Season of the Bitch - Day 2 [EXPOSITION HO!]

Desert outside of Las Vegas, NV

On a Friday morning  

            A red Dodge Charger sat idling undisturbed near the crimson hills just outside of the greater Las Vegas area. The collection of broken laptops and empty tuna cans suggested some form of life had made camp there recently. It must be hard to imagine that a drunken mistake could drive a person to this, but here were all of the signs. The engine finally turned off as a figure emerged into clear view from the reclined driver’s seat. Her pink hair and glasses confirm her as none other than the infamous Emily Rees. How exactly did she end up in the desert?

            Emily should have known better than to entertain the whims of someone who wanted to gain the title of ‘undying’. Undyne’s quirks were enjoyable at first, but they soon began to grate on Emily’s last nerve. Dumping the fish woman on an unsuspecting public would be cruel; at least that is how she justified the involuntary roommate. That was until Undyne refused to cover the DRASTIC increase in utilities that came with her hour-long showers twice a day. Something drastic had to be done before the flailing fish’s antics cut into Emily’s ‘backlog generation’ budget.

            Emily’s first attempt to kill Undyne was a simple enough; concrete boots treatment at the bottom of the Hudson. Undyne would have ALL the water she could possibly want down there, right? Unfortunately, the fish lady failed to take the hint, as she returned to the apartment only a few hours later. Emily went full ‘murderous wife’ from that point on with mixed results. Her silent war went hot in late April when a sudden ‘lightning strike’ just so happened to smite Undyne. Attempts at a genocide run are always bad around diehard fans. The music became an infernal hell within only a few hours.

            The Dodge Charger came from one of Emily’s friends as an ‘aggressive’ barter at 3:00 AM that may or may not TECHNICALLY count as theft in the eyes of New York State police. Such banalities are lost in the chaos when trying to escape a monster of one’s own creation. A frantic chase across the country continued for what seemed to be an eternity. Only the summer heat of the Nevada desert drove away the undying monster. Emily chose to remain in the general area as a precaution until enough tabloids ran stories hinting at one of the ‘alphabet agencies’ apprehending Undyne for inevitable unrelated acts of violence. Occasional trips to the Strip for supplies [AKA: booze + tuna] and a mix of random trinkets kept Emily from going ‘too’ crazy. Besides, she could accomplish more in isolation than she would back in hipster central.

            Emily opened the driver side door and slowly rolled out of the car onto the dusty ground below. She dropped her sole confidant, ‘Senator Lemonsnout’, a plush dragon thing someone got her as an anti-gift, while feeling around for a bottle. Her Captain Marvel jacket was half unzipped with a basic white tank top underneath. It wasn’t as though she had a chance to pack prior to the trip. More importantly, it isn’t as though Las Vegas sells any clothing that ISN’T glorified gift shop crap. Emily managed to sleep in the car the prior night instead of waking up on the ground near the vehicle. ‘Success’! She grabbed an unopened bottle to wake her up this morning. “I’m just acting more in character… It’s totally a mask.” She lied to herself again.

            Emily stumbled up using the car door for support. Pulling open the bottle with her teeth and downing the first ‘serving’ helped to finish the process. She zipped up the jacket before trying to fix her hair in the reflection of door mirror. Eh, she felt decent enough. “Time to get back to hacking government secrets or some crap...” Opening the trunk revealed a stack of roughly twenty-five laptops that seemed fated to positions in the impromptu graveyard surrounding the vehicle. The top laptop had been set to compile data over the night. “Let’s see what #27 finished last night.” The system hadn’t even gotten past the script kiddie deterrents. “HPs are useless.” Emily tossed away the failure as she would a clay pigeon for a bit of target practice. Her first two shots of energy missed, BUT the third one impacted with the power of a 250 pound bomb. “Nice…” Her next three shots make their goals, given they shared the common target of her mouth. “I guess I can play Neptunia to kill time before I prepare #28.” Even if this wasn’t rock bottom, it couldn’t be far off.

            Glancing into the distance showed what appeared to be a stampede moving in Emily’s direction from a far distance. “Have Penn and Teller finally sent Desert Bus to kill me simply because I claimed the Amazing Randi’s money?” Why hadn’t ANY other shapeshifter considered trolling the ‘magic community’ before Emily? There was that ‘GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH’ guy, but the lawsuits kept that freak show more suppressed than Building 7 information.

     In reality, the ‘stampede’ was Emily’s long forgotten friend Ashley Cavan acting on her mother’s lead. Thanks to the magic pacing of TSA security, she barely had time to change into a far more subdued pale green outfit. The phrase ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ is nothing more than a marketing term. The young witch exploited a few ethical loopholes to tip the odds at the slots and tables in her favor. That said; she made a note of which casinos to NEVER go into with her real face ever again. Her transportation, a glorified dune buggy, came from a local pawn shop. The 250CC engine left the actual power of her mechanical chariot something to be desired. It would be a while before she would reach her destination.

    Emily ruled the pace of her perceived pursuers to be slow enough for her to escape in the Charger. She slammed the trunk closed, threw the empty bottle behind her and frantically dashed to the driver’s seat. There wasn’t time to close the door: she could do that once the danger had passed. Flooring the accelerator without a second thought birthed a localized cloud of dust and sand. Dust helped camouflage her in the desert, she thought; unknown to her at the time, cosmic intervention loomed.

    A vaguely familiar form took form in the dust near the windshield. She did a double take before the figure ‘clicked’. “No, it can’t be you! You’re no real!”

    “THUNDERCATS, HO! I’m Lion-O, Lord of the Thundercats, reminding you that kids are not allowed to drink anything with alcohol in it!” He pointed menacingly at Emily silently judging her. “Obey the code: don’t drink alcohol!”

    “I’m not a kid, Lion-O.” Emily closes the door thinking that will make a difference. “Just let me drive away.” Sudden insight gave her a valid retort. “Isn’t your voice actor a major alcoholic?”

    “That’s hardly the point here, Emily. What title comes along with ‘squid’? Remember who you are. REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE.”

    “I’m a squid… I’m a kid? That doesn’t change the fact you’re a drunk.” She triggered the wiper blades hoping to drive away the vision.

    “REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE… Obey the code and don’t drink alcohol starting tomorrow or the day after…” The vision vanished back into the dust.

    “I’ll take that as a sign that I need to switch to a different brand.” Emily’s snarky comment felt on deaf ears. “Who am I even talking to? Whatever, time to start the crazy train.” Her muscle memory went through the ‘priming’ procedure for driving effortlessly until the car didn’t move. Of course the gas tank was empty NOW after going two weeks with the car in standby mode in the event of a government or occult-based organization attack. She COULD improvise some more fuel with alcohol, but that would waste perfectly good booze. The decision was clear: go full Russell Crowe on her enemies.

    Ashley skimmed through the dune buggy’s owner’s manual in vain hope to find any indicator that the vehicle could travel any faster. Whoever sold her on the 250CC engine was the real monster. “Mechanical transformations should be easy enough. Trying to make it an equivalent of a 750CC should work.” She tapped twice on the engine casing to try her little experiment. She just lit a rocket and what do they do? Explode. The yellow dune buggy propelled itself wildly towards the hills with no clear sign of stopping. Ashley almost bailed out until the vehicle abruptly stopped. Standing in front of compacted vehicle was who she assumed to be Emily. “Who or what sent you to kill me?” ‘Emily’ asked.

    “I’m here to help my friend Emily. I haven’t seen her in years, but what time like the present to fix broken bridges, right?” Ashley levitated from the driver’s seat in an attempt to casually hint at having abilities. “The real question is: WHO are you?”

    ‘Emily’ shrugged, ripped the 5 gallon fuel tank from the dune buggy and began to walk away. “I have no idea who this ‘Emily’ person is. If she’s anything like you, then she probably died a long time ago. The best advice I can give is for you to leave and never come back.”

    Ashley always knew how to see through Emily’s lies. This person had all of the ‘tells’: knowing exactly how to maximize lens glare, the pouty expression and the slightly snobby tone.

    “Your pink hair and obscuring glasses are an anomaly in this part of the country. You never were good at hiding yourself around your friends, Emily.”

    “For the last time, I’m not this ‘Emily’ you speak of.” She replied in a huff.

    “Let me guess, your alias is Claire Farron, right?” Ashley knew most of Emily’s go-to disguises. “Maybe it is an anagram of ‘Vriska Serket’ as a ‘tricky’ diversion.”

    “My name is Carol. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need fuel.” ‘Carol’ flew over to the red car and fabricated a garden hose from a dead snake to siphon gas.

    “You were ALWAYS overdramatic, Emily.” Ashley was close enough for ‘allowed’ teleporting. She vanished into a puff of smoke that took much longer to travel that walking would have. Rematerializing behind the strange woman lost its mystique this far past the initial confrontation. “Now I’m going to force you to face your problems head-on!”

    “You’re still here?” ‘Carol’ crushed the empty ‘donor’ fuel tank like a beer can. “If it takes you that long to travel that short distance, then I’m sure you can make it back to the Strip before next year. You can do it! I believe in you!” She feigned enthusiasm. “That is unless you want me to unleash the dragon in my best Rex Grossman impression. Your safety isn’t guaranteed. I have only done this once before.” She cracked her knuckles, in a vague emphasis of the threat.

    “Alright, Ms. Carol, I can play your game. Please tell me your last name so I can properly address you.”

    “Danvers.”

    “… Emily, SERIOUSLY, I want you to drop this act RIGHT NOW.”

    “You sounded exactly like your mom for a moment. Let me guess, are you trying to have me as one of your bridesmaids at your wedding?”

    “No! That isn’t what this is at all. Why would I want a woman in her mid-to-late 30’s/early 40’s in a dress at my wedding?” Ashley knew the greatest way to get under Emily’s skin was to dish out the snarky remarks. “You look like a total wreck, Ms. Danvers. I’m sure we could clean you up enough to make you presentable in the section of the aisle dedicated to old single women. Will you catch the bouquet this time?”

         ‘Carol’s’ composure left her faster than SDCC three day passes sell out. “I’M ONLY THREE YEARS OLDER THAN YOU, ASHLEY.” The veil broken, Emily subconsciously adjusted her features to look slightly younger than usual. She discovered a long time ago that the 28 year old look is ideal: young enough to remain attractive while mature enough to actually get things done. “How about I plaster the internet with all of the photos of you in your decade of Hermione costumes? WOULD YOU LIKE THAT?”

    “Emily, you forget that your ‘revenge scheme’ relies entirely on access to WiFi. Is that why all of these laptops are on the ground? Are you so far gone that you forgot how the internet works?”

    “I’ve been using the dark net to find government secrets. The feds recently shut off my mobile hotspot once they caught on.”

    “Emily, you’re in the middle of the desert and probably haven’t had access to your billable address in months. You need serious help and, while I hate to sound preachy, I’m here to give it.” Ashley pulled Emily into an awkward mix of a hug and hold.

    Emily sighed upon realizing ‘fighting back’ would only make things stranger. Ashley’s mother DID have connections that even Emily feared on occasion. At least that’s how she remembered that occult circle. “Are you clear to drive us into Vegas?” Unfazed, Emily opened another bottle of fermented grain. “I can sober up while I handle a few loose ends such as my tab.”

    Ashley dropped the hug. “… I’m not going to be your chauffeur!”

    “The alternative is drunk driving because I need to make sure this car is returned.”

    “We can call a tow truck if it is a rental.”

    “I need to return this car to New York City or else. I ‘borrowed’ the car from a certain person because they put so many aftermarket modifications in it.” Emily walked over to the front passenger’s door. “Get in the driver’s seat, Ashley. I’ll focus on our cover story for when we’re around actual human beings. How much cash DO you have on you, by the way? We need gas if we want to go beyond the city.”

    Ashley checked her ‘supplies’ in her bag: she had $1500 in a mix of $100 and $20 bills, the costume Audrey forced her to bring and her phone. “I have a few hundred dollars on me. What about you?”

    “All of my stuff is in a safety deposit box at Ceasar’s. I’ll swoop in, collect it, pay off my tab and then we’ll be on the road.” Emily finished the bottle and couldn’t help notice Ashley’s slight twitching. “Was THAT the casino you decided to cheat for ‘dune buggy’ money?”

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was simply very lucky on the slots.” Ashley began to mumble. “I could drop you off along the fringe of town and meet you there after I refuel the car. You can even borrow the outfit mom made for our ‘play date’. Won’t that be fun?” She took her seat and quickly passed her bag over in hopes of distracting Emily.

    Emily pulled out the red and yellow costume curious to see what Audrey forced upon Ashley. “Your mom always knew how to make our outfits coordinate.” Audrey’s secret is that she moonlights as one of Emily’s shitposting friends. Stalking ISN’T creepy if done in the context of family sitcom shenanigans. “The only problem is that all of my ‘accounts’ are connected to ‘Carol Danvers’. I can’t show up in another costume and expect them to give me the same benefit of the doubt twice. How much did that dune buggy cost, ‘Jessica’?”

    Ashley buckled her seat belt before performing the longest pre-drive check she could in hopes of avoiding the question. “That shouldn’t be a problem, ‘Carol’. You just need to be creative. Buckle your seat belt; MC Ride always does.”

    “Answer the question.”

     “What is there to answer? I got lucky and there’s a chance a few pictures were taken.”

    “You’re banned from Caeser’s for a ‘too good to be true’ streak, aren’t you?”

    “No, it’s not like that at all.” Ashley panicked.

    “Why did you let a casino CATCH you with your real face and identity?” Emily threw the costume into Ashley’s lap. “Take off your clothes and put on the costume, Spider-Woman. I’m going to need your clothes. You’re still a *size redacted*, right?”

    Ashley blushed. “At least I’m not the one who still collects stuffed animals.” She stated, pointing to the strange yellow plush thing near the door, noticed during her inspection.

    “Senator Lemonsnout!” Emily snatched the stuffed companion from the flesh companion. “Now you can focus on putting on that outfit, ‘Jessica’.”

    “Uggh, you’re impossible to reason with, Emily!” Ashley hit her hands against the steering wheel. “I wish that I could just disappear!”

    “That’s exactly the POINT of pretending to be someone else! Why do you think I go out of my way to adopt such ridiculous personas? If you can’t already tell, ‘Lightning’ and other masks are 85% me and 15% actual ‘canon’. We have a blessing and I’m not about to have to shit all over it because you’re feigning embarrassment. We’re BOTH wanted for, at the very least, questioning right now. Are you going to shirk away from opportunity OR are you actually going to act like a shapeshifter?”

    “I’ll do it IF you drive, ‘Carol’.” Emily huffed in agreement. Ashley stripped down, tossed her clothes to Emily and reluctantly put on the ridiculous costume again. Strangely, it seemed to fit more naturally this time and even included the extra detail of changing Ashley’s hair color to black. “Why did you need my clothes?”

    Emily stood out from the interior of the car with her ridiculous black leotard with a lightning bolt, long black gloves, exaggerated black boots, a red sash and a ‘no pupil’ mask on. “I needed us to have our stories aligned.” She brushed the long blonde hair out of her immediate view. “If ANYONE asks, we’re doing something tied to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. No one cares enough about that show to fact check. We can drop the fake names once we’re across state lines.”

    “What about the fact you’re still drunk? That’s not even including the difficulty of driving in heels.” The two disguised women rotated around the car to their new seats.

    “I can sober up whenever I want to. Just watch.” Emily meditated for nearly a minute in complete calm until the toxins concentrated in her mouth. She puked onto the desert floor in a performance worthy of winning a daytime Emmy. Everyone LOVES a redemption story, right? She returned to her usual demeanor near instantaneously. “That’s one of the many perks to being an octopus.”

    Ashley shrugged and took her seat in the vehicle. This was going to be a long trip, but Emily had just the MP3 playlist prepared. [Coming soon as a META feature]