma powers.
For the rest of his preparations, she rests herself against the wall and dozes off.
A petite raven haired girl finds herself both flustered and annoyed as she stands at the bottom of the largest hill, in the largest park of Go City. Not for much of a reason in particular other than having been pulled there with not so much as a chance to rest by the boy she was currently glaring at.
“Sis! Come on, hurry up!” shouts the little boy from halfway or so up the hill, having left the girl behind in his impatience. This however, only seems to push the girl further into her irritation as she adds a childish pout and arm cross to her stance.
As the two children surrounded themselves in the comforts of their own world, free of the daily grind that all the adults had to do, their little shouting and glaring game has taken on the interest of many observers. Some far more caring and optimistic, others far more realistic and neutral, as well as the pessimistic, the trashy, the morally bankrupt, the social pariahs, the attention seekers…it would have been odd to see all these people from the many different walkways of life all staring at the same spot, the same people, simple children, if they paid attention to each other instead. But, they didn't.
Soon enough though, the trance is broken. The silent agreement of time to let itself freeze and allow such provoking of varying thoughtfulness is brought to an end with the realization that time shouldn't freeze, that the world still needs to be run with the daily grind of life. So the people move on back to their activities.
But the boy and the girl are still there. Still stuck in their own world, their own time and their own unique future.
The boy himself, a spitting image of his father when he was his age, just understands that the girl isn't going to be giving in anytime soon. For a normal boy he would just ignore her, even if she is a sister, going to see what he came here to see instead. With the lessons he's been taught ever since being able to walk and talk though, he's left standing there half way up a hill, conflicting internally. His mind has pitted the mind of a child, still reflecting his outer visage, against the thought patterns of a man, which his brain is yet incapable of even understanding.
To the girl…the whole situation is a problem bothering her to the core. Not the tall hill which from her perspective is a steep mountain, not the dark which is all consuming as the minutes pass by, not even the off chance that she may slip while climbing it because of the dew starting to build up on the ground. She doesn't care about these things actually, she enjoys testing herself, always has. It’s something that her parents haven't taken away from her yet, but she doesn't realize that they ever tried to take anything away with her young nine year old mind. The thing is, even with the young mind she's able to understand the feeling inside of her. She understands it's nothing good; that she is, and should be frightened of it and it has something to do with that hill. An odd feeling.
To anyone old enough to Know exactly what it is it would be something ominous and foreboding.
The young girls mind can't stay focused for long though. With both the calls of her brother telling her to come up, accompanied by her small fear from the thoughts, she forgets the annoyance she felt from earlier and runs her way up the hill, just wanting a companion now.
Unfortunately, in her rush the young girl doesn't notice the small boulder protruding out of the ground laying on the path she's taken. She gasps as her sandal clad foot impacts and she soon is busy attempting not to inhale any of the muddy dirt on her face.
The young boy saw her fall, he had started running towards her ever since she forgot to look where she was going. Now standing over her, he looks on with remorse and pity as he starts hearing the sobs start to come. Over the years, he's been trained into being a gentleman and this being no exception he pulls his sister up from the ground and sits her down, more from reflexive action than conscious thought and initiation. His mind is more focused on whether or not he's going to be able to make it to the meteor storm in time to see its starting.
For the sister, she waits a few more seconds after he let's go to regain herself. It hurt and she was glad that her brother was there for her when she needed him, even if it did make her feel weak. Looking up, however, she sees that he's not there. Instead, after a bit of searching, she finds him already at the top of the hill.
Without her.
In the end, after getting up and wiping the remaining tears away she would be too hurt to bother going after him and would leave, going back to the bench where they stayed waiting for the event to start. It wasn't ever her intention to come here for the light show. Sure, she thought it would be pretty, but she just came to spend time with one of the only people that has ever ‘seen’ her. Yet he chose to rather see that meteor storm thingy than spend time with her, so why should she even bother going to him?
When he would get back spraying spittle everywhere with his excited and awed, screams and shouts, he would tell her how cool it was and ask her what she thought of it. When she would tell him off and say he left her alone on the ground he would get mad himself and yell at her that she's selfish, trying to always put herself above his fun.
She would break down. That comment hitting too close, too hard to what she's afraid of, for her to be able to keep even her angry mask in place.
He wouldn't understand what she's so sad about. It soon wouldn't matter though because even if he's mad that she wanted to make him miss something so awesome he still isn't able to take the sight of his only sister so depressed.
He would apologize, moments later, for what he just said. He hasn't had the time to learn what's right and wrong, what's good and bad and what the difference is from what his father wants and what life truly entails. Built into him have been the niceties, the actions he should take and the way he should treat people in accordance to the way his father thinks, the way his father wants him. Then there's the way he's been learning, with experiences that his short life has been through.
He hasn't been told any better and which way is right, he's having his self split in two and built separately.
But she's still nice, and she knows her brother is having a difficult time so she forgives him.
He's grateful, and he's wants to make up for deserting her earlier, so he sits down and plays the nice brother role which he still hasn't mixed up with another. Still excited from the stars falling, he grins and scrunches up his face in thought, trying to find the best way to explain what he felt and thought as he watched the shining sky. It's difficult for him, having never been the brightest boy in class as well as being very young, however when he remembers, he looks into the emerald eyes of his sister, whose own seem to be increasingly passionate, fierce and loyal. He's taken aback, for a moment, with how strong the blaze is in her heart and how it warms him.
But soon enough, he breaks the intense stare and smiles happily again as he starts telling her all about how he felt a weird tug inside of him as he looked at all of the falling stars, how it seemed to make him feel confused but…right in the end.
“Oh?” She replies, genuinely intrigued and glad that they're okay.
“Yeah…Sis, did I ever tell you how much I want to become a superhero?” he asks, but seems to be speaking rhetorically now. “Did I ever tell you how much it would mean to me to live my life protecting others from villainy and all that?”
She shakes her head, not understanding what he's trying to say and why she's receiving the same odd feeling from earlier.
“It's my dream, it's what I want to do. Father has told me that he ‘greatly supports my prerogative on the matter’…err, whatever that means, and I want you to know that if you ever, you know, have a dream I'll be there to help” the brother finishes grinning and throws his arm over the sisters shoulder, pulling her into a half hug to emphasize his point more.
The girl looks at her brother, just for a second, at his closed eyes, his brown hair so akin to her fathers shape and style and at his burliness even at so young and age…and shivers.
There was always that question whenever she went to one of these ‘thieves only’ parties she had started being invited to.
‘Why is it that you wear green when you're a thief, why not entirely black?’ It's what they all ask, wanting to know how she does what she does even in such an eye catching ensemble. She responds to it with a quirk of the brow, at least the first dozen times. After a while it becomes exceedingly too obvious to Shego the true purpose of the question because if it isn't a jealous thief that has no doubt heard of her reputation or a terrified rich CEO afraid that they might be the next target victim (even though they themselves are currently residing in a party and building built specifically for thieves), then it was just another evildoer with a bad track record.
She had found it amusing at first, when she quickly found out what the true intentions behind the falsified, casual conversation and questions that were posed meant. They were all afraid that they were going to lose something and she was going to get everything, so they were trying to find something wrong with her, something they could spread to knock her off the rapidly rising pedestal she placed herself on. Soon enough however, it didn't do anything for her. All it did was serve as further petulance and proof that the villain community is not what she thought it was going to be.
She leans back, gently pushing herself against the corner wall which conveniently has a nice view over the entire proximity of the banquet hall. It was also a quick lesson learned for her that the most frequent target of an experienced thief was, unexpectedly, other thieves. She had found it odd that instead of working together to gain a better leverage when dealing with the law enforcement or other such vigilantes, they choose to take what other thieves have taken and make enemies out of each other, the ones that should rightly be colleagues and allies. In truth, she still doesn't really understand why they do it. She can wrap her mind around the base reasoning for such–which is incredibly stupid by the way–but it strikes her as somewhat counterproductive seeing that in the end they make enemies out of the enemies, enemies and that leaves no room for friends that would in turn…oh, whatever.
Yeah, you get it. Isn't it really smart?
She snorts.
Her muscles tense as a heavy figure presses himself against the wall she's leaning on. All thoughts gone for the moment she waits for whatever move the hulking man is readying himself for with a possible counter and stratagem. She knows this isn't who she's waiting for. She also knows that she can't trust him yet until it's proven he's not there for her. A few minutes pass with no incident and she glances towards the face of the man. Suddenly she realizes he's paying attention to anything but her.
Shego chuckles quietly to herself as she picks up a glass of gin and tonic from the passing waiter. At times it's good to be slightly paranoid, especially at parties like these where everyone around you could be an enemy if they wanted to be. Though, she thinks, it's not really all that threatening, as it was in the beginning…
She swishes the glass, watching as the drink inside turns into a mini cyclone.
It was a small wonderment for her at first, after learning the eccentricities, deviousness (though at times she doesn't know if she should be calling it that) and perfidious nature of the villain community, that they were as collective and tight knit as they were. It had helped her with getting into the ‘business’, because even with her past as a superhero she still wasn't well known in other parts of the world, but that bit of fact never helped her feel any less bewildered when these ‘villain get togethers’ always seemed like far less of an assemblage to her and far more like a neatly amalgamated cluster fuck. Truthfully, she had questioned the sanity of everyone that went to these events, knowing that they knew the tendencies of their peers and still came. Still did, actually, not for the same reasons however.
What prevented the evildoers, felons and fugitives from attacking each other at these meetings seemed to be a set of unsaid, yet ‘official’ rules.
The thought of something like that was laughable. In fact, it was so funny she did laugh. Right now.
Did they actually let themselves become delusional enough to think that hanging rules above the heads of the types of people who's principals are to take what they want, when they want to, or in some other cases conquer the world or a political faction (it was all relative anyways), would be enough to enforce some kind of truce? Nowhere in her mind though, did Shego entertain an ignorance on the matter. She knew of course this reasoning and that's why it was so funny. Tell an evildoer that they should be friendly, truthful and have a bunch of morals for the night to make the atmosphere comfortable and expect them to stay that way? Hah!
Well…it does make sense in some ways. But, she is only willing to let that sit because of the facts that the convicted – she laughs at the irony of her using that word – would be excommunicated, marked and trapped in a building filled to the brink with hired goons and other criminals that actually stay kosher.
Too bad she isn't petty. Could prove fun to try outrunning something other than GJ agents and federal patrols.
Shego growls as her hand lowers the bitter drink from her lips. This waiting is starting to annoy her and the constant reminiscing of how totally naive she was when she first entered the fray isn't helping. At all.
She moves her feet slightly, shifting in a motion that further aggravates her positioning. Her body tired of enduring the same stance throws her into a self-war, which she stubbornly fights not wanting to lose the best vantage point for scouting the fanciful ballroom. Seconds extending into minutes, minutes accumulating even quicker and she barely restrains the will to scream and kick over a table. Two hours of waiting since getting here and still the bastards a no show. That or she just hasn't spotted him…
Yeah, whatever.
Deciding that she would rather relax at the bar with a shot of rum than wait for a man that might not even show in the end, she starts deftly weaving her way through the crowd. On the way, she rids herself of some frustrations by deriding some pleasure in entangling herself with a young, intimate couple. Shego doesn't care much for any repercussions that could happen because she's skilled enough to handle most. She's also well known enough to instill fear and they seemed to understand who she was and what she was capable of. Or at least she figured that, when their rage subsided from a smoldering flame to barely a flickering ember as they caught sight of her smirking down at them with the champagne bottle in her hand. But, as much as anything else, she only does this as a freedom from her boredom and irritation, so soon enough, she has her sights on the goal that was first in mind.
Her slim hands move, gripping the cuff of the leather jacket being worn by some Hell's Advocate wannabe sitting at the closest bar pedestal to them. Their motions are fast, as before the seated man even feels it happening he is thrown from the counter several feet into the moving crowd, opposite the counter as the usurper claims their take. The group in passing doesn't even blink at the exchange nor lose stride, unless having been in the path of the throwee and the others residing at the bar just take a look at the person causing all the commotion; who herself smiles sultrily as half the men have a comedic double take of her figure and the others, who are too drunk to know better, start planning on approaching the gorgeous and provocatively dressed woman ‘joining’ them.
There was always something intoxicating for Shego, whenever she had this effect on men and woman alike. The betterment and empowering feel of making some men beg and others chase. Or even their counterparts, the woman who were jealous of her youth and beauty, wanting nothing more than to tear her a new one so they could lord something over her. She always received those contemptuous stares from almost all the old, depressed widows or miserable whores, the obese sacks of shit or toothpick's that are labeled truthfully as ‘Atkins bitch’ because they all want her body for whatever reason is deservedly theirs in mind. As for herself? She got the chance to laugh out loud at how pathetic everyone really is compared to her.
Oh, she knows shes a bitch. To get anywhere with her a person needs to earn her respect. Something that bastard whose making her wait right now is not only losing, but also having drop down lower than negative. She waits for no one. They all wait for her.
In one fluid motion she seats herself at the now unoccupied stool and taps the table once, and hard. A bartender clothed in regular dress apparel and a vest comes over to her, “Que puis-je vous offrir, Mademoiselle?” asks the bartender, in Paris’ native language and Shego smiles to herself, knowing that she understood that. Being a skilled linguist is one of the more important parts of being a world scouring thief. It's also a skill she finds herself particularly fond and prideful of.
After all, life just gets so much easier when you have several dozen countries between four different continents you can hide out and live in for an extended period of time with no barriers preventing you from going on with your daily lifestyle.
“Creme de cacao, and keep it where I can see it,” is the curt, slightly threatening reply given. She knows he understood her as well and she ignores any provoked response given to the blatant mistrust covering both the words and the tone lining them. For this particular case it was probably unnecessary, but it is a habit she's included in her day by day dealings; one she's not keen on dropping anytime soon.
Her gaze doesn't waver as she keeps her deep, forest green eyes transfixed on the mans hands; following them, readying herself for any sudden motions or thrusts. Relaxation only comes when the snifter is placed on the counter top in front of her, with no suspicious actions taken during the entire process. Paranoiac? Yes, indefinitely. Mild paranoia can be a good thing though. Society makes you funny that way.
Keeping the drink out in front of himself by a foot, the bartender brings the pear shaped cup over to Shego, placing it quickly in front of her and leaving without another word. Even with the straight forward, as well as – possibly – understanding gestures she still checks the cup for any soluble substances that could have been dropped in. Not finding anything out of the ordinary, her guard drops and she holds the cup to her face.
She lets her lips dance around the edge of the glass, pausing only long enough to inhale the intoxicating aroma wafting upwards, bringing the delicate scent of cocoa tinged with the bitter aspect added from the alcohol, letting the sweet smell wash some tension away. She sighs, pleasantly, and considers the dark beverage. The ‘crème de cacao’ was the first alcoholic drink she was introduced to, and, coincidentally, it was also the first she drank under that womans tutelage. Her mouth curls into the first genuine, albeit reluctant, smile of the night at the memory.
She's tired. Dead tired. In fact, words wouldn't be able to describe the feeling all the bruised bones and wearied muscles are having over her current frame of mind. Memories don't even stray the edges of her thoughts about a time she was this weary and her grasp over emotional control has been slipping for hours now.
“Come on, sit up! Stop cursin’ an’ get yo ass up on this here stool, hun!” a voice that oddly resembles a one, self proclaimed, ‘redneck pseudo mother’ of hers chastises. The woman starts pulling her by the white scruff of the training suit she was given when all this shit started.
She growls. Just growls actually. Because even her esophagus is sore from all the screaming she did because of the mind numbing pain. This only annoys her more however, and she wants to see red but can't, her mind being just as exhausted as her body. Death. She wishes death upon this woman and her life.
Before even being given the time to start pulling herself up, the raven haired girl is grabbed roughly and shoved face first into the white and black leather couch. “Ah tol’ yah to, GET UP!” And her body creaks, seemingly making sounds one would expect an old abandoned windmill to make after years of rusting and weather wear.
“Hrrrfarrmm.” Her head is buried in the cool, soft pillows that haven't been used in days. She wants to sleep. Why won't the damn woman let her sleep? Groaning on unintelligibly into one of the fuzzy squares arranged disjointedly among the living rooms furnishings. She readies a protest as she's suddenly grabbed and pulled into a sitting position, but her mouth is filled with a rod like shape cutting it off before she can let it loose.
“If yeh dun get movin’ soon, ah'm gonna make yeh gag on this here dildo, girly.” Even with the knowledge of what's in her mouth she doesn't care. She can't care because it's taking all her mental effort to even hold onto her anger. Feeling the unwanted, foreign object finally pulled out of her mouth; Shego feels something a lot smoother, with a far more pleasant smell to it, placed against her lips.
“Congratulations, hunny! You passed today withou’ dyin! Now, drink tha’ up. Ah know how much you like chocolate, so ah thought ah'd give yeh your first dose of alcohol, with a lil mo’ novelty to it.” The woman says, and she could just feel the grin plastered on that smug face right now. Her hand wraps itself around the glasses base, holding on to it with the few ounces of strength she could muster. She is thirsty and parched and the fact that this'll be her inauguration to alcohol hasn't yet registered to her.
As she sets her lips on the tip of the cup, the womans last whisper doesn't go unheard as the sitting girl knows she would like to think. “Trus’ me hun, you'll be needin’ tha stuff…”
With the memory consummating and the imagery flashback leaving; the smile that was formerly neutral and, possibly, content, dips into something darker.That woman is so dead when I find her.
That thought isn't anything new or worthwhile to think about though. She knows she's spent more than enough time thinking out a suitable way of getting back at the bitch, enough that even if she was on a particularly good sadistic streak she wouldn't be capable of adding anything new to the list of tortures she has already planned out in welcoming for the redneck psycho. She takes a moment to consider that and amends it soon after. Okay, maybe I'm not actually into the whole torture thing. Doesn't mean I can't knock her off that mile high platform she's put herself on…
She puts a halt to her thoughts as a figure sets itself down in the empty seat beside hers. With the large shadow and broad build, even a small glance from the corner of her eyes can tell that its man. This realization sends signals off for her, making her lips curl into a trademark smirk; there's only two reasons she can think of that a man would want to sit beside her after the incident earlier and she's placing a bet that it's the one she likes.
Her head turns to see the man she's been waiting on, ordering a drink from the bartender. The mans posture is loose, as she knows him well enough to tell the slight difference he shows as his muscles unwind and relax; as almost an afterthought she notes that his breathing, even though he's trying to hide it, is erratic and his suit looks rumpled and messy, as if he had been doing something strenuous…such as running. Interesting… “Having a rough night?”
He looks uneasily towards her. The question, as his past experiences have told him before, is not what its being played out to be. His body weight shifts slightly to the left, “Eh, you can say that,” but even as the conversational tone and casual words slip his lips, he knows she can tell easily that he's nervous. If it's because of the way she's ravaging his body with her eyes, obviously not even pretending to focus on his response or the knowledge that the reasoning for the arousing action isn't what he would like to think, he doesn't know.
She smirks at him when his drink comes in, “Eighty percent Palinka? You want to get sloshed that badly?” Shego asks playfully. It's a question specifically designed to draw an answer, but it's obvious that her mind isn't concentrating on the already odd conversation. He can see; by the way her body rearranges itself, opening up the posture more,which conveniently allows him a full view of her sizable bust positioned ever so slightly with the help of her right forearm to make it as appealing as possible. All the while, the rest of her body is twisting and stretching, taking full advantage of her clothing choice by letting every small movement go noticed as her muscles ripple underneath the skintight leotard.
Before getting any chance to prepare himself (being distracted and all), the man is knocked out of his seat by a clean uppercut to the jaw.
Shego scowls down at him from her seat, feeling no remorse nor pity for the action. “You made me fucking wait two hours, for your sorry ass, Dex. Tell me a reason why I shouldn't beat you right here, right no-…”
“Oh, God! My fucking jaw! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit, I think it's broken! God dammit, you didn't have to hit me that hard. God my NOSE-”
“SHUT UP!” Her chest heaves with the exertion the yell held, the building agrees too with the reverberating echoes throughout its structure; but she's glad to note, even with the burning sensation in her chest, as well as the vibrating feel pulsating in her throat, that the desired effect with the yell was gained. “Good, now stop whimpering pathetically and get yourself up.” She smiles, “Be a man.”
Shego can see Dex glare at her because of the ‘below the belt comment’ as he would say whenever it came to her sarcasm, and she smirks sardonically at him as he picks himself off the ground. She'd be outright laughing at the moment if she wasn't still utterly annoyed at him; that isn't going to stop her though, she's enjoying every second of this, no matter how insipid the action is. Having had it been dulled over the multitudes of times he's been humiliated like such by her, the few friends she has, her informants, her employers, his informants…it wouldn't normally have been enjoyable to watch him grovel.
Normally.
It's fucking France and I'm stuck waiting at this drab party. He made Me wait and I could have been Shopping The thief pauses to consider that thought, or stealing, she adds. As the previously maliciously intent eyes turn back and scan over the bumbling movements of the man, they soften ever so slightly without consent and the ragging of guilt starts pulling at her. She fights of course, not bothering to give in to the voice that says she went a little too far when he was supposedly running an errand for her. She gripes and battles with the argument that he was just wasting time being stupid like usual and he has no good news whatsoever, and it'll prove she's right, that the voice is wrong and then everything will be well.
Looking on at the pitiful attempts of the man to steady himself however, she sighs knowing that whatever chances she might have had to play around with him had just been completely quashed. When did I ever get soft for this idiot?
She walks over to him, grabs him by the shirt and yanks him up. “I told you to get yourself up, Dex. You're making a fool of yourself,” she soon leaves, making a normal person wonder whether or not that was an act out of kindness. But, the fair skinned man stands there, confusion written all over his expression. Did Shego just come over and help him after knocking him a new one? Was there actually no sarcastic remark in that sentence? Towards him? Dex knows he isn't stupid; he's willing to admit he's clumsy, maybe even dense, definitely not stupid though. Whichever deity is blessing him with a complacent Shego (even if only for this one time) on this day has forever made him a faithful servant for their needs.
Wiping the blood on his black suits sleeve, he quickly makes his way back to the bar. He's not stupid after all; it's a given that she didn't like doing that, and he's not planning on pushing his acquaintances sudden good natured display for even a moment. He sits beside her, smiling at the scowl fixed back into place, silently disappointed that the generous act earlier is most likely never going to appear again, towards him at least. Times like these are when he wonders if he'll ever…
He shakes his head, scowling himself now. “I've booked an appointment for you,” he says, deciding that cutting to the chase would smooth this meeting out better for both of them. “It's the one you said you would like.” He pauses, “The one with my father I mean.”
Shego arches a fashionably trimmed eyebrow, amused now with the businesslike, curt attitude he's trying to impersonate. She shifts position slightly, trying to get a better look at what he's pulling. It takes a whole three seconds for her to smirk at him, deciding he's still an idiot. “Alright then, doofus. Lay what you got on me,” She arcs her back, popping a few joints in the process. “I'm starting to get tired of this place, plus my back is killing me.”
He continues, easing a smile onto his face pleased at how well the days proceedings went. “My father told me he was looking for a skillful bodyguard a week ago. To be more specific, he told me that he wanted you,” he blinks when he sees her smile seductively with a raised brow, “No! Not t-that way…I meant, err, let me explain,” Dax coughs. “He's been getting a lot of calls in recently from some mad-scientists and the like that want to rule the world and the such, all for a skillful henchman that can hold their own in a fight. He, having heard a lot about your exploits from his underworld connections, asked me to contact you, knowing that we've met before,” he motions with his right hand towards himself. “And so here I am, having called you to the ‘Le Domaine de la Meme Epoque’ so I can proposition this contract to you.”
“There's some requirements before you can start signing, but it's just basically interviews with the prospective clients,” he drinks the last remnants of his liquor and slams the glass onto the ledge. His jaw still sore he rubs it, while adjusting his gaze back onto Shego. “He's in town for the month, so if you're interested…”
With her priorities set as to eventually come to such a career shift, it's no surprise to herself when she doesn't hesitate with her answer.
“I’m in.”
Author’s Note on Numerology:
I’m kidding. It has nothing to do with numerology. I’m bringing this story back from its long journey in the dead because of the multiple failed attempts at creating another Kim Possible fiction based on Shego. I tried, but all I did during those times was make the same plot but with less substance.
This time I’ve broken the first chapter into two, but expect lengthy from this point on.