The Farmer and the Monster

Chapter 7

Adjustments

Well I never thought I’d be here. The bureau center of command in the City of Lost Souls…which was apparently a hotel in the middle of the city.

“You see, this is the other reason I didn’t join these jokers,” I complained, “There about as organized as a hive of ants without a queen.”

“It’s not exactly accurate to say we’re an organization even. More we represent an ideal: a world free of oppressive demons.”

“One: well that takes me off that list, I’m not oppressive; I’m just an ass,” I joked, “Two: oh that makes me much more confident in this decision.”

“Can ya’ll stop bein’ cynical for two seconds? And Ah mean both of ya.”

“Well excuse me, but I like to exercise my right to bitch,” I sneered back at her, “I wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t want to make sure you don’t commit suicide via impalement by a cambion.”

Of course I don’t mind if you get impaled by this cambion.

Shut up brain.

Piss off. I was here first!

Oh please the only way you could be any more annoying right now is if you actually manifested as a little cliché demon on my shoulder, and don’t say the angel me got stuck in traffic! I don’t have an angel!

Haw haw!

What’s so fuckin’ funny?!

You’re arguing with your own brain!

…So I am.

“I should mention now that you’ll realize I need extreme psychiatric help and that you’ll want me to see a professional,” I told the janitor, “I’m bringing this up so you don’t waste your time, or more importantly mine. I’m not going to do that.”

“Dearly noted.”

Applejack rubbed her temples in annoyance. “Fer Pete’s sake mah little sister is brighter than you.”

I wanted to say something cynical, but… “Yeah, probably,” I admitted, “I’m a fighter, not a thinker.”

A man approached the three of us and took off his mask. I instantly noted the small golden cross he pulled out from under his garbs. “Greg Masters,” he said in a familiar voice, “So we meet again. How many times is this?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck.”

“Aight, stop,” Applejack demanded, “Now how do ya’ll know each other? Don’t say angry boyfriend either.”

I snorted a laugh. “Uh, no. Actually, y’know that story I was telling you on the way here and while we were waiting?”

“Yeah.”

“This is the priest I met the first time I encountered the bureau,” I explained, “First time I’ve actually seen your face though.” Short brown hair and brown eyes, not much to look at really.

“Most of us have families,” he reminded me, “It wouldn’t be that hard for an escaped cambion to track them down if it saw one of our faces. As a result we do not remove out masks unless we are in the base.”

“Whoopdee fucking doo,” I deadpanned, getting an elbow in the stomach as a result.

“Greg!” Applejack snapped at me, “That’s his family he’s talkin’ about! He wants to keep ‘em safe. I’m terribly sorry, I—“

“I wouldn’t know what that’s like,” I reminded her. Applejack looked at me again and figured out from my expression that she shouldn’t twist the knife in the wound.

“Sorry Greg.”

I inhaled deeply, and exhaled. “Whatever.” I knew she could hear the small twinge of pain in my voice, even if the others couldn’t.

“So then,” the priest asked, “Who’s the cowgirl?”

“Don’t call me cowgirl,” she warned him.

Odd. She let me call her cowgirl.

That’s because you’re friends you dumbass.

No, before we were friends too.

She was too tired to deal with you anymore that night!

That wasn’t the last time I called her that before we became friends though. She still never said anything about it.

Oh for whatever’s sake what’s your point?

Another brilliant example of my sanity and intelligence. You’re me; you should know what my point is!

Oh yeah, I do.

“This is Applejack—yes that is her real name,” I told the priest, “She’s a friend of mine who found out about the cambion problem in the city. Now she wants to fight them too, and I can’t train her. You can.”

“You know we don’t just take every person that walks in the door right?”

“Actually, that’s where Greg comes in,” the janitor piped up again, “You see sir, Greg struck a deal with us.”

“Oh?”

“He joins if she joins.”

“OH!” He smiled at me.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and rub it in ya bastard,” I sneered nastily at him.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing that,” he said innocently.

“Ah believe that tone from you about as much as Ah believe it from him,” AJ said as she pointed to him, then me. A shot at me too, yeah, but it was just as much of a shot at him so I snickered anyways.

“Well if you’re joining our cause I’ll have to introduce myself,” the priest said, “My name is Michael.”

I laughed out loud on that one. “Seriously? Michael? The fucking archangel?! What is wrong with you?” My laughter devolved into a small series of snorts and snickers.

“I’ll have you know my mother named me.”

“Her name is unique yeah, but this one is just stupid!”

Applejack elbowed me in the ribs again. “Will ya stop it?!” she snapped at me.

Finally after a moment I did manage to catch my breath and start acting like a civilized human being. Seriously; Michael! How fucking cliché can ya get?

“Anyways, Greg, I’ll show you to your room so you can get situated,” Michael told me, “There’s a fridge, a bathroom, a small kitchen, everything you’ll need. Come down to the basement sublevel four via the elevator when you’re ready. We’ll prepare a room for your…plus one.”

Well at least he didn’t say girlfriend. That would have been a bit embarrassing. Oh for fucks sake I’m turning into Inuyasha.

“Hold up,” I said suddenly, “Just so we’re clear, there’s nothing in the water right?”

Michael looked back in me in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“So you’re not smart enough to enchant the buildings water supply to avoid demon infiltration?” I asked.

He got real quiet suddenly. “I’ll…order a separate water supply for your room.”

“If you wanted me to join so badly it would have made sense to have a room already prepared for me special.”

“We did.”

“That makes you an even bigger moron considering.”

***

“Well here’s your room Greg.”

“I’m gonna go get my car tomorrow,” I told him, “A lot of stuff I couldn’t take on the bike y’know? Important stuff. I got a system y’see?”

He sighed in annoyance. “Yeah, sure.” He turned to Applejack. “I’m sorry, but until we have your room prepared you’ll need to stay here.”

“What?!” she said indignantly, “Ahm not sleepin’ in the same bed as him! Ahm not sleepin’ in the same room!”

I chuckled darkly as I walked to the balcony, “Don’t worry cowgirl. I don’t bite…much.”

“Now see, that’s what Ahm talkin’ about.”

Michael waved her off. “One of the many things I’ve learned about Greg is that he’s all talk when it comes to that stuff. He’s not going to do something you don’t want him to.”

“Spoil sport,” I grumbled.

“Have a nice night, if you need anything call the lobby,” he said as he left.

I was a bit thirsty, and the water might as well have been laced with cobra venom. I looked at the nightstand and smiled.

“Hey cowgirl,” I said as I picked up the two 750 ml bottles, “Need a drink?”

She kinda looked like she was gonna scold me for drinking at a time like this, but instead she said, “Ya know what? Yeah, Ah do.”

***

We sat out on the balcony having finished our respective bottles of Southern Comfort and Jack Daniels. I may be a demon, but certain factors still applied. For example: how much alcohol it takes to make someone legally drunk is directly dependant upon how much the person’s body weighs.

I was around two twenty honestly, but that was all muscle. Applejack I estimated to be around one fifty, again, muscle, but I could tell that rack of hers added to it. Needless to say she was more drunk than I was.

“Ya know Greg, Ah know Ah didn’t like ya the day—night—we met, but yer a cool guy,” she slurred as I got another bottle. “Wus that?”

“Honey Jack,” I told her flawlessly, “I wanna be slurring my words by the time the fuckin’ sun comes up.”

“That Jack Daniels stuff?” she asked, “Bleck. Keep that away from me. Ah don’t like the taste of it.”

“No, no, it’s a different kind, same brand, but different kind,” I told her, “They mix honey in the whiskey to give it a more pleasing flavor, and fuck does it work.”

I took a swig out of the bottle and handed it to her. She was hesitant, but she took it anyways. She grimaced when she smelled it.

“It’s whiskey cowgirl,” I reminded her, “Ya don’t smell it, ya drink it.”

“Ah know how to drink,” she lazily snapped at me before taking a much bigger swig than I did. “Woo! That does taste kinda nice.”

“Whoever came up with honey whiskey was a fucking genius.”

I picked up the empty bottle of Jack and dangled it over the ledge for a moment. I almost wonder if that was in bad taste, then I remembered that I don’t care. Applejack watched me dropped it and a few moments later we heard it smash against the sidewalk below.

“What the fuck?!” we heard from below.

“Greg,” she groaned at me, “If ya really wanna screw with ‘em ya gotta give it some oomph.”

She grabbed the empty southern comfort and whipped it down onto the sidewalk.

“It’s raining glass! Run for your lives!”

We both started laughing hysterically.

“Hoo boy,” she muttered, “Ya know…Ah think it’s a pretty nice night. Clear, calm skies, a gentle breeze, maybe a little chilly, but it’s kinda refreshing too. Don’tcha think?”

“I hate this weather,” I muttered, before taking about five more shots straight out of the bottle.

“Why?”

“It’s boring and I hate the cold.”

“Aight, what kinda night do ya like?”

I took another couple of shots out of the bottle and smiled darkly. “Dark, humid, stormy nights,” I answered, “The flash and bang of lightning and thunder is music to my ears. The rain pelting the roof and my windows is the melody to my brooding lullaby.”

“That’s just grim, but Ah do like the sound of rain.”

“I’m a monster,” I reminded her without thinking, “What do you expect?”

She looked at me in discontent. “Ah wanted to talk to ya about that,” she told simply, “Don’t be hidin’ behind that ‘Ah’m a monster’ crap.”

“What?” I looked at her in a bit of shock while she just short of glared at me.

“Listen here buster. Ah know ya were born human, so ya have human instincts, not demon instincts. Magic is magic, it don’t care what it’s used fer, so no power ain’t gonna change who ya are.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” I grumbled as I took another shot.

“Then tell me ah’m wrong.”

I looked off in the direction of my house. “You’re wrong,” I said simply.

“Look me in the eye and say that,” she demanded.

I stayed quiet a moment. “No,” I mumbled like a disobedient child.

“Greg.”

“I said no!”

“Now yer actin’ like a foal!”

“I don’t care!” I shouted before mumbling, “If anyone’s earned the right it’s me.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked apathetically.

I sighed heavily and sadly. “Honestly…you’re right,” I admitted, “I don’t blame my nature on what I am…I blame it on the assholes I had to deal with growing up. Always giving me hateful glares, constantly calling me a freak, having to fight them off and getting blamed for starting the fight cause I didn’t have a scratch on me.

“What’s the point of being superior when all it does is get me in trouble? Why should I follow the rules when all I ever get for it is the short end of the stick? That’s what I always asked myself when I was growing up, and the answer was always the same thing. If doing right got me in trouble then I wouldn’t do right. Never got me in any more trouble. I think I got in less trouble honestly.”

“I guess that would hurt,” she said softly, “…Wait a minute…why were they callin’ ya a freak anyways? Did they know ya were a cambion?”

“No,” I growled, “They didn’t call me a hell spawn freak…they called me a motherless freak. Kept reminding me that ‘god didn’t save mommy after all’. Jackasses. At least my mother had faith in something, and it’s not like she didn’t get anything for it. If she wanted she could have used her talents to save or destroy the world. Instead she chose a life with me and my father…and look what she got for it.”

Applejack got ghostly quiet for a minute before saying anything. “Ah guess…she’d be proud of ya,” she said finally.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean,” I grumbled angrily.

“Now Ah ain’t gonna say ya turned out like she thought ya would,” she admitted.

“No shit.”

“But Ah am gonna say that Ah think she’d be happy that ya turned a bad situation into something better,” she said in an attempt to comfort me, “Ah mean, after what happened to ya as a kid, then growing up…at least ya kept yer virtues. Ah guess that’s all a person really needs is their virtues. Makes ‘em good on the inside y’know?”

“Maybe,” I said softly, “I always thought my soul was just a black pit…thanks. That does make me feel a bit better.”

“Fer the record ya really confuse me,” she said flatly.

“Now why’s that?” I asked curiously.

“Well…why is it that yer one of the nicest guys Ahv ever know and at the same time yer probably the meanest guy Ah ever met?”

“Oh. That.” I thought that one over for a moment. “Well…I guess it’s because I have virtues.”

“We just went over that,” she deadpanned with a wry smile.

“No, I mean…think about it,” I said simply, “When a person walks in the light they never see the darkness. The good and the evil can be pretty hard to diverse in that case. People don’t realize how rude they can be, or how wrong something is until it’s too late.

“Not to mention that so-called children of god can be self righteous. They’re the only ones that are ever right, so they have no sense of humility. I mean, I’m arrogant as Satan and don’t like to admit I’m wrong, but I still know when I’m wrong y’know?

“Why do ya think convicts stick together? They understand and empathize with one another. Yeah, a lot of them go too far, but they understand what they do. The light only understands one thing, but the darkness understands everything else. I guess that’s why a bastard like me can be better to hang with than a damn priest.”

“Ah never really thought of it that way,” she admitted thoughtfully, “Ah always figured convicts stick together cause they like each other’s sick twisted minds.”

I laughed. “Well that can play a part in it too y’know.”

She laughed too after a moment. After that it was a pretty calm quiet. She leaned cutely over the railing and looked out over the city. It was that way girls lean over all innocent-like so their butt sticks out. Of course I couldn’t help but look at her ass again, even if it was still covered by denim. I couldn’t stop from looking when I was sober, now I was having a hard time not grabbing it. I mean it was just sticking out there.

Man I just wanna grab that thing and ride it till the sun—

“Will ya stop starin’ at mah behind?”

I was taking a shot and the moment and pulled a spit take when she said that. “Fuck! It went up my nose!” Now that hurts. After I managed to dull the pain I addressed the statement. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.” No I was not sorry, that was a lie.

“Ya do it all the time,” she pointed out, “Ah can’t think of a day when ya weren’t starin’ at mah hindquarters.”

“Oh…how’dya know?”

“You kiddin’?” she practically scoffed, “I see it the reflection of the glass or whatever. Sometimes even an actual mirror.”

“Oh…well can ya blame me?” I asked, “Really that’s sorta a compliment to you. I can’t help it if you’re smokin’ hot.”

“Smokin’—“ She cut herself off and blushed furiously. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“For once when I tell a woman that I’m not trying to sleep with her, and I get that as a response,” I pointed out ironically, “Better looking than any woman in this city I can tell ya that, and that ain’t easy.”

“Knock it off,” she half begged, but something in her voice and shy smile told me she wanted to hear more. I got a mean idea in my head.

“Okay.”

“What?!” She sat up and looked at me like I took away her favorite toy.

“Well you said stop, and I’m not stupid,” I reminded her, “No means no, right?” I smiled meanly at her

“Ah…Ah guess, yeah,” she said sadly as she slumped down to the floor.

“…Then again you’re eyes are like emeralds and that accent is sexy as hell,” I told her.

She smiled again and gave me a small shove. I tried a small shove but I knocked her over instead. I went to help her up, but I tried too hard again and fell back myself with her on top of me. I forgot what she said exactly, but…we both took another shot and things get a little fuzzy after that…

Okay, a lot fuzzy.

***

I groaned awake and rubbed my head.

That’s just great. Fucking hangover.

I looked about the room and what happened the previous night started coming back to me. The bar, the argument, the cambion, the explanation, and finally that we joined the bureau.

Great…I must have been blackout drunk cause I don’t get a hangover otherwise. Of course I’d like some water, but of course it’s tainted with fucking holy magic. Oh life here is gonna be wonderful. More like getting a root canal from Edward Scissorhands.

I remembered that Applejack was drinking with me and spotted her with her head hanging over the edge of the bed. I lifted her head and opened her eyelid. Out cold.

Well the fact that the things that happened last night were a little blurry became a short-lived realization, because I suddenly needed to throw up.

I dashed into the bathroom and vomited up whatever I might have eaten the previous night. I think it was an apple pie (no, not that).

Y’know how sometimes it takes certain things to wake up certain people? Things that remind them of something, sometimes work. And y’know how sometimes certain things only work under certain conditions in that situation?

Apparently being blackout drunk the previous night and hearing someone throw up can do the trick.

Applejack suddenly shoved me to the side and threw up herself. I was going to say something to her, but I figured I’d let her get her head in order before I did

“…Aight the last thing Ah remember is the bureau,” she whispered to me, “Then…getting drunk and throwing bottles at the sidewalk.”

Alright, no chitchat, straight to the point. What happened last night that is. “Then we had a little…uhg…heart to heart, and I think…uh…”

“Ah think ya started flattering me,” she whispered with her head still in the crapper, “After that Ah think ya held out on me a little to tease me.”

“Right, and then I did it again…you gave me a playful shove…I did it back but you fell over…I helped up and we both fell over…and…uh…”

“Well we kept our pants on, so that didn’t happen,” she pointed out logically, “Ah think…” Her head shot up again and she was scarlet.

That’s when I remembered. “Who kissed who again?” I asked.

“Ahm not sure.”

“…”

“…”

“So…drunken rule?” I suggested.

“Drunken rule.”

Thank I don’t care who for the drunken rule.