Little Girl, Big Man | Damien

They ran to and fro, scuttling about like ants trying to escape the white-hot wrath of the marauding magnifying glass. The searing heat of the midday glow made allowances for nobody; this was Nevada, baby, the land of desert sun and deserted sin. And this was the Death Weapon Meister Academy, where people could play with weapons in the morning, kill somebody doing evil shit by the afternoon and still work in time for Physical Education classes before bedtime. That clearly said something about either the efficiency of the school or the effect of the baking sunlight on these people's fresh, fertile little minds.

But screw 'em. She was a healthy young lady, she didn't need the exercise, and she certainly didn't need to justify it to anybody else. They could burn off the calories and keep themselves fit just as they saw fit: they were still just decaying heaps of organic scrap material, fading and dying with the same implacable rapidity of the bugs crawling around under the stones and the birds flitting about in the air. She didn't need to explain her vainglory through rigourous running and sycophantic leaping. Her eminent satisfaction with her own corporeal prowess was beautifully self-evident.

She lay on the grass, then, chewing the stubbed-out end of a ham and cheese sandwich that had previously found a home in her pocket. It tasted slightly sweet, slightly sour; the ham was a little salty, but overall, tasty. She examined the remaining triangular wedge nestled in the palm of her fingerless gloved hand and then promptly downed it in one go.

It was nice here. She could get some well-deserved shuteye before heading off to decapitate some idiot evildoer. Just as she liked it.

Damien grinned as he sprinted around the track, finishing his roadwork. In deference to the heat, he was fully shirtless, only his customary hand wraps covering any part of his upper body. Still, almost as if were immune to the heat, Damien kept his sweatpants, and seemed to be unaffected by them. Though he drew some odd looks, Damien knew he wasn't the only one trying to beat the heat- and honestly, he didn't really care what he looked like right now.

Damien enjoyed the feeling of the sweat on his skin, cooling him down, his burning lungs as they tried to fuel the rest of his massive body, the feeling of his muscles bunching as they obeyed his every order, perfect cogs in the machine. On a whim, Damien collected all his power in his legs and vaulted over one of the racing bars. He had no form, but it didn't matter- with his power, though he might have been slower than other students, his jump was unparalleled. He couldn't help it- he simply had to laugh with joy as he flew through the air.

After landing, Damien finished up with a high speed shadowbox, just seeing how far he could push himself before becoming exhausted. Grinning, looking for all the world like a golden retriever for his sheer level of happiness, Damien jogged up to the football goalpost in the grass, once again bunching up and leaping to slam his arm into the crossbeam, as if dunking a football. Shaking his head, Damien was just about to call it a day when he saw a pretty girl, about his age, just lying in the grass as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Shrugging, Damien turned away, heading towards the main exercise house to grab a towel and some water. But as he splashed the water over him, and dried himself off, he couldn't help but think of the girl just lying there in the field. Damien's brain decided that it wanted to check out what was up- not like it ever needed an excuse to discover something out before. Still, he had one, so full speed ahead!

Thirty second of jogging got him where he needed to be. Picking up a particularly long blade of grass, Damien snapped it off at the stalk and held it in his mouth, gently gnawing on the stem. Throwing himself down, Damien placed himself so their heads were the closest things together, and were about a foot apart. "So, what's up, sweetheart? Any reason why you're just lying down in the middle of the field? Or are you just working on your tan?" Damien grinned. To him, just walking up to a stranger and striking a conversation seemed as natural as breathing.

A single forest-green eye was cracked open in the presence of the young man. The bearer of the eye glanced up. Instinctive reaction, caused by the ancient process of neurons doing such and such with the little flashy, sparky bits in the neo-frontal cortex thingummy part of the brain - or something; this was never intended to be her forte - pulled her mouth taut into a vitriolic scowl.

"Look, dummkopf," she snarled, wearing an expression like a bobcat that has just realised something is pressing with extreme prejudice on its tail, "I don't know who you think you are, nor do I give a damn. So, if I could be so bold as to make a suggestion, I recommend you just get up, turn around and fuck off. You're blockin' all the light."

Shaking his head, simply shrugging, Damien stood up and stretched for a moment. "As you wish, sweetheart." Yawning for a moment, Damien turneed around, walked two steps, then flopped himself down next to the strange girl, so they lay side by side, perhaps two or three feet between the odd pair. "There. Not blocking the light anymore, am I?" Damien laughed for a moment. Perhaps it wasn't very clever, as far as subversions go, but it still had a bit of humor to it.

Damien didn't know why he was so interested in the obviously vitriolic girl, who had vinegar in her soul and acid in her veins. But like a moth to a flame, Damien found himself increasingly drawn to her, though his instincts were warning him to back the hell off and perhaps run away as quickly as he could. Not like I've ever been good at running away from anything. Might as well satisfy my curiosity. I can die after that.[/i] Damien thought with a hangdog smile. If anything would kill this cat man, it would be curiosity.

With this in mind, Damien responded to the bitter woman with nothing but honeyed words and his usual, infuriating, carefree demeanor. "How fortunate- our goals seem to match, sweetheart. After all, I did ask what you were doing. Y si tu pares con hablando en aleman, yo tenga muchas gracias." And if you would stop speaking in German, I would be rather grateful. Damien knew she probably wouldn't understand a damned word he said, but it would be enough to stop her vulgarities. That, or spark conflict. Still, either one was good in his opinion. "So, what are you doing at the school, sweetheart? Are you a Meister or Weapon?"

The problem with being a moth drawn to the flame is, sooner or later, they're going to find themselves getting burnt. Perhaps they'll wise up and dodge the flickering allure of the infernal light show this time, but moths have seldom been praised for their intellectual predisposition, and there's always a hungry spider or an irate cat nearby if you're not careful.

With a movement that would be describable as "fluid" only if fluid dynamics had determined that liquid moved with the speed and interminable teleology of a flying brick to the teeth, Sophie Stochlietz rolled over and belted the irritating young man in the jaw with the core of her elbow.

"Whoopsies," she sing-songed, rolling back as she was and flicking a lime-pineapple lollipop in between her canine jaws, "Guess I slipped or somethin'! Seriously, drop the act, wiseass. You're cute, but that doesn't mean I give a shit about your big-ass muscles or your fancy ha-blow en Ess-pan-yoh-lay bullfuckery. I mean, what sort of remedial class dunderhead are you anyway, comin' over here and harassing a poor widdle girl like me?"

She leaned over to him, peering down at his - significantly larger - body with the look of one who is unsure whether to take pity or to spit on the alternate party.

"Or are you just some perv who likes to get his rocks off on bein' a horny bronzed voyeur?"

Damien grunted slightly as he felt the little girl's elbow smack into his jaw like a good uppercut. He had just caught the shadow of the attack on the grass, and so had been able to roll with it, but man, this honey could hit! Damn, now I'm even more interested in her. Damien thought with a grin as he rolled over so Sophie couldn't see him and spat out some blood where he had bit his cheek. Running his tongue over his teeth, Damien made sure to clean up all the blood. Turning back to Sophie, Damien simply smiled once more, taking 'turning the other cheek' to a new level.

"Oh, don't worry about it, sweetheart- accidents happen all the time" Damien's fist blurred, and only reappeared an inch away from Sophie's chin. To drive home the point though, Damien lightly flicked her on the chin- not enough to hurt (too much), mind you, but just enough. "Though honey, keep in mind I've just been retaliating until now." Here, Damien laughed. "All I asked was for you to quit swearing in German. I much prefer it when I know what names I'm being called." Once again, Damien simply flashed Sophie that irritable grin of his, the one against which no attack might surmount.

Though she may not have been responding to his plea, the German stopped. "See? Isn't it much better to swear at a man when he can understand it? Oh, and thanks for the compliment. You're pretty good looking yourself, honey." Damien smiled disarmingly, never once showing anger or vulgarity, even when Sophie stood over him, blocking out the sun. Damien simply closed his eyes for a moment and laid his head on his hands, sighing at the simple pleasure of escaping the sun's wrath.

But when Sophie opened her mouth to speak once more, Damien couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, honey, have you been to the pool recently? I think you might still have some water in your ears!" He gently teased. "I've been trying to talk to you, that's all. Just trying to make friends, like everyone else here." Finally, Damien opened his eyes, staring directly into Sophie's.

Sophie glared at the young man with alien emotion in her eyes. He hadn't got up and left; that alone was strange enough. Usually her guests would have hit her back or at least--

Oh. There it was. Come on, baby, go for the--

It never came. The Beckettesque fist stopped just short of her face. As she blinked and tried t assuage his actual intentions, she felt his finger connect with her chin. She let a faint, feline snarl bubble up from her throat and turned away sourly.

This dummkopf was a cheeky one, whatever else. But he had balls. He actually had the nerve to hit her, and he didn't even do it in a proper, good old-fashioned sort of way. He was toying with her. He must have been dropped on his head as a child. There were plenty of other women around here. If he wanted to get all fluffy and friendly with one - or, hell, if he just wanted to get into her pants - why not go pester the other po-faced little princesses? He could just fuck off from her as far as she was concerned.

She turned black to give him another solid glare. By now, her rabid grin had all but faded.

"Look, big guy," she growled, attempting the foreign concept of reason as a viable alternative to her irritable plight, "I get it, you think I'm a real sex kitten. So do a lot of people. But I ain't interested. How about you kindly just get up and haul your well-toned pretty-boy ass elsewhere, you oversized guy-hugger?"

When Damien heard Sophie speak once more, he erupted in uproarious laughter. It actually took him a while to stop, and even then, he was gasping for air like a boxer in the twelfth round. "Oh God honey, you're killing me over here!" He shook his head as he closed his eyes once more. Yes, she was attractive. No, sex wasn't quite on his mind- or at least, it wasn't at the forefront. He was a guy, after all. Smiling, Damien couldn't help but notice the maniacal grin had faded from Sophie's face. Good. Now we're getting somewhere.[/i]

Still, Damien couldn't help but wonder why the girl standing above him was so...defensive. She put out a big front, even going so far as to hit someone like him, but at the end, it was just an act. Not like you're one to talk.[/i] He berated himself, mocking his own judgement. He was probably one of the worst offenders in that particular sin. Still, she was attractive- and Damien didn't mean physically (for once). He could call it curiosity, but something else kept him coming back for punishment. And he would be dammed if he wasn't going to find out just what it was.

"You know, honey, you're the only one to mention sex here. And my 'well-toned, pretty-boy ass' is pretty tired after running, so I'm happy just trying to make a friend here." Damien smiled sweetly, no trace of deceit on his face. "So, sorry to sound like a broken record here, but how goes it? My name's Damien Lier. As pleasant as it is, why were you just lying in the middle of the field? You'll have to forgive me- curiosity'll probably be the death of me, anyways!" Damien laughed, a deep, infectious sound that, if it didn't come from the heart, certainly it came from the belly.

Having exhausted all other avenues of approach, Sophie sighed and buried her face in her leather-bound palm. This guy was really getting on her nerves.

No. He had gone well past getting on her nerves and was now well and truly enjoying the ride. Bashing him in the kisser evidently had no effect on the big lunkhead. Maybe if she just blew his boy bits off he'd get the idea and piss the hell off.

That being said, he was tenacious. Tenacity was something she admired. She still saw him as nothing more than a piece of dried bubblegum clinging vicariously to the sole of her boot, but at least now she began wondering if she could have some fun with him all the same.

She put on her best faux smile and gave him a look that one reserves for animals, small children and those with a decisive lack of grey matter between their vacuous ears.

"I'm sittin' here because I don't want to sit anywhere else. That good enough for you, assclown?"

She sniffed and flicked her lilac hair out of her eye. It flopped back down like a tired kitten just as it always was.

"Forgive me for saying this, dummkopf, but you look like the kind of person who doesn't exactly get social niceties. I mean, bravo, you can evidently put your clothes on the right way around and maybe take a bath once in a while, but if I'm being totally honest here, I think that if your brains were dynamite, you'd still be a fucking dumbass."

Damien frowned for a moment, mocking himself and Sophie's answer before the eternal smile smashed through his visage once more. "Aww, that's all? No fun. You could have at least made something up. Something like..." Damien was about to make a suggestion but his brain, incapable of lying as it was, gave him nothing. "Eh, nevermind. You get the idea, I reckon." Damien simply chuckled at his own failure, undaunted. Thanks to this, as Sophie started once again trying to assail his walls, Damien was fully prepared to return fire.

"Forgive me for saying this, dummkopf-" Damien cut into her speech there and then. "Oh, don't worry about that, honey. If I got angry at every little thing somebody said against me, I would have left long ago."

Still, the girl preserved in her rant. "-But you look like the kind of person who doesn't exactly get social niceties. I mean, bravo, you can evidently put your clothes on the right way around and maybe take a bath once in a while, but if I'm being totally honest here, I think that if your brains were dynamite, you'd still be a fucking dumbass."

Damien simply smiled, the insult sliding off like water. "Hell honey, you ain't alone there. I'm pretty sure that if my brains were dynamite, like you said, they would be duds!" Laughing at his self depreciation, Damien continued his return volley. "As for social niceties, I reckon I've got those down pat. Please, thank you, not swearing overmuch at strangers- the whole nine yards." Damien smiled disarmingly before a particularly evil idea came to him.

"Hey, sweetheart, this is gonna sound strange considering what we were just saying, but do you feel like getting some ice cream? My treat, no strings attached." Seeing Sophie eyeing him suspiciously, Damien held up his hands as if the police were investigating him. "I', not planning anything, I swear. I'll even be sure not to look at you as a 'real sex kitten,' as you said." Damien laughed at his gentle teasing before staring into Sophie's eyes, searching for the answer. "So, what do ya say, sweetheart?" Damien smiled sweetly.

Sophie glared at him. Now he was coming onto her. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the bastard had some ulterior motive here.

And he had gone straight for the vital area, no less.

She looked at the sky. The sun was hot today, that was for sure. The big old ball of flaming helium was certainly doing its job in making her feel like a piece of charcoal on a hot summer barbecue. Damn it anyway.

Alright, fine. If he wanted to play that sort of game, then he was more than welcome to. Take the girl out, show her a good time, see if he can get lucky; he'd either realise very quickly that the little kitty had claws or he'd die trying to please her.

Besides, more importantly, ice-cream sounded pretty good right about now.

"Yeah, alright. Fine. It better be damn good stuff, though, or I'm gonna have to scoop your eyes out with a melon baller for wastin' my Goddamn time."

Damien laughed as he held off his hands before his face in the universal 'slow down' gesture. "Well well honey, physical, ain't we? That's alright, though- I don't mind putting my money where my mouth is." Waving Sophie off, Damien jackknifed backwards onto his hands, using his incredible upper body strength to propel himself into the air and get his feet beneath him.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. The place I'm thinking of is a little outta the way, but damned if that old man doesn't have the best ice cream around. Plus, what more could you want on a day like today?" Damien laughed as he stretched, walking with Sophie to grab his bag before the pair left. Damien pulled on his shirt and gloves, though the sweatshirt was left in the bag in deference to the heat. "Alright, now that I'm decent, shall we go, sweetheart?" Damien laughed.

On the way there, Damien pulled out his frankensteined iPod. He still had not noticed that some of the casing was pink, colorblind as he was. "Hey honey, what kind of music do you listen to? Have you ever heard of Aranda? They're kinda new, but I'm loving their stuff. Here, check it out!" Damien played Aranda's 'Testify' on his iPod's loudspeaker as they walked to the ice cream store. Ever since Lily had tinkered with it, his iPod was far louder and played with far better quality, making it just perfect for this. Damien smiled and snapped along to the music, always enjoying himself.

Finally the pair wound up at the ice cream store. "Sorry about that, sweetheart. I tend to get carried away when it comes to music." Damien smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. "Tell ya what- we'll play your music on the way back. Sound fair?" The familiar little bell tinkled as Damien opened the door, a grin on his face. "Heya old man! How's business going?" The man running the ice cream store looked up from his business register with a smile. "Good, thank you. Thanks for recommending your friends by the way, Damien. Business is really starting to pick up now!"

Damien grinned. "That's just me being selfish. How else would I get free ice cream if you closed down?" He laughed, and the old man quickly joined in. "So, will you be having the usual, Damien?" Damien nodded once. "Sure, thanks! Also, I'll be paying for her as well. Thank you." Damien turned to Sophie as the old man laughed at Damien's words, reaching into the tub of ice cream for orange sherbet. "Here we are, honey. Take your pick." Damien smiled as he threw his arms open as the master of ceremonies would at the circus. "Showboat." The old man sniggered. "Not helping here, old man." Damien laughed.

Sophie, with a disposition that could only be described as Amazonian might, kept from opening her mouth as she followed the much larger boy out of the Academy, into the cavernous confines of the city itself and into the old ice-cream parlour.

She nodded at the owner, more entranced by the countless flavours available than any sort of formal etiquette. Her face metamorphosed from pouting like a small child to staring with kittenesque delight at the sugar and milk formed paradise that stood before her. Without saying a word, she prodded the glass partition on the display case and jabbed her finger towards the run and raisin tub. Then she pointed at the black cherry, the lemon meringue, the Devonshire toffee, the rhubarb and vanilla and the raspberry ripple with the rhythmic intent of a concert pianist.

She still hadn't said a word, merely thrown the young lad a cold glare from the corner of her eye. Her hand reached into her jacket pocket as she turned back to face the glorious heaven of many assorted flavours that lay glistening before her very eyes.