OF SKIRTS AND DEAD PEOPLE

*Updated 6/19/2016*

November 6th, 2015

Demons never like things simple. If they did, Ozzie wouldn't be getting ready to cross-dress his way into a gay-bar. Honestly, demons are like spoiled children. Picky. Picky. Picky. Every one of them has a type. Their own brand of human they get wet just thinking about screwing over. And well, Ozzie's anything if not thorough. The S.O.B should be flattered. Really. Just about to jizz their little demon slacks from excitement. He even bust out the Nair for this special occasion.

But damn are demons picky as f**k.

"Tell me why you thought it was a good idea to wear a skirt." Dodge--token blonde demon-slaying Locust and undead warrior of righteous fury--says from behind him.

Ozzie bites back a groan, forcibly keeping his expression as neutral as possible even though he knows Dodge can't see it considering his back is facing him. And let's not forget that our neighborhood do gooding Locust is a picky f**k too; no doubt looking tall and imposing as usual.

But maybe that just comes with the package. Brooding and stoic to the point where Ozzie can't help but wonder at the amount of repression the guy must go through on a daily basis. The nail brush in Ozzie's hand stills as he glances down at his crossed legs. Ozzie supposes he wouldn't be all that fond of making lasting connections, let alone being approachable, too if he never knew when his second last day might be. Being a Locust must suck so much dick. The whole, "no one will remember you from your first life" thing probably doesn't help much either. It's like being a ghost. A quasi immortal ghost but a ghost all the same. 

Ozzie dips his brush back into the polish and continues working on his nails, contemplative and staring at the empty street in front of him. "You know," He replies coolly, "if you want to glare at inanimate objects, the backyard has an army of weeds that need taking care of." He's sitting on the bench in the front yard of the brownstone building used as their unofficial HQ. He's not entirely sure of the specifics, but no one ever seems to actually go down this street. Let alone live here. He's sure there're some of Toni's weird Angel Voodoo tricks involved. That, or maybe she contracted an actual Cambi to use some actual magic to cloak this place. He wonders at what Talent could do that. 

"Don't try and shove your chores off on me, Ozzie," Dodge says sounding as he usually does--entirely way too serious and mildly exasperated with Ozzie's antics.

He shrugs, pausing again as he makes sure the coat on his most recent nail is even. "It was worth a shot."

"I am a Locust. Not a glorified weed whacker." Dodge states bluntly.

"And I'm not a Locust, just friends with one and not ready to be eaten by a demon," Ozzie waves the brush in the air. "Yet here we are."

"Stop being dramatic."

"Just laying out the facts, Dodge," he c***s his head, eyeing the empty street. "Hey," he says casually, "I can't figure it out. How's Toni cloaking this place? She stopped keeping pertinent info on computers after she found out that I'd put in backdoors to all her encrypted files when I updated her anti-virus software. It'd take me three-hours to know everything there was to know. Sucks a*s that she found out though," he pauses, letting his words settle in the air. He knows Dodge told her. He doesn't know how Dodge found out but he knows it had to have been him. Toni wouldn't have noticed otherwise. Ozzie takes a breath, continuing his train of thought in the same measured tone. "Anyway, can Locusts even do that? Cloaking? Or is it misdirection? I figured maybe a Cambi could but--"

"You should learn to mind your own business, Ozzie," Dodge scoffs. "We do not have any need for the Fallen's children." He says Fallen like it's a curse. Which granted it sort of is when you take into account they're the ones that made demons in the first place. Not without the dubious consent of humans, but well, the point still stands. Fallen = Bad. "And you ask too many questions. As usual."

"Debatable," Ozzie says mildly. "You could've just said 'no' dude."

"What does that mean?"

"Debatable? Open for discussion or argument. It's an adjective. Dude. An informal way of saying 'man' or guy; a noun," he lists. "Anything else?"

"You know what I meant."

Ozzie smirks, "Well, you obviously need my help--"

"We do not need it Ozzie--"

"--so it is entirely plausible you'd use a half-breed's as well." He finishes.

"Inscrutable."

"Don't hurt yourself."

Ozzie can feel the Locust staring at him with the same look he uses anytime he thinks Ozzie is being particularly moronic. It's number eight on Ozzie's Wheel of Enigmatic Expressions, the angry bear cub--right above dumbstruck rock and below neutered kitten; a firm scowl set to a backdrop of windswept blonde hair, blue eyes and a body broader than the man himself is most likely comfortable with. It's cute, Ozzie thinks, Dodge's worry over him (or his sanity), but completely unfounded.

Though now that he thinks about it, it's probably because he isn't a Locust that Dodge even cares. Or pretends to care. Whatever. Not that Ozzie's complaining. He rather likes not being a zombiefied immortal forced into fighting demons and everything else dark, deadly and dangerous for eternity. F**k that. He's read enough overly romanticized teen demon-slayer novels to know that life isn't nearly as glamorous as it's painted out to be. Hell, he's seen Dodge in action, been up close and personal with a few demons himself, he knows that life is absolute crap on his skin.

"That was uncalled for."

Ozzie rolls his eyes. "You're a big boy, you can take it, zombie-kid."

"I am also not a zombie."

"You are undead though."

"I am not a zombie." Dodge reiterates.

"Fine," Ozzie says with a definitive air of finality. "You're not a zombie but you definitely need to get that stick from up your a*s. I can have more stimulating conversations with thumbtacks."

"You love me," Dodge deadpans.

"Joking?" Ozzie smirks and nods in approval. "That's a start."

"Why the skirt, Ozzie."

So no, Ozzie's not a Locust, he's not dead enough for one. He's just a really weird orphan kid whose really estranged 'Aunt Toni' happens to be the head of a really messed up borderline cultish organization mandated by heaven to protect the average plebeians of Earth. Totally lame, right?

But it's cool. He's pretty sure they're the good guys with the whole mandate from heaven dealio. Plus working the sidelines for them is at least entertaining. He gets to indulge in some dubiously legal aka very illegal information gathering ventures (firewalls are a joke and hacking is a breeze) and occasionally, like now, gets to be pretty in pink.

Granted that's only because he's the only one who's enough of a nobody to be demon murderer bait. It's totally hipster dude. Being damsel in distress is like ironic or something. The chicks dig it. Like yeah, hacking is fun but whatever would Ozzie do if he didn't get the chance to flaunt his assets at the risk of demonic dismemberment? Die of boredom. Duh. No life is complete without a go at the world's most hellish game of dress-up. 

The Locusts have their demon slaying thing. Ozzie has his baiting thing. Thank you mom and dad for those acting lessons. He's okay with the dynamic. Dodge can have all the demon blood. All of it. That stuff's foul as all hell and an absolute b***h to get out of hair.

His thoughts are interrupted when Dodge makes a noise, some ironically zombie like grunt to get his attention and right, he hasn't answered the question. About the skirt. The apparently blasphemous skirt. Ozzie leans back against the bench he's sitting on and shrugs as he finishes painting his nails. "Why? Don't you like it, Dodge?" He raises his hand to the light as he inspects his handiwork. The oil spill polish really was a good choice. Den/Den.

Satisfied, he flicks a cursory glance over his shoulder and tugs mock self-consciously at the skirt's checkered hem. "Should I have gone with the leather; you think?" He wonders aloud, "I thought the plaid was better. Screamed 'proper transient' instead of 'try hard w***e'."

He says this with the same inflection he uses to say things like 'That dude's watch is Bulgari' and 'I ordered take-out from that Chinese place you like'. Dodge looks decidedly unimpressed. "Sarcasm is unbecoming, Ozzie."

That's very helpful, Dodge. Sarcasm is always becoming. It's only not becoming to you because you've got an appreciation for satire as developed as a rock. Or something equally cognizant. Like a unicellular Euglena. Or a fungus.

"Mmm," Ozzie hums off-handedly as he begins pulling his heelless wedges over his fishnets, "so I probably shouldn't call you daddy then, huh?"

"Don't," Dodge coughs and Ozzie would almost think he sounds embarrassed but�"

He c***s his head to the side, looking at where Dodge is leaning against the wall of the brownstone, and, yes, that would be a definitively red tint to the blonde's cheeks. Ozzie's lips twitch upwards, there and gone in a blink. "Are you blushing daddy?"

Dodge's eyes narrow, his arms moving to cross over his chest. "Ozzie," he warns.

Ozzie rolls his eyes and stands. Dodge, he counters as he starts walking down the block, frowning is unbecoming. It makes you look all pouty and young and then I just wanna reach out and smooth that f*****g frown line off your face but I can't cause that'd be like really really weird. And an invasion of personal space, but that's never been a boundary Ozzie's been scared to cross. It's just that it's Dodge and Ozzie likes having all his appendages attached.

"Really," Ozzie says with a tone as measured as his steps on the concrete, "it's the skirt that bothers you?" His jaw clenches as he tries not to fall. "Not the heels," step, "or the stockings," step, "or the makeup," step, "but the skirt?" He attempts a pivot at the end of the block and is inherently proud when he doesn't land flat on his a*s.

"Yes, it's�"" Dodge frowns, squinting down at the loose pleated fabric, "impractical."

Ozzie laughs. "You mean distracting."

"No. Impractical, it doesn't let you hide anything."

"That's kind of the point," Ozzie says mildly, "the tape is really a dick to put on by the way."

"That�"" Dodge blinks and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your deadpan is improving."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

Dodge huffs. It's a little sound, one that Ozzie's come to learn is actually a laugh. Which, come on, would it kill him to be more emotive than a sponge? Ozzie doesn't smile much, really it's an occupational hazard to show anything more than the barest hint of outward emotion to a demon (besides he thinks he's more of a smirker anyway) but he can, he has; Dodge's face might as well be carved out of marble with all the emoting it does.

He's still leaning against the wall, gaze trained on the gate across from him. Ozzie makes it back to the bench and lays across it, closing his eyes against the late evening sun streaming through the branches of the oak tree above him.

"What voice should I use." Ozzie tosses an arm over his face. Belatedly he thinks about the fact he's still wearing make-up.

Dodge sighs, Ozzie can hear it like a whisper of wind against the leaves. "What is the venue?"

"Club in West Hollywood. Young, mixed clientele, getting younger. Eighteen and up. Technically. But from what I can tell no one actually cares enough to check. And all the murders have taken place within a ten-mile radius of it," Ozzie pauses, "but you already knew that."

Dodge hums his acknowledgement but says nothing. Raising his arm, Ozzie squints an eye to look at him.

"I don't understand why you don't just go as yourself." Dodge finally says.

Ozzie drops his arm back over his face. "Because Ozzie is a nobody and Francine isn't." He shrugs. "Besides sometimes I like looking pretty. Being the belle of the ball is nice like that."

"Francine?"

Not even a stutter, he notes. "Or Francis, I'm not entirely set on the persona yet. But I'm leaning towards Francine. She's more vulnerable, which our murderer seems to like. All the dead have been runaways between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. And from families that didn't seem to particularly care that they were gone."

Dodge raises a brow. "That wasn't in your report."

"Huh? The family s**t? Yeah well, Toni would've had my head if she knew I was more involved than I already am. The police don't even know these kids are dead yet, not like I could've hacked anything useful from them," Ozzie rolled onto his side, looking up at the oak in the center of the front yard and scrunching his legs up next to his stomach, "as far as they're concerned they're just missing, so," Ozzie wets his lips and watches as a leaf spirals down from the tree, "I met with some of their friends. Borrowed a few things. A ring. A necklace. Someone's really old a*s teddy bear. Saw what I could find."

"And you did?"

"Enough to get an idea of their situations. Jack, I'm pretty sure was being raped by her dad," he begins, "Martin was your typical closet case gone wrong. Fucked his best friend. Parents found out. Violent fallout ensues. Martin runs, Parents don't care," Ozzie sits up, tilting his head back to catch the last rays of the sun, "Samantha's story is the most useful though. It's where I got the club from. She and her best friend were supposed to run away together and everything's fine up until they pass it. Then the imprint just...stops. It's weird as f**k."

"Noted," Dodge says. Ozzie merely grunts in response. It's quiet.

He tries not to dwell on it. The whole black-out curtain over the imprint, memory, whatever, he got from Sam's friend's teddy-bear, but now that it's back in his head, flashing neon in his subconscious... He didn't even know anyone could do that. Who could do that? Demons generally lack the finesse to cover their tracks that well. So. A Cambi? Maybe a Manipulator? Something else? Maybe something as undefined as Ozzie himself?

Ozzie jumps as Dodge clears his throat.

"I do not condone your methods of information gathering, but they were...effective."

Ozzie snorts, a smirk worming its way across his face as his heart-rate returns to normal. Real classy Oz. You're a great Not-Locust. Death by throat clearing induced heart-attack confirmed."Of course." Tell me how you really feel, Dodge. He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"I still believe the skirt is a poor choice. You need a weapon."

"And I still need a voice."

"Go with the Francine persona and make your voice lighter. It should suffice."

"Accent?"

"Too exotic. Do you still own the red leather skirt?"

"Why?"

"Wear it," Dodge pushes himself away from the wall, "it's long enough for your knife and," he pauses at the front door, "a little 'try-hard w***e' may not hurt either."

Ha. Good one, Dodge. Hilarious.

"That means I have to redo my make-up." Ozzie muses.

"You know you have to redo it anyway. You smeared it when you were laying down."

"You know me so well."

"Get changed."

"Fine," Ozzie moves to get up, his actions quick and precise as he joins Dodge by the door. He stops him with a hand on his wrist. "You're not telling Toni about this. As far as she's concerned, we only know that the vics are runaways between sixteen and eighteen. Understood?"

Dodge looks down at him evenly, blue eyes like ice. "Wear your knife."

"Okay," Ozzie smiles and it's sickly sweet, mockingly innocent, curved with a manic edge. But then it's gone. Dodge blinks. "Good talk, Dodge," Ozzie reaches up to pat him on the shoulder as he walks past, plaid skirt swishing on his hips. "I'll have the knife. Make sure you're at Eden."

Author's Note

So opinions are appreciated. Been a while since I'e posted here. But hopefully enjoyment can be found.

Reviews

[Tamelia Jade]

Mate... Like, so good. I'm loving this. It's actually pretty much perfection itself. It's interesting, engaging, the characters are already well established and the dialogue is fantastic. Other than a few grammar issues here and there, it's awesome.
Thank-you for this marvel.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very entertaining story. You create good characters and interesting story line. I like the description of thoughts and place. Gave life and strength to the story. I wanted to know and read more. Thank you for sharing the excellent tale.
Coyote

[Tsukin Archangel]

Sweet! Thank you for the review! I'm glad the characters came across so strongly. I've updated it slightly based on some feedback from other friends, so you may want to re-read it (there were issues they found confusing that I wanted to clarify). But I'm glad you've enjoyed it and you're pumped for the rest!
-Add

[Coyote Poetry]

I will read again and you are welcome.