Panty Anarchy hated Christmas.
And not even for the usual reasons. That being that she'd put the newest and most high-tech sex toys money could buy on her list every year, but get coal instead. Seriously, would that sherry-chugging, home-invading creep ever get it right?! He desperately needed to get new specs, or maybe to just retire his fat ass to the Maldives while someone else took his place. Someone younger, maybe, with a six-pack instead of a beer gut and a dick that could make King Arthur's sword wilt in pathetic embarrassment.
Mmmh~ Now, that would be more like it. She'd definitely let him fill her stocking on Christmas Eve~
Ugh, that reminded her. Stocking always got whatever she wanted on Christmas. And all she ever asked for was sweets. But that was still another reason Panty hated Christmas. How was it that her bratty goth bitch of a sister got her vices fulfilled when she didn't?! There was some awful injustice in this world, and when she found the person responsible, she'd be making them regret it via the medium of holy fucking bullets.
But this year, Panty hated Christmas for quite another reason.
A letter had arrived this morning, unexpected. Stocking had got to it first, and had opened it up. The cry of surprise she gave had been one red flag, and then everything after that was an avalanche of the things. The familiar seal, the gold edging, the fancy handwriting. And one look at the invitation confirmed Panty’s worst fears in a second.
They were going back to Daten City.
-------
Daten had been charitably described as "the place where love and desire fly freely". Less charitably, it had been called “Jersey Shore's unwanted bastard child."
It was a place of such shocking extremes it was almost a joke. One half of the city was obsessed with a chaste ideal of the American Dream, all apple pie and sports and vacant Hollywood celebrity culture. But then you could cross the street and end up in the side of the city where strip clubs, brothels and shitty fast food outlets fought like rabid dogs for rental space. Travel brochures boasted of its excellent police force and unparalleled school system in the same sentence that claimed it had more sex shops than restaurants. And nobody knew wherever the fact that the city sat on the faultline between Heaven and Hell had anything to do with it. But it was a safe bet to assume that it was.
Of course, that hadn’t even been the city at its worst. At one point, the parts of the city that didn’t approve of the less morally-upstanding parts had made disturbing moves to shut those other parts down. The school system had turned into something akin to a military academy and the police force were closer to a roving band of hired goons. Leaving the house for work could net you a pummelling with billy clubs because your tie was half an inch too long, and even glancing at a sex shop was a prison sentence.
This was no small thanks to the former mayor, who had turned out to be a demon named Corset. Ans even then, that had all been nothing but prep work for the greater plan. It was a story that would take too long, along with too many beers and 'shrooms, to tell properly. But in a nutshell, Corset had sought to unleash an eldritch "Other God" from beneath the city, using its ancient power to take control of all the earthly planes. Heaven would fall to his might, and Earth would have already been under his calloused thumb once victory was achieved. Not even the Four Horsemen would have been able to stand against him.
And then Panty and Stocking had foiled his plan and killed the thing stone dead. Which was kind of an anticlimax, all told.
The point, though, was that much of Daten City's faults had been due to Corset's hands on the strings. And since his demise, the city was slowly trying to repair itself, with restrictions pulled back, funding given to the worst-tended areas, more freedoms given. It was a slow and agonizing process, met with much resistance by city elders who no doubt had played a willing part in the darker days and had been rewarded for their conniving. And even then, it was hard to shake the reputation the city had unwittingly built up for itself.
But that wasn't the reason Panty didn't want to go back.
-------
They arrived at the motel just before twelve. It was the cheapest they could get at short notice, with how late the invite had come. So it was, as expected of Daten City, pretty low-grade, meant for only single stopovers or lewd encounters. Flat mattress, tacky wallpaper, ratty carpet, scratched furniture and very suspicious stains on the sheets. But they weren't going to get any better, and it was just for the one night, so they'd have to put up with it. And they were mostly glad to get out of the driving snow outside.
Almost immediately upon arrival, Stocking was babbling about all the old places she wanted to show Kouta.
"-and then we gotta hit by the old Angel House bakery!" she was chirping as she dumped her bag onto the bed. "They've got those new Snow Bombs with the melting white chocolate centre in, and I just want that sticky white goodness in my mouth all day~!"
Kouta winced. "Sure, just make sure nobody hears you say that in public."
"Oh, quit being such a used condom, you've heard worse. And you're gonna love them, trust me - they're the best seasonal thing that bakery's got. Besides," Stocking added turned around and gave her boyfriend a hug, "I know you'll wanna try and crib the recipe for the channel. Just think how mad they're gonna get when you crack the lid on their big secret~!"
The brunet boy chuckled despite himself, returning the hug. "It's true. I do get off on angry comments and undermining asshole cookery gatekeepers. Call me the Che Guevara of the kitchen."
"Then let's get going, compadre!" Stocking pulled away, grinning. "You up for it, Panty?"
Panty had found the nearest of the big chairs and slumped into it the moment they'd arrived. It was as ratty as the rest of the room, with faded patches and some parts worn away. The cushion beneath her was so battered she sank into it like a pebble in blacmange. At Stocking's words, she turned to look upon her with dark eyes and an almost plastic expression of indifference.
"Nah," she droned. "I'm fucked from the car trip. You guys go out and enjoy your sugar bukkake fetish party or whatever."
Stocking sniffed. "Whatever, tart. You've been acting like a fucking emo tween on her period ever since we got the invite."
Panty glared. "And you're acting like you're Dorothy in Rainbow Pixie Land on the quest to find the Gumdrop Fountain. Your point?"
"Jesus, Panty!" Stocking threw her handbag down in frustration. "Stop being so fucking selfish, you twat! I didn't tie you up and drag you along, you know that? I wanted you to come because you're my sister and I thought you'd like to tear up the old stomping grounds! And also it would be a nice chance to catch up with all the people we left behind when we had to leave! But if none of that shit means anything to you and you're still sore about-!"
"Ease off on her, Stockers." Kouta's tone was calm, but reproachful as he looked between the two. "If she doesn't want to talk about it, then don't let her. It's her problem and not ours. We'll just go out and enjoy ourselves, okay?"
There was a long pause as the sisters sized each other up.
There weren't many people who could defuse an argument or disagreement between the Anarchies. Mostly because nobody really tried. What one normally did was to put several miles between yourself and them before the catfight started - and even then you needed a military-grade bunker to weather it out. Kouta was unique in that he was one of the few people that Stocking would ever listen to when he tried to appeal to her better nature. Of course, he'd often be sweating bullets when he did it, because he wasn't ever sure if what he had to say wouldn't be the starter pistol to a massive brawl.
Much to his relief, it worked on this occasion.
"Whatever." Stocking resumed her usual stoic indifference as she picked her bag up again. "Let's hit up the Winter Market first, though - grab us some mulled ciders."
She turned and headed for the door, her strides long and fast - she very much wanted to get out of the room. Kouta cast one look back at Panty as he followed her, but said nothing more. Panty, for her part, waited until the door had slammed shut.
Then she dove into her own handbag and, after some rummaging around, pulled out a bottle.
She hadn't told Stocking about this. Nor would she ever. The Emergency Wine was exactly that - for emergencies. And this was a pretty big fucking emergency, she reckoned as she tore out the cork with her teeth. Stocking was technically right, not that she'd ever admit it out loud. Not only was she being dragged back to Daten, a place that she wanted to avoid at all costs, she was basically being forced to attend a dumb Christmas party held by an old acquaintance of hers. All of which was bringing back bad memories that she really didn't want to deal with right now.
The first swig of wine left her choking. It was stronger than she anticipated, and with a tart flavor that made her wretch. The second swig, taken after a few gasping breaths, went down better, but she still pulled a face at the taste. Stocking would definitely have enjoyed this more.
She lay back in the chair, clutching the bottle. Her thoughts, already flowing sluggishly like molasses, found some nasty little creeks and went down them one by one.
Christmas? Fuck Christmas.
Fuck all that stupid, twee, tinsel-and-bauble, gift-wrap bullshit. Fuck Santa Claus and his stupid white beard and the way he snuck down people's chimneys like he was asking to get arrested. Fuck all the boring, sexless church services from idiot pastors who never got the gospel right once in their lives. Fuck all the charities that never did shit to solve problems that were deliberately created by rich people to make themselves even richer. And especially fuck all the forced happiness and fellowship, as if a single day of it was enough to make you forget that the world was still a steaming cauldron of shit and piss.
In summary...
The lights flickered. Fuck, bad power as well? Stocking really knew how to pick these places.
"Fuck everything," the blonde groaned moaned, and drank deeply.
"Thought you'd already done that by now, harlot."
The shocked spray of wine and spit that Panty achived was glorious. It reached all the way across the room and spackled the opposite wall like the world's worst graffiti.
If Stocking had been present, she would have been screaming about how she hadn't been able to record all that. But potential humiliation far from the blonde's mind - instinct kicked in as she slammed the bottle down and whipped around, Backlace materializing in her hand. Without really thinking about it, she pulled back the safety and brought the barrel of the gun up to face whoever had managed to get into the room without her knowing.
A familiar figure loomed from the shadows.
"Bitch, you better not be thinkin' of bustin' that," growled Reverend Garterbelt as he emerged from the corner. "Else I'mma give y'all the ass-whuppin' of a lifetime!"
Panty stared in shock. She lowered the gun, still not quite believing what she was seeing. A lot of memories came rushing back - mostly bad ones, concerned with how much of a stick-up-the-ass killjoy this priest had been during the whole time she and Stocking had been living under his roof. Of all the people she'd been hoping not to meet on her trip back, he’d been second on that list, and for very good reason. When he wasn’t lecturing her and her sister on how to be better angels (as if either of them wanted to be) then he was screaming at them for their spending habits.
She wasn’t sorry he’d kicked them out.
"...the fuck are you doing here?" she asked.
Garterbelt's eyes narrowed. "What, I can't pay some respect to the angel I helped harbour for years? Even if they ain't exactly the top spot on my Christmas gift list! 'Love thy neighbour', says the Good Book - bet whoever wrote that never had to put up with your whoredoms."
Panty rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, like I'd spread 'em for whatever bearded desert wacko wrote that garbage. But I mean, how did you get in here?!"
The priest adjusted his robe a little, idly. "Perks of the new job."
"New job?" Panty cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you still meant to be a priest or something? Or did the Vatican shuffle you out after a choir boy tattled?"
"First of all, my sex life ain't got shit to do with this!" Veins were starting to pop in Garterbelt's forehead, a clear arning sign that the angel deliberately ignored. "And second, you brainless bimbo, you maxed out my motherfuckin' credit card!"
Panty rolled her eyes. "Motherfucker, quit being so ungrateful! How else were we gonna get all the underwear we needed to bust that giant dick demon? But no, you had to be a fucking baby about it and- OW!"
Her cry came as Garterbelt's knuckles impacted with the top of her skull.
"YOU DIDN'T EVEN HIT HIM, YOU VACANT COCK JOCKEY!" roared the reverend. "YOU FIRED THE MOTHERFUCKING CANNON INTO HEAVEN AND NEARLY FRIED THE GOOD LORD'S FUCKIN' EYEBALLS OFF! AND THEN YOUR MOM HAD TO COME OVER AND CLEAN UP YOUR FUCKING MESS, LIKE ALWAYS! SAINTS ABOVE, THE FACT I HAD ANY PATIENCE FOR YOU IS A MIRACLE UNTO ITSELF!"
He paused, watching as Panty glared back and rubbed her bruised skull. Then he straightened up, trying to act professional once again.
"Anyhow," he continued, "I gotta pay off my debt somehow. No thanks to you bitches. So I took up the whole 'Ghost of Christmas Past' gig to make a decent livin'."
Panty stared. Did he seriously just...?
"Pull the other one," she retorted after a beat. "It's got dildos on."
"Like I'd ever wanna lay hands on your filthy hide," countered Garterbelt as he took another chair. "But nope, I ain't shittin ya. I'm a new Ghost of Christmas Past. Turns out they don't work like Santa Claus - one of them alone can't see every soulless jerk in one night."
"Well," growled Panty, "you're wasting your fucking time again. First off, Stocking and I are independant now, and making a fucking killing off of our ghost-hunting biz. So you don't get to order us around anymore, Afro Queen."
Garterbelt snorted. "Bitch, I saw the news. I'd say I was proud, but, y'know."
"Naturally. And second, I got a whole shitload of problems right now. And none of them are related to Christmas. So maybe fuck off and go creep on some other naughty kid? I got a lot of weed to smoke and a lot of self pity to wallow in, so-"
"It's the kid, ain't it?"
Panty snapped her head around, directing her most venemous glare at the priest. It didn't work, mostly because he was taller than her by several heads. And also because he'd already dealt with her for so long that he knew exactly how to stonewall her by this point.
"This isn't fuckin' confessional," she hissed. "I ain't playing your bullshit game, Garterbelt."
"Bitch, do I look like I'm playin'? Tell me I'm right about the kid and I won't have to smack ya upside the head again. And don't you pick up that bottle ," the priest added sharply, seeing her glance at the wine. "You're already a disgrace in God's eyes without getting hammered like a middle-aged mom with empty nest syndrome.The blonde's knuckles gripped the chair until her knuckles went white. How did he know? Why did he know? How dare he?! After all these years, couldn't he just stay out of her private life?! Why did-?!
But then she got the desire to stop thinking about it. As she always did when she tried to think of anything that was more complicated than food, sex or both at once. So she turned away from Garterbelt and swallowed.
"It's complicated. Stocking's his actual girlfriend, but we hang out as well. Mostly just video games and weed pizza. And sometimes," she added with a bitter laugh, "he gets replaced by an alternate universe version of himself who treats us like pure dogshit and neither of us notice until we almost kill the real one by accident. And then we destroy the asshole version's nutsack."
There was a prolonged pause.
"...you still hung up about that?" Garterbelt rolled his eyes as if in exasperation. "Bitch, you gotta get over it! It ain't like the kid's plannin' ta stab ya in the back every time ya turn around, is it?"
Another laugh. "Him? Oh, that ain't the problem - butter wouldn't melt in that dweeb's mouth if you stuck him in an oven. It's myself I don't trust."
Another long and uncomfortable pause pause. Panty could hear Garterbelt as he shifted, the mountain of a man making himself more comfortable in the chair. Why? Why did she have to see him again first, of all people? Bad enough to be the last person she knew before she got kicked out, but to be the first familiar face...
"How'd you meet the kid, anyway?"
Panty sucked in a breath through her teeth and gazed out of the window. The snow was coming down harder now, and suddenly the room seemed a little less grimy.
"Well..."
-------
Panty looked up at her sister, half a pizza slice in her mouth. A chicken wing dangled from her right hand and a glass mug of beer was in her left. There was still half of the enormous pizza, six wings and three bottles of booze to go.
"Mmmh trmmbmmd," the blonde slurred, spraying pepperoni.
"Augh, you filthy bitch!" cried Stocking, leaning back in disgust. "Chew your fucking food!"
Panty swallowed. "I said I'm troubled, hooker. And the only shit that keeps my mind off it is booze and junk food." And she took a large swig of beer from the glass, most of it going down her chin.
Stocking groaned. "Please don't tell me how much this cost. We were saving up to get new suspension on See-Through, you know that. And I don’t want to hear how much of that budget went towards this heart attack on a platter.”
“Well, good, because I’m not gonna tell you.” Panty inhaled an entire chicken leg, then set about the next slice of pizza with the gusto of a terrier attacking an entire turkey. In front of her, a cheap celebrity reality show played out in all of it’s tacky glory, signifying nothing except vapid consumerism and false drama.
The goth watched her with folded arms, glaring. But since the blonde did not acknowledge this, she spoke up again.
“What’s this even about?”
Panty didn’t look round. “Hmmm?”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, bitch. And for fuck’s sake, swallow! You don’t have trouble with that normally!”
Panty did as she was told, but annoyance was written all over her face. “The fuck is your problem now, skank? Don’t you have some sugar to smear all over your face?”
“Don’t deflect me, Panty,” snapped Stocking. “You’ve obviously got something on your mind. Like, I don’t know, still stewing on us being kicked out despite that being five fucking years ago?"
"...why the fuck would I be stewing about that?"
"Because I know you. When you feel like you’ve been wronged, you don’t let go of that shit. And then either you try and get back at them or yountry to drown it out so you can pretend nothing’s wrong. And this is definitely the latter, because Garterbelt is immortal and the last time you tried to get back at him, you got a road sign wrapped around your throat.”
“The fuck does that matter?” Panty ripped off another pizza slice. “Why you gotta be all up on my ballsack right now? I’m trying to watch Lifestyles of the Rich and Stupid here, and your dumb goth voice is drowning out all the hot goss.”
“...what happened to you?”
Panty almost leaped out of her chair, mouth open to.
“No, I’m sorry,” cried Stocking, “but I’ve been watching this happen for a straight fucking week and I'm... I shouldn't be concerned because this is you, but... You're turning into a fucking shut in. You used to want to go out all the time, get shitfaced and get your cooter wrecked by a goddamn train of muscle-head dipshits. The budget we set aside for condoms and paracetamol would have made Bill Gates have a fucking aneurism. But now all you want to do is sit around chasing a heart attack and watching reality TV so depressing a Care Bear would start cutting themselves."
Stocking sat down next to her sister. For the first time since Panty knew her, the goth looked... concerned.
"It's like you've... well, given up. You're being more of a goth than me.”
Panty stared at her with an almost blank, uncomprehending look. She looked down at the still-unfinished food in front of her, rapidly growing cold. Then, making a noise like a horse deflating, she slumped, letting beer and wings fall from her grasp.
"Fuck, I dunno," she groaned. "It's just... not the same, is it? At least when we were holed up in the church, we had some semblance of structure, right? Like, we had a routine. And now we barely have that anymore, because we've got to do so much on our own. I don't know what I'm doing, except trying to pretend that I'm still leeching off the afro queen, but... all the magic's gone. Reality just wiped all the fun away and I... I dunno what to do, Stockers."
The blonde sank into the cushions, messy hair and rumpled outfit making her look more of a mess than usual. The grease dripping down her chin didn't help. Stocking winced at the sight - she looked drunk, but hadn't even gone through half of the beers yet. There had to be some way to get her out of this funk, before-
Then the idea hit her.
"...I'm probably gonna regret saying this," she said at last, "but I think you need to get laid."
Panty blinked.
Then she perked up like a puppy at dinner time.
"Holy shit, you're a GENIUS!" she cried. "Why didn't I think of that?! Fuck, I could kiss you right now, Stockers!"
"Please don't, I hate pepperoni."
"Go throw on your best dress, you goth bitch," hollered Panty, shovelling the rest of the pizza together in a pile. "Because we're hitting the town tonight, and we're not coming back until I've had five guys inside me, and I don't mean the burger chain!"
Stocking nodded, and then quickly left the room. Partly to get the dress on, but mostly because she didn't want to watch her sister inhale the rest of the pizza like a snake.
-------
The first five minutes of the night were unremarkable. Because Panty had already lubed herself up with alcohol, they didn't immediately head for the bar like they usually did. And for once, they didn't try to draw attention to themselves for the sake of it, like they used to. They mostly just spent those five minutes pogoing to the shitty trance music being played by someone who was far too old to connect to the audience.
What Panty didn't know was that Stocking was counting on this this being a much more restrained night than usual. That Panty would spend more time paying attention to music and alcohol than in sex - the whole "getting laid" remark had been mostly a joke. But Panty herself was starting to get bored. Why weren't all the men queueing up after her yet? It was taking too long to get to the fun part! Ugh, did she have to go looking for-
Then Panty caught sight of something.
Two figures, obviously male, milling about in the middle of the dance floor. One was a short, mousey-looking brunet with blue eyes - cute, in a dorky way, but not much in the muscle department. The other, a tall and wiry blond who radiated confidence, seemed to take the lead in rhe mad pogoing going on. He looked much more like her usual flavour of the evening, but the brunet had an appeal of his own.
Panty licked her lips.
“Oh, yeah. I’m back, baby~”
Maybe she could have both? It had been a while since she’d played piggy-in-the-middle...
And she pushed her way towards them, ignoring Stocking’s expression of deadpan annoyance.
-------
"The rest," Panty concluded, sinking back into the chair, "is ancient fuckin' history."
Garterbelt nodded, although Panty didn't see it. She could tell, by those long silences that he gave, that he was deep in thought about what he’d seen or heard. Which, compared to the times he was yelling at her, were rare indeed.
“Can I say something?” he asked, after the long silence had ended.
Panty shrugged. “Couldn’t stop you back then, certainly can’t stop you now.”
“Good, because I’mma carry on anyway.” Garterbelt straightened up a little in the seat. “This ain’t sayin’ much, comin’ from me. And God knows, I know y’all too well to say this for definitive or anythin’. But it seems to be like it did ya a world of good, hangin’ out with this kid. I mean, you’re no less of a dick-chasing bimbo than usual, but God forbid you ever stop doin’ that.”
Panty couldn’t resist roll of the eyes. Ever the master of the backhanded complement.
“But you definitely seem less of a callous bitch. Used to be a time when you’d treat a kid like that no better than dog crap on your shoe. An’ I don’t cotton to the whole ‘King of Time’ bullshit - that’s blasphemy if ever I heard it. But it seems like havin’ the boy around might have stopped ya from goin’ off the deep end. I mean, God knows where you might have gone in the state you were in.”
"Yeah," Panty nodded, a small smile on her face. "I was kind of a hot mess back then. Not to give Brief too much credit, but-"
"Brief?"
Panty blinked. Then she realized what she'd just said.
"K-Kouta!" she cried, turning red. "I mean Kouta!" She turned. Garterbelt's expression hadn't flickered from the usual stern scowl he wore, and for a moment she wondered if he'd bought it.
But the way his eyes were fixed intensely upon her was new. He seemed to be sizing her up, much as he'd done when she and Stocking had first showed up at his doorstep. Then again, he'd given the same look to various male members of his congregation, so that didn't mean much at first glance. But the penetrating, searching stare seemed to go a thousand miles through her, in a way it hadn't done before.
"Panty," he said, deliberately, "where do you think you are right now?"
Panty snorted. "Where else? In a shitty motel being lectured by a Catholic cunt with a stupid afro."
"THAT AIN'T EVEN-"
Garterbelt caught himself, cleared his throat and straightened up. "Eh, fuck it. You'll get it sooner or later. Though given how fuckin' poor your track record is, I'mma go ahead and say it's gonna be later. Wish I could boil it down to 'dumb tartlet', but unfortunately my time's up and I gotta go see some other dumbass who ain't in the spirit of the season."
He sat up from the chair. Panty immediately lost interest and reached for the bottle again.
"This also probably ain't gonna mean much, but..."
The lights flickered again.
"Good luck to ya, Panty."
Panty's brow furrowed. "Wait. What are you...?"
But when she turned around, he was gone.
She stared at where he’d been sitting. Then she decided she’d had enough of the emergency wine for today. So she out it back into her handbag, and decided that maybe she ought to go to that Winter Market, after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment