Life has ones that follow a set path, wander a linear road, stalk through a simple maze. They don't make decisions. They have a goal in mind that won't change, that won't fix itself, or break itself. Then there are those in life that are nothing like this, those that have lives with no set place to go.
Dear Life, New Beginnings
Dear Diary,
This is going to be the last time I write to you. God, I feel as if the longer I carry you around the longer my problems are gonna to stay. But, I don't want to think about that right now.
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 really figure it out when he finally brought me to his 'lair'. Both the actual reason and why he didn't mention it…
I honestly thought I was going to blow my fucking lid after the day finished, though. 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 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 work, 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 survived over the past years since she left them other than her outfit. Everything else that is evenly slightly linked to her past that she knows of, is burning now or has already burnt; she dislikes her distant past, 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 case – locking it and placing the case under several other books in a drawer beside her bed. She locks the drawer, leaves the room and locks it. Then places the chain the keys hang on in an interesting place. 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 any sort of information on 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, nor care, towards the pictures hanging on the wall, not really giving much of a damn about the man. This try at a new level of villainy isn't to make friends; 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, either.
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 madman in particular 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; but soon remembers that her former life and current resume could get her a job with any one of these types and there aren't much people out there 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.
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 a 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 had 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 centers of attention; 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…children, if they paid attention to each other instead. But, they didn't.
To normal passing bystanders coming home from a tiring day at work or going out for the meteor storm that was to be happening later on this isn't anything new for a day like today. So it would be normal for one to inherently assume it to be just another regular girl and regular boy, who happen to be siblings, trying to find a good enough vantage point for the upcoming meteor shower that night.
To parental onlookers who have or had a child or two, maybe more, of their own to care for; the sight of the frolicking children enjoying their time before being utterly mesmerized, enthralled and astounded by one of the many wonders they would or wouldn't ever see again, made for a heart warming sight.
To the pessimists, the realists, the politicians and the poor – to the doctors, the veterans, the law enforcers and the hero's; this was nothing, it was the past they had where naivety and child like innocence ruled their worlds, making it impossible for them to find and see the true face of the planet. Both of the two traits, to these people, would eventually be lost for the two children because the world would never stand to let a person live with such a flawed way of thinking with all the cold, hard realities that would eventually be thrown into the paths of any one person growing up.
To the rest, they wouldn't look with the intention to think or care, these kids are new to them and they aren't belonging to any people they know of so it's apathy they show. Some others would feel a ting of enviousness for the chance to be oblivious again, others would show hatred for such weakness and dependency…and then there were others that had no such emotions and ranged from simple happiness for no reason to much more complex scrutiny on the simple act.
Soon enough though, the trance is broken. The silent agreement of time to let itself freeze and allow such provoking of 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 at his age, is just understanding 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 and conflicting internally with the mind of a child, still reflecting his outer visage, battling the thought patterns of a man that his brain has yet to even understand the meaning of. So instead of doing anything, he stands there fighting an invisible battle.
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 anything 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's 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 the calls of her brother telling her to come up, also 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 after her sandal clad foot comes into contact with it and she barely registers the pain more occupied instead with trying not to inhale any of the dirt as her face stays planted in the ground.
The young boy saw, he 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 starting 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, she sees that he's not there though, instead after a bit of searching she's 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 so she 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 thats ever seen her there and they 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, that 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 again.
“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 girls not listening anymore though, not even feeling anything outside of herself, having been hanging her head and closing up since the 'Father' remark.
Glancing over at his sister because of the lacking response, he notices the girl staring at the ground and suddenly missing that fire in her eyes, having had it replaced with something he can't describe, it being nothing he's seen before. Growing worried he starts shaking her but still no answer, or reaction.
Nothing can reach her though; she's not letting anything reach her. A daughter with no father to look after her as if she was his special girl or no mother that wants to teach her the values of family life and compassion doesn't understand what it is like to have a person reach in, pull her out and hold her like she's wanted to be held. It's always been the same way at her home, at school and she has no reason to believe it's going to change because she's never experienced anything different towards her.
She doesn't know that shes already started to build up an invisible wall between herself and the world and that it's now becoming the reason as to why no one outside her family has reached for her yet. She still blames them though, because unlike her brother who doesn't know any better but to help an elderly across the street, she doesn't know anything at all. She hasn't been told anything at all. She's been ignored.
'It's cold,' she thinks. Even with her brother beside her, she's cold. She can faintly hear him trying to say something but her ears are burning with numbness so she doesn't bother straining them. She finds herself caring less about him anyways. Shouldn't he be helping her feel warmer? She doesn't want to feel cold anymore.
She really wants someone to hold her…but there's no one in sight.
So she holds herself.
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, having known from the beginning what the true intentions behind the falsified, casual conversation and questions that were posed for her 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 though, it didn't do anything for her, but 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, rather than targets. 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 and 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 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 it always seemed like far less of an assemblage whenever she gathered herself for these 'villain' parties and far more like a neatly amalgamated cluster fuck. But all that did was confuse and make her understand more. Truthfully, she 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, as 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 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. Fucking shit! FUCK! MY GOD DAMN-…”
“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 at that as well, battling back 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 and that the voice is wrong.
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 nature display for even a moment. He sits beside her, smiling at the scowl fixed back into place, but silently is 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 and 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,” he 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.”
Green and black feet penetrate a dark abyss. Dainty, insignificant in comparison to the surrounding pitch black, their movements are practically controlled, harmoniously attuned to the adjacent opposites descending motion in a perfect ballet of synchrony. Touching down onto the ventilation ducts metal plating, they create an effective counterbalance for steadying the lowering figures weight.
It coils its torso around the shafts entranceway, twisting the upper body slightly in order to grant itself more comfortable spacing between its hands for increased support and maneuverability. Fingers grip the edge with crushing force, but make no sound as shoulders press themselves gently against the vertical ducting further increasing support as the figure initializes its lower segments movement into the cool, lightless tunnel below. With the two limbs shifted into the correct positioning, the forms remaining luminescent frame wrapped in raven strands of lengthy hair releases the pressure being delicately exerted onto the surrounding metal plating and equally gingerly descends into the inky blackness.
No sound is made as the digits extricate themselves from the thresholds curb and after the figure is engulfed by the pitch black depths.
Nothing more can be seen in the passageway other than a quick, green flicker and fading glow.
Shego walks in.
Drakken screams.
She rolls her eyes. Hers is the sudden growing belief that the true face of the world's most devious, underhanded, cunning and scheming masterminds is nothing more than a whimpering, fidgety, garrulous and, of all things, sensitive mama's boy. That odd thought pattern brings up some small wonders for her, because for all she could know now after having all her disillusioned fantasies crushed into fecal matter, he could actually still keep in touch with his mother. Her actually considering the possibility that a villain who has numerously attempted to conquer the planet still has a need for his mother shows how much her placement of the super villain hierarchy has dropped, as well as her respect for them.
Though, maybe she should have expected as much with them being insane enough to try overtaking the world in the first place.
He blinks at the pale woman standing at the entrance to his laboratory. She taps her foot impatiently and the sound is enough to unscramble his mind momentarily. “Oh, it's, uhh…just you Shego,” he states lamely. His is the growing belief that it's going to become necessary to get used to seeing a female inside his base outside of Kim Possible. The fact that she's the former lone super heroine turned thief of Go City and now a criminal turned bodyguard/co-conspirator for him and his dastardly plans of world conquest isn't helping him believe the reality lobe of his brain.
Shego stares at her employer and sighs. He's been standing there like a statue for ten seconds longer than she would like. “Doctor D, wake up!” she yells from her perch at the arching door frame leading into the laboratory.
Drakken stiffens, paling slightly at the uncanny resemblance and insinuating deja vu, but soon relaxes when he remembers who it actually is standing in the middle of his base within attack range but not attacking; it's his new bodyguard, his spy, his agent, hireling and hench…woman. Needing to get accustomed indeed.
“Oh right, did you get it?”
She waves her hand, “I got it, I got it.” and walks over to the table the blue skinned scientist stationed himself at, passing on the disk she stole to him, “Don't know why you want it, but I got it.”
He responds by grabbing it forcefully out of her hands, “My plan will reveal itself in due course, Shego…”
She just sighs as the formerly snarling and possibly even threatening expression, breaks out into a glossy eyed, kid-in-a-candy-store vibe as he gloats, all the while playing with the disk like a child. “Whatever you say, Doctor D.”
A lithe figure carefully feels its way through the dark ventilation duct. Even with the green tinted glow illuminating the path (the one that even allows it to become possible to use the metallic shafting as an infiltration route), the tunnel being large enough to make the figure unable to see all of the path at once prevents any use of quick motions.
Its chest oscillates while it opens its mouth intentionally, controlling the following inaudible breath as the forward motions persist.
The form eventually comes to a rest over a metal grating leading into a large, equally dark room. Silently, it's right hand moves closer to the square's top most corner as the other hand pushes its fingers through the flaps in the air passageway for the possible event of the screen loosening without consent. Soon after barely a flicker of concentration from the figure, the right hands index finger lights up in a brilliantly green glow; it stretches the digit for a moment to calm down any trembling after the elongated pause to tense and position the rest of its form… Taking a calming breath, the form slowly and gently pushes the digit into the corner…and barely suppresses a flinch that would have alerted anyone in the vicinity to it's presence when the improvised cutting tool discharges an unexpected searing sound. What the hell? Tin foil?
Unused to such base, but surprisingly effective, methods for repressing stealth infiltration, even after penetrating some higher class security facilities, the figure feels it's irritation spark at how needlessly tedious the operation just became. But, the interest it holds in the mission doesn't wane. It has never been one known to ever do things half way, and even if that wasn't the case, its curiosity has never been driven to the point of taking actions like it was now. That had to stand for something from its point of view.
Besides.
Shego craved challenges.
Her eyelids are heavy, muscle cramps blanket her body as bruises clustered around her forearms and shins restrict chances for any decent traveling speed; unwanted exhaustion filters through the quickly dissipating adrenaline shield, while perspiration traces her grim, tightly jut jawline. Though no one would even notice it, with the far more prominent bleeding lacerations, arrayed haphazardly across her body.
Shego staggers, beaten legs carrying her into the confines of an alleyway, drearier than normal with the added opaque coating of the night sky. Positive that her figure is completely covered in shadows, she collapses against the cement structure surrounding the thin, veiled passageway, unable to steady her sore body with her own strength any longer.
Ignoring her inflamed lungs, a ragged breath tears itself from her throat. What…the…fuck!
This was not the first time Shego had found herself inexplicably in an hour long chase, with her as the mouse. The chances for any target of hers having a single or multiple, unaccountable defenses that would evidently raise awareness to the crisis she was causing had always varied drastically from agency to bank, vise versa, and so forth. This had tapered off eventually, with the growth of her experience and skill, but they still happened, albeit rarely. The predicament she was in now however, had nothing to do with breaking and entering.
Clawed gloves are taken off, as she lurches, still unable to keep proper balance, and soon lowers herself to the cement floor against the ashen wall, with the guidance of her bare hands. Her breathing still raw and coarse, Shego wearily eyes the multitudes of wounds littering the bottom half of her body, oozing the thick, slightly green tinted red life blood of hers. Then she pockets the gloves in her ankle pouch.
She should have been expecting Global Justice to be watching. Who else would suddenly send an agent out to an island in the middle of nowhere after a respected scientist just had the schematics to a lifelong work of his stolen? They weren't an unknown judicatory faction; with all of the agents spread across the planet, and the sheer mass quantity of them around, they had the power to spare time listening to the beckons of the public. Or, more specifically, the 'important' public.
A pulsating sensation in her throat forces her to part her lips, and a groan reverberates. She feels like shit right now. Back sore, legs unable to support weight anymore, upper body muscles over extended; not to mention the physical exhaustion now setting in, which conveniently makes the wounds, damage and enervation, just that much more apparent. It's all making her feel like she just tangoed with a rhinoceros.
Her head rolls limply, swiveling forward lazily, making itself fall into a loose hanging position framed with ebony locks. She coughs roughly after an irregular, hacking breath and glares. She needs to find a place she can stay the night; grimy alleyways and chance for hypothermia aside, her hair was a mess. Her hair does not stay messy. Ever.
The conviction she holds on the matter doesn't reach her strained limbs, however.
Groaning with the realization she would need to wait, she trashes her head around pathetically. This is not how I wanted to spend my first real day on the job, she thinks, despairingly. Waiting for her injuries to heal to a tolerable point wouldn't take long of course with her keen acumen on suffering and healing capabilities – Shego understands pain; how to dish it out, how to take it, how to ignore it…but, right now it was more of the fact that she was in this much pain that it hit her, and the impact was more of a surprised wonderment than a bruised indignation. The irritation was there, but the more she thought back on it, the more…the more…well, the more of something she felt. In the end, though, she knew the reasoning was because someone actually stood up to her on a leveled playing field.
Kim Possible could fight her evenly, and, conceivably, maybe even win.
Yeah, right, like that's ever going to happen, she thinks, usual boasting in place. However, Shego's interest had already been piqued the second that revelation processed and her rarely touched intrigue, the intrigue that would woefully shame her usual fleeting curiosity (to put it mildly), has equally quickly drawn itself.
She has been ordained as a 'Devil's Fruit', one that should never be approached. Tantalizing to the eyes, tempting to the touch, but never to be actively pursued. A woman whose proven her worth dozens of times over as a thief, as a combatant, as a mercenary, as an efficacious business woman and a connoisseur in the villainy branch; she's one that captures attention with more than just her figure. Her employers love her, she's stolen them jewels, blackmail material, money, and multitudes of varying items; her rivals hate her, she's taken their contracts, their jobs, and any chances they have of being hired, away; the villains beg for her, for her help, her services, her loyalty and allegiance; her counterparts – law and justice, they want her in jail, out of their way, it's why she's been assigned as the most wanted woman in the world. Her list of truly challenging challenges has dwindled to almost nothing, she humiliated those she's wanted to; she has conquered systems, facilities, maximum security prisons and banks with the latest in protection; people she previously had called equals in combat were nothing to her now.
She had become the best. Been told so. The title was one she flaunted, but it had made her life grow increasingly flat, repetitious, stale…it had built it into a routine. A routine with nothing that kept her boredom at bay, leaving her unsatisfied and…well, bored.
There wasn't much difficult for her anymore.
Now, though…
She winces. Grr…fucking bullet wounds. Shego's temper flares, and she roughly pushes herself up, suppressing all of the groans and moans her body tries forcing her mouth to enact, in order to protest the disruptive and abusing motions. Her body wants more rest. She wants something else.
Shego hobbles upwards, supporting her still unsteady legs with the wall behind her. In her mind, she's already planning out the course of actions she'll be taking after making her way to safety. Her contract already binded her into freeing Doctor Drakken from his current imprisonment, but other than that, there wasn't much she would need to do outside of the usual precautions after a sullied heist or dirty getaway. Global Justice wouldn't linger around for long anyways, A half day of hiding, getting a little something to drink, maybe buy a magazine…yep, every thing's going to be a piece of cake.
She smirks. Shego steadily fastens herself against the alleyway entrances corner, detaching herself from the weariness she's feeling and checks, double checks, then triple checks the darkened surroundings for agents that might be stalking up and down the quiet suburbia. Fixing her torn, blood soaked leotard, she quietly sneaks her way through the empty streets.
Her path set, she knows her destination.
Shadows eclipse her.
Successive anxious breaths are drawn as a glowing hand pushes forward through the obscuring darkness and grips the knob.
Shego sighs, taking a small step toward the goal she had been aiming for since entering the building. Wringing the wrist around the handle, ever so gently as to not wake up the being she knew was laying on the other side of the barrier, she slowly slides her other hand over the doors hinges. Nodding in self affirmation, she gently twists and pulls open the entranceway.
She slips in through the thin opening she's made, powers down her plasma powers, closes the door behind her and crouches down lowering her center of gravity and the body weight she'd exert onto the wooden floorboards; all of this is done quickly, quietly, efficiently and in no time at all. Like she's always done.
Concentration is center point when she closes her eyes, reaches deep inside of herself for the feeling thats always been there and pulls. A flicker, she blinks, her eyes glow. Meticulously, she analyzes the living quarters around her with the temporarily augmented vision, memorizing any obstructions size and position, examining for any signs of the same security she encountered outside the window to the room, and setting the best pathway she could for the goal. Knowledge of the room set in mind, she powers down her orbs.
Shego's body rearranges, opening up into a wider crouching stance for better equilibrium and she cautiously prowls over to the bedside. To this escapades ambition.
Green eyes spot the figure laying under the covers.
Her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as her body lengthens from it's crouch into a domineering pose over the furnishing, or for precision, the form laying on it. I beat your house Possible, its a message, a reminder to herself more so than a gloat to an adversary. She skirts her hand across the cottony covers, her fingers tingle with the fleecy texture to it. She never had gotten on thinking what she would do when the finally destination would be reached, should she kill her? No. The answer comes unsurprisingly quickly to Shego, even when she considers who it is she's staring at, and who she's working for currently. She a thief, not an assassin. Besides it's not in the contract.
She hesitates only momentarily, before running a finger through a red mane. Should she drug her so she would never get in her employers way again? It takes a while longer for this one, but the answer remains firm in mind. No. She wonders whether she should just go along with the plan she had devised earlier. To her, it was by far the most rewarding and she needed to do little outside of having fun, but…she was getting that feeling again.
She hated that feeling more than anything else.
Shego suddenly felt herself become very anxious. The cold, dead, creeping feeling was rippling itself across her spine as she stares longer down at the serene face jutting out of the woolly covers. Simultaneously, it occurs to her the longer her olive orbs pass over the young face, younger than her own, that she's being ridiculous. She has always fancied herself a realist, one that often relied on gut feelings, but a realist nonetheless. This mindset eventually wins over the childlike fear she was feeling of the ominous unknown, and she ponders on what she was thinking believing the stupid instinct, she has always actually liked the unknown, what's the problem with the unknown? Pfft. Get a grip on yourself…
Smirking again, she detaches her hand from the silky red mane and caresses the face so alike to her own from the past gently. She tosses the previous thoughts away, instead choosing to stare at a person that's left her intrigued, a person that only days ago was able to match fisticuffs ( if only because I was playing around, she adds) with her, something that hasn't happened at all for the past year. Shego had to admit, it was a rush thats been missing and there was something…something else there, that she just couldn't see.
Before she can think more, the red haired figure orients herself, moaning slightly as a cuddle buddy is pulled close. Shego almost laughs, but restrains herself, settling for a condescending smile in its stead. Already, she knows that this girl is going to be fun to mess around with, her entire countenance is screaming 'Anny' to her. A little girl that'll do anything to impress, anything to fit in, anything so she can be called a good girl and have all her friends and family laugh and hug and sing fucking Kumbayaa, her vacant stare turns into a heated glare as these thoughts consummate.
I think it's time, she decides, scowling, that I left. But first… A peck, “I'm going to say this now Pumpkin. We're going to be having a lot of fun, when we meet again.”
Shego smiles, as she lifts her features from Kim Possible's. It's not a smile of happiness, or a gesture that shows appreciation, peace of mind, or love, not even mild like; it's a cruel smile in many ways, and she knows this. The smile is one that harbors hatred, conceals obscene amusement, and holds a promise to another, far more serene visage, that has yet to confirm and utter yes.
It's the promise for pain, for battles and combat, disdain yet respect.
The promise for a challenge.
Author's Note's:
First and foremost, I'll explain this. To better clarify how I'm working through this, and to clear up any misconceptions and irregularities, I'll pan it out for you:
- 'Tick Tick Tick' is what the last five scenes are based around and it's heavily edited for my purposes (I don't care). Consider this the actual meeting of Kim and Shego and place it in front of the actual first episode as the initial meeting. There is no changes other than this going to be done to the canon and all that, so you don't need to worry about being 'out of the loop' or whatever.
- Yes, I know that this episode also was technically the first meeting of Drakken – Kim. This has been changed. I understand that it was done so that Disney wouldn't need a 'flashback episode' or an explanation of when he became interested in the whole world conquering thing, but I find it realistically, stupid. She's been doing the world saving job for a while already even in canon and I don't like that Drakken just so happened to start doing it at the beginning of the series (not in regards to the original show. This is purely for my story). This is entirely a new device reinforcing that this fic is pretty much AU, and I did it because it'll make it easier to work around this chapter. And just to tell you I only did it because it wouldn't have any long term bad effects on what happened after throughout the series. I won't be altering the original anymore after this segment, so that's not anything you need to worry about.
- Also. My story is not going to be linear. I doubt its very confusing, because it can basically be construed as multiple one-shots put into one and explaining a certain event that will eventually come together to fit a whole. Like a puzzle, you see. It requires thinking, reflection (not deep mind you) and maybe even a little speculation. Who knows?
- Finally, I know some people are going to have difficulty accepting an angry Shego. And I can relate. I found it odd in the beginning too writing a Shego anything more than sarcastic, witty and stubborn. However, point one is that just being 'annoyed' and 'spiteful towards' an obnoxious behavior of her family members would not be enough to leave them forever. Rebel she is, snappy she is, but caring she is. Why would she instantly lose everything she's built up with her family like that? I don't know, but this is just a possible way I see her having been treated or the such. You don't need to like it, but she is human too and she can get angry and emotional as well. She can have a horrible past, or a perfect past and something could have happened to change it. We don't know and this is my portrayal for this fiction.
- P.P.S (technically speaking) – Don't expect events to be in a systematic and chronological order. I did this for fun, truthfully. No, but in all seriousness, I did it for dramatic effect. Okay, I'm kidding; really I just want to confuse you out of some form of sick pleasure I partake in daily even in my physical life.
Or am I lying? Or am I lying that I'm lying? Or is that also a lie that you won't be able to work your way around because I've already been befitted as a liar in your mind?
Find out next chapter and whatnot…
Addendum: I would prefer reviews, suggestions more or less explaining if I stayed in character enough for them all. If it all seemed well placed and spaced and if the dialog scenes are fine the way they are or need help. Badly. Or just a little. Well you understand, right?
Thought #1: Shego is a world class thief that was even hired to train a certain billionaire's son in the arts of a thievery. Wouldn't that suggest that she had a concierge of sorts training her in these ways to become this good? I highly doubt she was able to learn everything she knows on her own, and that the training the 'Go-getters' or whatever the fuck that group is called (I don't like them by the way) from Go City put themselves through included being able to break through laser defense grids and the such. I would gather that with these two obvious loop holes that have been left open and plenty more out there in relation to Shego's past, that she would gain more perspectives on it. Though that's just probably my inner fanboy talking.
Anyways, this fiction, is a writing piece of mine purely for my curiosity of how deep I can get into a characters persona and how immersible I can make my plot, story, or the like. It's a…practice piece. But it won't be crap, I can tell you. I hope it won't be crap, I rather pride myself on the fact that my writing is at least half decent and completely legible.
Ja for now.
Revs