I guess the story beings when I was about Kimmie’s age. Believe it or not, I was a pretty popular girl in school. No, not like THAT Stoppable, so stop staring at me. Didn’t do cheerleading but I did do all the sports, not to mention the yearbook. I mean, people tended not to pick on the school’s All-American athlete, you know? And the goth thing, oh my God, the goth thing saved my self-image. Black’s always been in but green? I took it to another level with the leather but I never overdid it, never cheapened it. Made me feel naturally fashionable too because I was so pale all the time. You should’ve seen some of the girls try to get this complexion.
Ha. A goth athlete. Isn’t that an oxymoron?
Shut up, Stoppable. Anyway, the best place to start would be at the beginning of my junior year.
Wait, Shego, where were you?
Go City High. That’s not where much of this story happened, but it’s where the ball started rolling. Things always start simple, Kimmie, then they get complicated. Anyway, I’d been doing the superhero thing for a year or so, getting full of myself and acting all like a superstar.
Imagine that. Me, full of myself.
Of course, since I’d hit the very crest of my teenaged rebellion, my parents panicked. Think they finally blew that last gasket when I told them I was dating a girl. You’ve got to realize, I have four brothers. It’s like living in a testosterone soaked Twilight Zone. Honest, I’ve got nothing against the guys but I didn’t want to have anything to do with that macho stuff. Hego gave me enough of that junk at home, I didn’t need any more of it from the person I dated.
Did your parents kick you out of the house for being a… a…
Well, sort of. You see, it wasn’t so much the “dating-a-girl” thing as it was a culmination of stuff like the “trying-weed-for-the-first-time” thing and the “take-a-joyride-with-the-friends-in-the-Go-Jet” thing, not to mention the “flattening-the-cameraman-who-kept-following-me” thing. Looking back, yeah, I’ll say it: I was a little spoiled brat who made all the wrong decisions. One day, Mom and Dad sat me down to have one of those serious talks about me, my life, my powers, and my responsibilities. They said if I was going to keep causing trouble, then I wasn’t going to be causing it under their roof.
So you listened to them?
So you broke up with that girl?
Nope. I ran away from home.
Hey Princess, what would YOU have done?
Stopped doing what I was doing to get them mad?
The thought did occur to me, but by that time, I’d packed up a few changes of clothes, cleaned out Team Go’s ATM account, and bought the first bus ticket out of town.
Umm, you didn’t think too fast, did you?
Ron! That was mean!
Ouch! Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just stop throwing coins at me!
Next time you feel like talking, remember that I’ve got a lot more loose change up here.
Shego! Don’t threaten him!
Where was I again? Oh yeah, I’d just bought the first bus ticket out of town.
Why the bus?
Because the airport would’ve been obvious, buffoon. With a bus ticket, you don’t even have to give them a name. I wanted to disappear.
Where did you go?
Around. Saw some of the Midwest, which by the way, was the biggest mistake in my life. There’s nothing there except fields and badgers. Always wanted to visit Boston, so I made it one of my stops. Got caught up in some weird stuff too.
Shego ambled down the street, her senses soaking in the centuries old buildings and historical monuments. Go City was so new and lifeless, but Boston, Boston was old, even ancient by American standards. Echoes of things great and small rung from beautiful cathedral to standard office buildings. Small stores, their reputations many times larger than their square footage, dotted the streets like sirens luring customers in.
This place had history, not that sterile detachedness her own hometown sported. Didn’t want to further stereotypes or anything, but the goth scene must’ve rocked here. It was just so musky and… and… OLD. People in black and eyeliner seemed to fit in as opposed to Go City where… well… you know.
It was a gothic smorgasbord full of meaning and history and Shego loved it. Loved walking through it, loved window shopping, loved people-watching, and above all, loved the freedom. She was young, filled to the brim with cash, and ready to experience life at its absolute finest.
Which was what brought her to the cramped and boisterous bar of a well known pub. She might’ve been sixteen, but a flirtatious wink here, an offended look here, and poof appeared a tall mug of foamy amber beer. Shego smiled and wetted her lips, the prospect of her first taste of alcohol filling her with giddy excitement. She swung the glass like they did in the movies, a huge mouthful hitting her tongue and pouring down her throat at the same time.
Yeah, at the same time she almost upchucked the foul, bitter drink.
Between her gags and coughs, an amused laugh rose above the loud music. “Easy t’ere, lassy! Dun want ta spoil yer cover now.”
Her eyes drifted up above the bar. Well, they tried at least. First, they had to run up a pair of silky smooth legs that seemed to go on forever and ever. The copper toned skirt hid what promised to be supple thighs, shortening the trip. The matching silk blouse threatened to burst at the bust as buttons strained against fabric. Then and only then did Shego’s eyes finally meet two soulful, toffee colored orbs framed by long, golden strands of hair.
Razor thin lips curled up in a grin. “Like whatcha see?”
Never one to shy away from a pretty face, Shego straightened her back and tried to pick up what was left of her dignity. “I like your eyes.”
“Do ye now?”
“Yeah, I can see my reflection in them.”
“Ha!” belted the woman, who at this point seemed more and more tanked by the second. “What’s yer name?”
She was in a city she didn’t know, hanging out in a place she shouldn’t have been in, talking to a woman who she’d never met before. Real name? Yeah, outta the question. Superheroine name? No, too much baggage, too much to explain. “I’m Faith,” she answered.
“Just Faith. You?”
“Aines Strachan. Nice meeting ya, Just Faith.”
Shego, I am not impressed.
What’s wrong, Kimmie?
In about ten minutes, you’ve told me that you’ve smoked marijuana, drank while you were underage, dated a girl out of rebellion, and flirted with a complete stranger. Not reaffirming my confidence in the relationship here.
It sounds bad because it was bad. I’m telling you because I want you to know the person I was from the person I am. I learned a long time ago that being mysterious and tight lipped has its own consequences, most of them bad. I want you to know who I am and that includes my past. I’m not proud of it, but it’s my life and you need to see where I’m coming from.
Now why am I here? Ouch!
You’re her friend, Stoppable. For some ungodly reason, Kimmie trusts you, listens to you, and asks you for your opinions. One of these days, she’s going to tell you everything I say to her right now and you’re going to be like “See? See KP? I told you she was bad!” Yeah, we’re heading that conversation off at the pass. You listen now and you’ll know that when it comes to Kimmie, I lay all my cards on the table for her to see. I’ve lost too much by lying and I won’t lose any more. No games, no lies.
Why do I get the feeling that I’ve been circumscriptly dissed?
About this Aines lady…
No, we didn’t have sex.
You had that look on your face. You were curious. Stoppable, back me up on this one.
Ummm, I abstain.
No answer is still an answer. If you were really sure, you would’ve contradicted me.
I think I liked you better when you threw fire at me.
That can be arranged.
Shego! Watch where you’re driving!
Yikes. Sorry, Princess. So, back to the story. After almost throwing up my dinner, I decided to stay away from the beer that night. Aines, who was Irish by the way, thought it’d be neat challenge to coax me into getting drunk. “Pop yer liquor cherry” she called it. Eh, didn’t quite happen that way…
Tonight, Shego learned the difference between tanked and wasted: it was a gradient beginning at “buzzed” and ending with “smashed.” “Wasted” was just one step below “smashed” which meant Aines wasn’t driving home. Incidentally, “wasted” also meant she wasn’t able to walk, talk, see, hear, or function at a higher level for at least three hours.
The difference between “smashed” and “wasted?” Control of bodily functions.
Shego stumbled out of the pub with the woman draped on her back. The bartender offered to call a cab, but unfortunately, no one had any idea where Aines lived. Aines herself? See the definition of “wasted” enclosed above.
Where had the night gone wrong? She went into a bar to get a drink but ended being hounded by this lady. What had been an intriguing body turned into a staunch test of wills, Shego not wanting to accept Aines’ offers of booze and Aines ordering more and more drink varieties to entice Shego. Guess where most of the alcohol went?
Wow. Her breath could kill Avarius.
“Aines, where do you live?”
“Ehva middu verra nittuk.”
Blink, blink. “We’re checking you into a motel.”
Down the street they stumbled. Honestly, Shego could’ve picked up the waif-like Aines without breaking a sweat but that would’ve looked weird. Though Team Go wasn’t exactly an internationally renowned superhero outfit, they did register on the national scale once in a while. A black haired girl hauling around a bigger person like a rag doll would raise someone’s curiosity, and should that curiosity find its way back home…
Well, Shego wasn’t feeling like going home just yet.
She craned her head around, searching for a lodgings sign. Bars, bars, and bars ran up and down the street, but motels? Hotels? Nothing. You’d think they’d put a terrible dive in this seedy neighborhood so that drunkards could sleep off their alcohol. Probably would make a pretty penny too.
“Not like I know Boston either,” Shego mumbled to herself.
Fed up, she deposited her limp cargo on the bench of a bus stop. Her little sinister voice--which she found growing in volume and strength in recent months--said things like “The lady deserves it” and “Why should I help HER?” Indeed, no reason to help a total stranger who’d been nothing but a handful this entire night. If someone had the wherewithal to get drunk, then they had the gall to realize its consequences, like getting ditched on a bus stop bench in the middle of the night.
Shego turned her heel and strolled down the block.
But it still didn’t seem right. What if she got attacked or kidnapped or raped or killed? Heroes didn’t leave needy people alone.
“Not a hero anymore. I’m not a hero anymore.”
Say it as much as she wanted, her conscience’s pinpricks and her parents’ lectures slowed her pace. People were stupid, people were selfish, but Shego considered herself better than “people.” If she left Aines alone, if she walked away now, she’d be like every other person on this oh-so-detestable planet. She’d be nothing special, no one worth mentioning.
She’d be everything her parents taught her not to be.
Biting her lower lip, Shego turned back around to reclaim her burden but noticed three biker guys hovering around the bench. From far away, they looked like the typical sort of troublemakers: big, well-muscled, and dumb.
“Hey! Get away from her, you losers!”
They all looked up and froze Shego. Gleaming red eyes and horribly distended faces focused on her. Huge fangs extend out of twisted mouths while their foreheads scrunched up, full of bony looking ridges.
“Lookit, another little girl wants ta play.”
“Let’s gither Mikey let’s gither too we’s gettin’ hungry Mikey.”
The burliest biker cracked his neck. “This one’s nice n’ young, boys. Bet her blood would go down real nice.”
Ok, wait, wait, timeout. Did that guy say blood?
Interrupt me again and I’m throwing this dollar coin at you.
But you’re talking about vampires. Vampires don’t exist!
I’m going with Ron on this one. Are you sure you weren’t drunk?
Maybe it was the marijuana.
Don’t make me dump you out of the car, Stoppable: I’m no pothead. I’m telling you, they’re real. In a world where I’ve got superpowers from a meteorite and Monkey Fist can be an actual monkey, why’s it such a stretch to say vampires exist?
Because we’ve never seen any of them.
Kimmie, just because you haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they’re not there. Besides, you and Stoppable should be the last ones talking.
Erm, why’s that?
Except for those missions, when was the last time either of you went out in the dead of the night?
Yeah, thought so. As I was saying…
When the fist came at her face, her body reacted. It stepped out of the way, leaving her mind which hadn’t quite caught up yet to puzzle over what these things were. They couldn’t have been human because, well, look at them. All the campy movies she’d ever seen made her brain scream “Vampires!” but… but…
Cool. Maybe vampires did exist. Maybe they only hung out in antiquated cities like Boston. Maybe they knew they wouldn’t last a minute in Go City because there was nothing goth about the place.
Vampires. Like wow.
Shego ducked under a huge boot and let the blow sail into the one who tried to sneak up on her. A wet crunch and groans of “Awww Mikey ya bewowk ma nose!” almost made her laugh. Hmph, vampires, tough, at least a smidge tougher than the goons Avarius launched after Team Go. The one called Mikey tried to grab her but she slipped out of his grasp, stuck her palm out, and-
Wait. No powers. Couldn’t use them or her family would come looking for her. There’d be hell to pay for disappearing and this was too much fun. Instead, she rocketed her hand forward, catching the man just under the chin and shattering teeth. Dazed, he stumbled back onto the bench Aines lounged on.
No, didn’t mean to do that! She shouted a “Look out!” to her new acquaintance, the shock of the momentary lapse locking her in place. Mikey backed into the older woman and got a funny look on his already funny face. His eyes drifted down to his chest where a wooden tip made itself known.
And poof, he was gone in a dust cloud. His two friends glanced at each other, looked at their supposed easy prey, and ran for the hills.
Aines shambled to her feet, brownish particulates falling off of her as she did. In her hand was a sharp piece of wood. “Ye fight pretty good, Just Faith. Where’d ya learn them moves?”
“Those were vampires.”
“Aye, glad ye ain’t gapin’ at me lika fawn. Usually people just run.”
References to novels, fanfiction, anime, movies, cartoons, and television shows pinballed around Shego’s mind. Hesistantly, she asked, “Are you a vampire slayer?”
“Slayer?” Aines threw her head back and laughed. “Nay, ain’t no Slayer ‘ere. But tell ya what, Just Faith, ye might one yerself.”
Shego, the vampire slayer? OUCH!
I warned you, Stoppable. OUCH!
I warned YOU, Shego.
Sheesh, fine, have it your way. Before I was so rudely interrupted, Aines called herself a Watcher, a person who snoops around the world keeping an eye on things. She belonged to this mysterious “Council” in the England that’s been dealing with vampires, demons, and other magical things for ages and for the most part have been doing a pretty good job at it.
She said you might a vampire slayer?
Not a vampire slayer, THE Vampire Slayer. There’s some crap about once in a generation, one girl is chosen to be the person who kicks the forces of hell back into their caves. She thought I was the Slayer because I fought like one. Didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t though.
What? No comment, Stoppable?
That’s because I see that CD case in your hand.
Right, the Slayer. Guess what? The Slayer gets nice perks because, let’s face it, a random girl pulled out of a hat isn’t going to last very long against vampires. She’s stronger, faster, and tougher than… than… Let’s just say she’s a notch below the Killer Bebe.
You said there’s only one Slayer every generation.
Right, one girl to face all the world’s problems. Aines said a lot Slayers died before their eighteenth birthday, and when that happened, another girl would get the shit job and so on.
Just one person? Shego, your story is getting way too unbelievable. One girl? One girl to stop everything? Not even I work alone!
Which was why the Council was formed. They were the Slayer’s teachers, information source, backup, and family.
This Council is like our GJ then?
Funny you should mention that…
Turned out Aines’ apartment wasn’t too far from the bar. Nestled atop a pretzel store, her home looked like something straight out of a rent control nightmare. The landlord painted the door a hideous purple brown and left the wooden stairs leading up to the dwelling in perilous condition. Police sirens blazed by too often, and along with them, gunshots from various shootouts. Surrounded by the groans and squeaks of a building on its final leg, Shego carefully followed her still inebriated “friend” to make sure she didn’t fall and kill herself.
“Lady, you’re nuts.”
“I resent that. Ya saw ‘em vampires then why can’t ya accept yer fate as the Slayer?”
“I’m talking about your apartment. It’s a-”
“Nae, wait’ll ya see inside,” she winked as she fumbled about with her keys. “If ya think this’a piece o’ werk, ye ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”
Doy. Actually, double doy. No, no, this called for a triple doy. First, she found out beer tasted horrid. Second, vampires were real and looking for blood. Third, this crazy lady was crazy enough to believe she was part of some super secret, evil fighting organization that had control of this mystical being called the Slayer.
Aines jabbed the correct key into the lock and gave a big grin like a proud mother. Open went the door. Shego expected empty pizza cartons, scavenging rodents, empty whiskey bottles, and unidentifiable stains.
What she got was an immaculate sanctuary fit for the pickiest of Go City aristocracy. It looked like a set out of “Masterpiece Theatre,” resplendent with dusty tomes and dim lighting. Red (of course) dominated the larger-than-it-seemed-from-the-outside apartment and played a good backdrop for Aines’ various personal, modern touches like the plasma television, a “dancing, singing shamrock in a pot,” and an honest to goodness record player.
There was only one thing Shego could say. “Nice place.”
“Aye, the Council pays m’well.” Shrugging off her coat, the blonde flung it onto the plush suede sofa. “Care fer a drink? Me bar has better liquor thannae watered down shite they served back there.”
“Erm, no thanks.”
Beautiful paintings assaulted Shego’s vision. Antique lamps and Persian rugs leapt into view like hungry lions. A solid mahogany dining table--piled to the brim with books, scrolls, and archaic weapons--kept silent vigil, the understated centerpiece of the entire apartment. The Council paid her well? This wasn’t how well off people lived; this was how rich people lived.
And the best part? It was sooooo goth!
Aines smiled at her gushing guest, her newly found Slayer who fell into her lap. No normal, reed thin girl could go toe to toe with three vampires and live. Actually, a new Slayer would’ve had a hard time, but this girl… this girl was a piece of work. She had a certain naivety, the way her eyes glowed whenever something she liked or was impressed by came into her sights. She was skilled, her fighting moves polished in the way only experience could impart. She was fearless, unintimidated by undead and bar bouncers alike.
She was a raw, uncut diamond. Once word got out, the boys back in England would be soiling themselves in gleeful surprise.
Keeping her poker face, Aines staggered to the kitchen in search of bread to quell her flipping stomach. “So, where ye from, Just Faith?”
The question snapped Shego out of her star struck gaze. She might’ve been born and raised in Go City, but Faith? “Nowhere,” answered Shego, “And it’s Faith, not Just Faith.”
“Nowhere sounds lika borin’ place. If ya ain’t gonna tell meh, least call yer parents, let ‘em know where ye at.”
Parents? No way, not happening. Mom and Dad were still fuming over the Go Jet incident and this--the running away, stealing, abandonment of “duty,” and lying--would not help her cause any. Thus, she reached into her knowledge of television drama and spun her next words.
“Parents? I don’t know my dad and my mom treats me like a punching bag. Home’s the last place I’m going.”
Oh my God, that’s just wrong!
If I’m going to finish my story, you’ve got to stop interrupting.
That’s just… just… WRONG.
Do you hear me disagreeing?
No, but still, why?
Kimmie, I was sixteen, full of myself, and without anyone looking over my shoulder. I was running from my life because I was tired of it. This was a new beginning staring me in the face.
Like any dumb teenager, I took the first opportunity available.
“Ye kinnae tense.”
“And you’re awfully nice for a stranger.”
“Ye think I’m Freddy Kruger?”
“No, you’re awfully nice for a stranger.”
Aines bobbed her head, a show of concession and (perhaps) her state of drunkenness. “Ye dun believe a flippin’ word I’ve said.”
“Everyone in the world is a liar. The only person I trust is myself.”
“I ‘member when I was like ye, all carryin’ on like I was part o’ the Sex Pistols, givin’ everyone the finger and not givin’ a lick o’ shite. Fun times.”
Tired of the conversation, Shego edged herself to the door. “I’d like to stay, but well, you know…”
“Ye got anywhere to sleep?”
With her wallet bursting with cash? “I’ll manage.”
“Look, Slayer or not, Boston ain’t safe fer a girl by her lonesome.”
“It’s ok. Not the first time I’ve had to fend for myself.” Well, actually it was, but Aines didn’t have to know that. Turning around, Shego put her hand on the doorknob and-
“You’ve gotta gift, Faith. There be plenty o’ buggers who wouldn’t mind exploitin’ the Slayer or puttin’ her head onna pike. The Council ‘ere ta help ye, guide ye, protect ye. Know it sounds lika crock, but there be worse fates than hearin’ meh out ‘bout the things goin’ bump in the night.”
This lady had Shego all wrong: she wasn’t “The Slayer.” She wasn’t bound by some mythical duty to beat back vampires. She wasn’t keen on trading in one superhero outfit for another. She was having fun, doing things her way, living for tomorrow and not the world’s expectations.
But the lure of the fight called to her. It was one of the few things she truly enjoyed as a superheroine, jumping, dodging, hitting, and defeating anything that stood in her way. She loved the rush of adrenaline, the different challenges each battle presented, the impossible odds, and the inevitable rush of victory. All of that sung to her like a sweet drug and she couldn’t say no.
At least, she couldn’t say no without exploring the opportunity first.
“How do I know you’re legit?”
Aines smiled. “We’ve been ‘round for a long time, Faith. Governments all o’er the world know ‘bout us, work wit us. Ye ever heard o’ Global Justice?”
Global Justice? Shego’s ears perked up at its very mention. Not so long ago, the semi-clandestine, United Nations sanctioned outfit hired Team Go as muscle for a few missions. Those GJ guys were like boy scouts, people Hego related to a little bit too well. That aside, they seemed competent enough, never screwing up, never saying too much, never getting in the way. They were super hush-hush too, and… and…
“Ye look confused n’ I canne blame ya. What ‘bout the CIA or MI-6? Seen those guys in yer movies?”
“You’re a bunch of cops?”
“Only t’were that simple. We’re like the original protectors o’ mankind n’ we ain’t afraid ‘o branchin’ out when we need ta.”
GJ comment aside, “I still don’t know how you’re legit.”
“Bollocks, woman! If I wasn’t ‘legit’ I wouldn’t have let ye in me home! T’ink for a second n’ realize ye ain’t the only one riskin’ somethin’ ‘ere.”
Aines was smart. She didn’t know why, but she knew she had my interest. She just built on that, first showing me all the demons and whatnots hanging around in the night then teaching me how to fight them.
But you aren’t the Slayer.
True, but I doesn’t mean I can’t fight like one.
Didn’t you say you were trying to get away from the saving the world stuff?
It has nothing to do with the world, Stoppable.
Soooo… I don’t get it.
She wanted to know how good she was.
Bingo, Princess, and in one shot too. Frankly, I was looking for some opponents who wouldn’t get knocked out after a punch. I saw these things as a challenge. I mean, what kind of statement would it make if I could take down a centuries old werewolf without using my powers? I’d be better than the Slayer, I’d be better than anyone else on this planet!
I wouldn’t need my stupid brothers watching my back.
I wouldn’t need to go home anymore.
I could be… me. If I was that good, freedom could be mine.
What did she teach you?
Thought you’d never ask: she taught me how the really fight. None of this henchmen, blindly charge at you stuff--she taught me how dirty fighting could be, how “evil beings” never fought fair. She taught me about guns and knives and swords and how to not get killed by them. She taught me how to read my opponents’ weaknesses and use that against them, not just overwhelm them with my strengths. She was a slave driver too, training me in the day then letting me loose on vampires at night.
Did a vampire ever… you know…
Bite me? Nope, but from what I hear, it’s like having a rockin’ orgasm that stops your heart.
Gah, too much information!
Oh please, are you two virgin maidens or something?
Yet again I felt a diss.
You’ll be feeling more in a second if you don’t stop kicking the back of my seat.
Days like this, Shego wondered why she stayed in Boston. Well, Boston itself wasn’t so bad with the old world feel and the get-you-lost nightlife, but Aines was something else. She dove into this “Slayer training” guise like it was her job.
On second thought, it was her job.
So she took it seriously. Way too seriously. Like right now for instance. Instead of seeing the country and getting into all kinds of mischief, Shego found her sweat drenched self bobbing and weaving, dodging paintballs fired from her “Watcher.”
“Put yer stinkin’ back inta it! I dun wannae see no paint on ya!”
Oh, it was fun at first. Aines knew a bunch of wicked moves and made a whole lot of points on how to wreck people good, but she insisted on perfection. Learning and understanding weren’t good enough for her--every motion had to be poetic.
“The Slayer ain’t no patsy!”
That was her rationale for everything: the Slayer ain’t no patsy. Every day could be the Slayer’s last so everything she did had to be perfect. No time for slip ups or failures because those equated to death. Fighting wasn’t suppose to be fun. Slaying wasn’t suppose to be a rush. Training was suppose to be a privilege. The battle for good was suppose to be a sacred duty.
But for Shego, fighting WAS fun. Slaying was even better, like the cherry on the sundae. Duty? Training? Having to listen to everything about demons and epic battles and old prophecies? Having to do these menial exercises instead of going out and sticking it to a vampire? Not so much.
Which was why when her body slowed down from exhaustion and that ball of red paint clipped her side, Shego wondered why she tolerated this abuse.
For the fight. For the chance to get better, even to become the best. That would show Hego, the one who always hogged all the glory and attention. That would show Mom and Dad who always told her to be careful. Careful? Who needed to be careful when nothing could stop her? Who would dare take her glory ever again?
Jaws clenched and eyes narrowed, Shego let out a frustrated cry and rushed her teacher. Duck to the left, spin back to the right, and like a whip, her leg flashed from out of nowhere, smacking the paintball gun into the wall and shattering it into pieces. Without hesitation, Shego slipped behind Aines and put the older woman in a chokehold.
Breathlessly, the black haired girl asked, “Why don’t we take a break?”
Another Watcher might have acquiesced, terrified at her Slayer’s temper. Another teacher might have chided her student who let her emotions take over her actions. Aines? The blonde latched onto Shego’s forearm, bucked her hips to create some space, and flipped the girl onto the training room’s unforgiving floor with a resounding boom.
The ceiling fuzzed into a blurry brown, its support beams suddenly doubling in number. As her ears rang and her head swam, Shego let out a soft, tortured moan. Like a solar eclipse, Aines’ face crested into view and blocked out everything else.
“Wha did I tell ya? Yuir body’s a tool n’ ya gotta use it right. It ain’t ‘bout how quick ye move or how strong ye are, it’s how ye use what ya have.” A grunt and a pull followed, ending with a wobbling Shego now on her feet. “Bugger the whinin’, Slayer! I want ye ta put that ‘old on meh again. ‘bout the only thing I have over ye is me height, me leverage. Even Slayers gotta listen ta all that physics junk so I used that ta drop ya, just stepped back, put me feet ‘tween yours, and POW!” She added a smirk and a mock jab for effect. “Now, get meh ‘gain n’ try not ta take a spill.”
Looking back on it, those four months were good ti-
Princess, you’re interrupting. Again.
But four months?
What can I say? The masochist in me liked the pain.
A maso-wha? Whoa! You almost hit me with that!
Think of it as a thank you for saving my life.
How come when KP interrupts you don’t throw things at her?
Because I’m not crazy in love with you, Stoppable. Believe it or not, things like that make a difference.
How can you not be crazy in love with the Ronster?
- To be continued…