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Demons Don’t Like Hello Kitty
Gracey and Tiny were curled up on the couch together, sharing a bowl of popcorn. Gracey pointed the remote at the television, absently scrolling through the disappointing options on the TV Guide channel. “I should just cancel the cable,” Gracey complained for the hundredth time. “There’s never anything good on.”
“Oooh, no no wait, go back,” Tiny said, waving frantically at the television. Gracey scrolled up and Tiny squealed. “Oh my God, you guys! Harold and Maude is coming on in fifteen minutes. I love that movie!”
Gracey made a face, hit the “select” button. “I’m surprised you even know this movie,” she said, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “This is way before your time.”
“I watched it with Mama once,” Tiny explained. “You know how she is about Cat Stevens.” Tiny shook her head, acquired false poise, fluttered her lashes and sang in a forced soprano with too much vibrato, “If you want to sing out, sing ooooooooout, and if you want to be free, be freeeeeee. There’s a million things to beeeeeeeeee, you know that there are.”
Tiny and Gracey collapsed into each other in a fit of giggles. “But you know what we need,” Gracey said, “is a six pack and Funyuns.”
Tiny’s mouth made a perfect O. “I haven’t had Funyuns in ages,” she breathed. “Is there anywhere to get them around here?”
“Oh sure. They have them at the BRB.” Leaning forward so she could see around Tiny, Gracey put on her prettiest smile and said, “Hey, Darkness, would you mind going out to the BRB and picking up some beer and Funyuns for me and Tiny? Please?”
The Prime of Darkness looked up from his book, annoyed. Settled deep into the reclining chair with a throw pillow in his lap and a blanket tossed across his knees, the Prime of Darkness looked like the king of the living room. He wrinkled his brow. “I want to find out what happens,” he said. He was reading Smilla’s Sense of Snow.
“The ending’s no good anyway; it’s everything leading up to the end that’s the good stuff,” Gracey explained. The Prime of Darkness only frowned. Switching tactics, Gracey smiled pleadingly at the demon, folding her hands prettily beneath her chin. “Pretty please, Darkness? I don’t want to risk missing the beginning of the movie.”
“Don’t you have beer in the refrigerator?” he asked.
“Drank it,” Tiny answered.
The Prime of Darkness sighed. “I don’t even have my bike,” he said. “It’s in the shop, remember? Brake’s been acting weird. I asked Tucker to have a look at it.”
“That’s okay,” Gracey said, her smile brightening. She was radiating at least two thousand lumens. “You can take my car,” she said. “I’ll even let you adjust the seat. The keys are on the table.”
“Oh, no,” the Prime of Darkness said, shaking his head and holding up his hand in objection. “No way. I’m not driving the Matrix; I look ridiculous in that car. What if someone recognizes me?”
Tiny and Gracey exchanged looks, and both women did a respectable job containing their laughter. “It’s just a car,” Gracey said, rolling her eyes, mock exasperation drawing out her words. “Anyway, what’s wrong with my car? It’s a great little car,” she said, pretending to be offended.
“I like my motorcycle.”
“We know,” Tiny put in. “And your cape looks so adorable trailing behind you when you ride.”
The Prime of Darkness gave Tiny a cold stare. His exasperation was quite real.
Gracey gave Tiny a look that meant maybe they’d pushed him too far; he was a demon, after all, and his sense of humor was wanting. She sighed, waved off the previous conversation. “Ah, well, it’s dark anyway.” Gracey cocked her head to the side, gave the demon a sincere smile. “And I’d really, really appreciate it.”
Sighing, the demon dog-eared the page he was on and set the book aside. He stood up, gave Tiny and Gracey a defeated look and said, “What kind of beer do you want?”
“Shiner,” the said at once. They turned to each other and giggled like little girls. The Prime of Darkness rolled his eyes.
Rising from her seat, Gracey shuffled over to the Prime of Darkenss and wrapped her arms around his neck, careful to avoid the spikes on his pauldrons. Against her chest, she felt the demon go rigid with uncertainty and discomfort, and Gracey was reminded fondly of her first slow dance with a boy. This awkward embrace was not unlike that adolescent rite of passage. When the demon didn’t pull away, Gracey leaned in and planted a noisy, squishy kiss in the crook of his neck. She was surprised by the warmth of his skin. She looked up at him and saw that he was blushing. She’d never kissed him before.
When he’d recovered from the shock of Gracey’s unexpected display of affection, the Prime of Darkness grunted, made a good show of retrieving the keys form the table by the front door. “Where’s your wallet?”
“Oh.” Gracey ambled into the kitchen, retrieved her purse, and fished her wallet out form its depths. She handed it to the demon, who grimaced and shook his head.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. “How old are you?”
Gracey made a face. “Old enough to not take things so seriously,”she said. “Loosen up, Darkness.”
The Prime of Darkness looked down at the wallet. It was plastic, pink, and sported the annoying visage of Hello Kitty all over it. It was a wallet intended for an eight-year-old girl, not a thirty-something woman. He snapped it open. “You don’t even have any money in here,” he said. Incredulity practically dribbled down his chin.
“Use the debit card,” Gracey called, plopping down next to her sister. “Oh, and bring back some antacid, too, please. Funyuns upset my stomach sometimes.”
**
The BRB was mostly deserted, save a couple of teenaged girls pumping gas and nursing cherry Slurpees; still, the Prime of Darkness parked in the shadows. The chime dinged as he walked through the BRB’s glass doors, and the Prime of Darkness cringed. He preferred, as much as possible, to meander around Love & War undetected. Of course, being the only person he knew who habitually wore black leather, spiked pauldrons, and a cape, it wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do, but he’d mostly managed to get by.
He stood in the chip aisle, carefully reading the different titles in order to identify the brand Gracey had requested. He didn’t understand why humans needed so many different forms of junk food. He’d tried some of these fried monstrosities only once when he’d happened upon them in Gracey’s pantry. Artificial color and flavoring, he discovered, were poor substitutes for actual food. He much preferred barbecue or a slice of Gracey’s coconut cream pie to anything you could buy prepackaged from the BRB. Even the Ding Dongs made his stomach churn.
When he found the right bag, he grabbed it and popped it under his arm. He retrieved the Shiner Bock from the refrigerated case and laid his bounty on the counter. The girl at the cash register, snapping gum, sniffling, and probably high on something, hardly looked up as she rang him up. “$12.97,” she said.
The Prime of Darkness opened up the horrendous wallet and retrieved the debit card. He handed it to the girl who sighed and asked, not without annoyance, “Credit or debit?”
She looked up as she asked. Recognition washed over her face, and her cheeks flushed a charming crimson. The Prime of Darkness steeled himself. She cocked her head to the side, tapping the credit card against the palm of her hand. “Say,” she drawled, a coy smile playing over Bonne Belle coated lips, “ain’t you that Prime of Darkness?”
He cleared his throat. “Credit, if you don’t mind,” he answered. He tried a smile. It didn’t feel natural.
“You are though, right? Wow, this is better’n the time I saw Angelina Jolie at the Walmart.” She slid the card through the reader. “She was with that little boy of hers, that Oriental one? What’s his name? She’s super tiny in real life.”
He shifted uneasily, not knowing how to respond to her prattle, or even if he was supposed to. How many times would people ask him the same ridiculous question? Of course he was the bloody Prime of Darkness, who else would he be? The town didn’t have that many blue-skinned, diabolical, cape-wearing bikers.
She handed the card and the receipt back to him, still smiling. He signed the receipt, and snapped open the wallet to replace the card. He was about to wish the girl good night when she made an awful sound, something between a laugh, a bark, and a scream, and pointed a finger at the plastic abomination in his hand. “Oh my stars, is that a Hello Kitty wallet? My little sister has the exact same one!”
November 18th, 2009
As an avowed beer drinker an beer lover, I’m somewhat appalled that Gracey and Tiny are drinking Shiner Bock on purpose. I can’t stand the stuff. However, Texas seem to love their Shiner, and the sisters are being good little Texans by drinking it. But me? Bring me a Newcastle or a Fat Tire. Or better yet, a locally brewed amber or brown ale. Mmmm.
April 5th, 2010
It’s funny how you grow up thinking that alcohol is much the same world over, yet there are probably a squillion brands of beer!
I love the wallet recognition at the end, poor Darkness, wait ’til this gets around.