Sunday, May 28th, 2006
Flying High
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cajun_devildog @ 10:50pm
GW wiped his brow and looked around the trailer he’d be calling home for at least the next six months. It wasn’t anything to brag about, his family’s home back in Louisiana was palatial in comparison, but it beat a FEMA trailer or a number of spots he’d lived in during his time in the Corps. He’d done his best to make it look homey, and everything was unpacked and put away. Time for a break. A light beer was retrieved from the refrigerator and he headed for the door.
The Cajun stepped out of his trailer, dressed in sandals, shorts and a faded gray LSU t-shirt with the arms cut off. He never thought he’d wind up in another desert but life had a way of surprising you when you least expected it. His lawn wasn’t much to look at, a bunch of sand and rock mostly, but he’d put a statue of the virgin out front just like tante Marie had told him to. His great aunt might be slightly crazy, but she was still a powerful white witch and he wasn’t going to refuse her, out of respect if nothing else.
He popped the top of the can and took a swig, watching the few passersby as they went about their daily lives. One nice thing about living in a trailer park: the rent was cheap.
At first glance, Sonya Ramius would have seemed quite respectable. There was, however, a reason for the stylish sunglasses drawn over her eyes, the ungainly swagger and need for an attempt to stare at anything which required her focus.
She wasn't making too much verbal sense, but there was a dirty folk song being slowly uttered in native tongue. Not to anybody in particular. Just the air. A way to keep herself some company, one could say.
Now she stared at him. One hand messing gradually through the long, red hair of her scalp, trying to figure out what the visual image could now represent.
"You are... Cactus? No... No, not... You..." The speech, still as thickly accented as ever, could well have been even more unintelligible than usual, thanks to the drawling slur which was now behind it. "You are... Strange man," she decided, concluding it most methodically. "Yes. Strange man." She identified resolutely, offering a kind of salute in greeting, which almost managed to put her completely off balance. "How do are you be doing, strange man?"
“I be righ’ fine, cher, an’ you?” GW was amused to say the least by the young woman. She seemed almost drunk, and the accent was something he hadn’t heard since his time in London. Pretty too, all that red hair.
He took another sip of beer and stood up and walked out to the street “GW Robichaux, new neighbor.”
'Almost'? Sonya still was drunk, but so much so that even a sleep had not rid her of the effects completely. The traditional liquid drug was still there, in her system and had she been totally human, it was likely that the redhead would have passed away long ago, due to alcohol poisoning.
Getting drunk whenever she liked and suffering no lasting effects was, to a Russian, very useful.
Of course, this one had often been given reasons to do so during her life. Most of which had not been very positive.
"Robotic cow..." Sonya repeated, slurring and confusing the name she had been introduced to. It wasn't deliberate. She was just very disadvantaged when it was coming to sensory input, at this moment in time. "I am being called Sonya..." She greeted, still trying to keep him in focus, even as gravity was encouraging her torso to lean over. So much so, that she had to quickly make a grab for the nearest telegraph pole, swerving as she wrapped herself around it and immediately sounded a deep, throaty laugh.
The whole world seemed ridiculous and she loved it.
"Sonya, yes!" She barked, putting out a hand to be shaken and trying to link it with his. The problem being that she was within the limits of double-vision and reality was not quite doing her any favor by corresponding to what she was seeing, causing her to make a weird sort of swiping motion, as if a cat batting at some kind of invisible butterfly.
"Stay still, robotic man!"
GW snorted, and revised his opinion from ‘almost drunk’ to ‘completely smashed’. He reached out and shook her hand gravely, his mouth twitching into a smirk “Sonya, dat’s a pretty name. Call me GW. D’ ya tie one on tonigh’?”
He wondered how many drinks it took to get her in such a state. “What part of Russia d’ ye from?”
"Moscow, Jay Doublivek," Sonya answered, again misunderstanding the precise vowels she had been given to interpret behind the mental haze. "My father - he very important!" She impressed with an exagerated point of finger, albeit a wavering one. Mostly because she wasn't quite sure which of the two digits would possibly be the real one.
Virtually hanging from one side of the post, a quick movement caught her eye and Sonya frowned as a rabbit half-scurried, half-hopped its way across the path in front of her.
"Ohhh..." Sonya exclaimed, impressed. "Very big mouses you are havings in America!"
GW nodded “I’m sure he is,” he told the young woman solemnly. He made an effort to talk a bit more ‘standard’ so Sonya would be able to understand him better. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to talk like a Midwesterner, it just wasn’t something that came naturally to him anymore.
“Do ya need a hand Sonya?” he wasn’t sure the young Russian would be able to make it to her trailer, wherever it was nearby.
Glancing at him up and down, the hybridised redhead waved loosely by the wrist. Her head was swimming and a sort of lackadiacal smile was showing. Something being slowly muttered in Russian as she pondered this.
"You would be giving your hands to me...?"
“Well, dey’d still be attached to my body,” came the amused response from the Cajun, looking her over. She was cute, but she was also drunker than a skunk and there was too much of the altar boy and marine guard left in him to even think of doing anything with her in her inebriated state. “I meant, do ya require assistance gettin’ back ta where yer goin’? Ya have my word you’d be ok w’ me.”
"I think I am being of..."
Sonya had started to walk towards him in what should have been a slow, confident swagger. Instead, with the sway of hips, it quickly managed to transform into a buckling of feet against one another and Sonya falling head over heels into the stranger's chest. The inertia and direction of it guaranteed that he would have to catch her and, when looking up, quite befuddled, the Russian burst out laughing.
"You did be giving me your hands, robotic man!"
GW watched with alarm as Sonya tripped on her own feet and moved forward to catch her. She landed solidly against his chest and he automatically wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling down. “Guess so,” he looked down at the crown of red hair.
“Where’s your trailer? I dink ya had a bi’ too much to drink, Sonya, for sure.”
Sonya's head was swaying a little, being the most unbalanced piece of her anatomy attached to a skeletal joint. "Hmmm..." She hummed, smiling silently. Having something solid to lean against was making her feel comfortable and rested. Then, as if snapping to from a daze, Sonya seemed to trip again, although that time more mentally. A sort of expressive jolt registering on her young features.
"We are going that way!" She pointed, having to spin to gesture in the right direction. "We could be jumpings there, I am thinking!"
Attempting to do so, Sonya found that jumping was perhaps not quite for her. Not while in that state and hands went to stomach and head.
"Ugh..."
“Easy darlin’” GW soothed “I got ya, yer ok.” He made a point to keep her pointed away from his chest, the last thing he needed was a drunk potentially puking all over him. Once certain she wasn’t in immediate danger of spewing the contents of her stomach, he looped one of her arms around his neck and kept one arm firmly around her waist.
With that accomplished, they started in the direction she’d pointed out. He devoutly hoped that they were headed toward the right trailer. Breaking into someone’s home was the wrong way to introduce oneself to one’s new neighbors.
The precautions were good sense, because shortly Sonya had taken to hurling vomit over the dusty under their feet, issuing a sickly Technicolor rainbow carpet from her stomach to the ground. The process seemed to wind her, but once it was done she looked back up at her companion with a relieved, silly grin.
"Now..."
They had been pointing in the direction of one of the conventional places, but Sonya turned to the one they were in front of. A very plush and even palatial sort of thing. Extremely expensive.
Not a problem for a girl who had recently come into a fortune.
Struggling to put a key in the lock, however, was seemingly something of a losing battle.
"In! In!"
“Allow me,” GW removed the keys from her hand and eased her down onto the porch. Once she was sitting against a post he turned and fitted the key to the lock. After a brief prayer the key turned and he pushed the door open with a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was get her in there and get out without having anyone thinking he was trying to take advantage of someone. People always thought the worst of strangers.
He picked her up and carried her into the house, lying her on a nearby couch in the living room. “Dere ya be, safe an sound.”
The trailer was an import. God knows how it had managed to be moved there, but it had. One could probably fit a swimming pool out the back and it wouldn't look too out of place. Sonya, thought, had been fully able to afford it and if there was one thing which was important to her in an area like this, it would be privacy.
Some sort of a verbal agreement was huffed out by the redhead and Sonya virtually flopped onto the piece of furniture, like a roll of carpet. One hand reaching weakly out for the jangle of metal which comprised her keys and retrieving them into her pocket. An action which would probably have to wait until later before it would be perfected.
"I am liking nights better," the girl drawled.
An eyebrow quirked as GW straightened “An why is dat?” He wasn’t sure what the redhead referred to about nights.
The trailer was plush, very plush. GW was a bit envious, but to tell the truth possessions had never been a big deal for him. It was about living space.
"My mother..."
Even a drunken Sonya, one hand clutching to forehead, would need a great deal of manipulation and coaxing before she let that particular secret out. Her heritage and the need to keep it hidden was such an engrained part of her, that she would not psychologically allow herself to pass that barrier.
Even if the spoken answer would not have made very much sense to the uninitiated.
"And tonight I am flying..."
“You’re flyin’ high tonigh’, cher. You bet.” GW hadn’t seen anyone this drunk in weeks, and hadn’t had to deal with one in months. It was a wonder she was still conscious.
He wasn’t sure if he should still be here, but it looked like the girl wanted him to stick around and it wasn’t like he had no control over himself. Giving in, he flipped on a nearby lamp and settled into a chair next to the sofa “Wha’ gotcha ta go get so plastered, eh? Broken heart?”
If so, GW could relate. A drunk driver had broken his by ramming into his car and killing his wife. Fortunately the driver hadn’t lived to see the result, or GW would have been tempted to extract some back country justice. It had been a long recovery from Helene’s death, in some ways he was still recovering.
Something underneath Sonya's jacket moved. Not her shoulders or arms. Slumped over like that, her back was exposed and large wings, folded in an arrangement not too far removed from origami, were quite relaxed, held in place only by the tensile strength of that material. They, too, however, sometimes needed to shift around.
At times like these, their owner's conscious mind did not quite realize.
"Sometimes..." The girl replied, eyes now only half-open. "Lovings do not come for Sonya. Only from... From wizards..."
A recollection of the magical curse which had befallen her, causing feelings of the heart to suddenly be engaged with an almost complete stranger. The same which had affected a good proportion of people, in fact, who had gathered in Las Vegas, not so very long ago.
Eyes widened slightly at the movement under the girl’s jacket, but the reference to wizards didn’t bother him in the slightest. GW had encountered demons and fairy folk growing up in Louisiana, the women in his family being talented in the magical arts. It appeared Searchlight attracted those sorts as well.
He reached out and patted a hand “It’ll be all right Sonya. One of dese days dere will be someone out dere for you. De booze, it won’ help.” The girl was close to passing into dreamland, GW hoped her dreams would be pleasant ones.
There was a soft moan from the hybrid girl. Her eyes had gradually closed shut and her mind was hovering between consciousness and something else. She hardly even reacted to the sense of touch which contact brought.
"My mother..."
But the words trailed off into nothingness. No clue behind them as to what might have been spoken. Sonya was falling asleep.
Yet her mother, even if she did not know it, was soon going to re-enter as a very big factor in her life, indeed.
GW took that as his cue to leave. He stood, and brushed a hand along her cheek softly “G’night Sonya, may your dreams be pleasant. I hope your mother is a good one.”
With that, he showed himself out and closed the door behind him. His own trailer was only a few steps down the road, but instead he decided it was time for a long walk, one that would tire him out. Hopefully his own dreams would be pleasant as well when sleep came.
Mood: 
amused
amused
