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[personal profile] atma posting in [community profile] heroicrecords
Wordcount: 33522/50000

Drugs/Substances Ingested: Weed - Rainbow - Homegrown, 5mg Hydrocodone, A fine cuban cigar
Effects: Like a fucking party

Back to our heroes, which includes me, but only in the broadest sense of the definition of hero, because who would normally categorize me as a force of good anyways? Too much propaganda against the drugs I do, the guns I cock, the cars I ride, and the women I steal into my bed. If this were anyone else's story, I'd be the stock villain, probably not the main one, but definitely close enough. Perhaps second to final boss, alongside Kat. Watching people try to take us down would be really funny, though, in that context, instead of just really annoying as it is now in our reality.

We stopped and got provisions from Daidouji, including many a bag of all kinds of meats, all home made and making the car smell like the goddamn Spice Route again, handing the stocky piece of meat of a woman she was a nice wad of cash for her troubles and time and goods, and tipping hats to each other, except I didn't have a hat, so we just took the same one and passed it back and forth a while posing in it and tipping it at each other that way. It's a magic hat, and whenever she took it off, her hair shot straight to gold, but when I put it on it added about ten feet of length and innumerable amounts of spikes. It was pretty good. I wish I knew where she got it, I'd buy one for myself for those days when your metal battle jacket outfit wasn't ridiculous enough to hang out in.

Kat noticed the time though and after trying the magic of the hat herself, finding it to be totally balls to the walls awesome, she prodded me at my shoulder and told me to get in the fucking wagon or she'd be leaving me here to bond over headgear with Brick McLargehuge here. Headgear was kind of my deal, and Kat and I had collected many a bandanna and cap in our travels, wearing them in a grand fashion, the bandanna I had on now being tie dyed by hand and the one Kat currently had on was a Japanese style headband with the kanji for “The Boss” written on it. We had changed into them this morning and ditched the ones we had on prior in our trunk, this way we could be disguised.

It wasn't much of one, and we would need to change again when we got to the border, so Kat could fully enact her dream of riding into Tijuana as Lady Fancy Sanchez, the infamous golf player who loved to show ladies her club, and claim to be a cousin of El Presidente and I could be Rafaela Valdez, noted scandalous tabloid author and smut peddler to the masses, coming in to do a report on the daily life of my lovely cohort, the golfing sensation sweeping the Mexican nation. It wasn't a brilliant plan, but with the right amount of ponchos and good hats, we could pull this off. We just needed to come up with an equally ridiculous alias for Ayame and we were set.

Francisca Del Bosque, intern to both the infamous and sultry Lady Valden and Lady Sanchez, running errands for us like getting us coffee, drugs, and women, and checking the news to make sure BuzzFeed hadn't stolen my stories yet for easy hits and added fifty seven gif images from whatever latest white bread live action show was popular this month. It was an arduous task, and her computer often got overheated loading their needless amounts of code, but someone had to do it.

We had managed to get some blank passports and just needed to write in the names and take a photo while we were in Los Angeles, possibly at Disneyland by Anaheim further south.

Kat had decided on Disneyland, by the way, because she was going to have a fit if she couldn't see the Magic Kingdom one more time before going on to our destiny and watching the parade. What a woman. There would be photo booths there and we could get our disguises easily handmade in Los Angeles, and dress up then and start acting the fools we were to get across the border without the cops that were probably on border patrol hunting us down. We'd just cover The Pussy Wagon in a normal looking tarp and claim it was undergoing repairs and a new paint job and we'd be set for this ridiculous charade. If nothing else, at least Kat had good taste in going out in style, and while I loved the Berry Farm too and it's fried chicken, this was probably a better choice to go into while tripped out on weed, what with the more colorful lights and more colorful characters to get lost in. Bigger crowds to hide in too if we got spotted.

We got in the car and decided to haul ass past Bakersfield, as there really was nothing there beyond our friend and her lovely dried sundries, and also we needed to make time. Los Angeles and Anaheim were still a few hours out of reach, and if we wanted to make it to Tijuana to sleep at any decent rate, even with our shit hours, we were going to have to start breaking some speed limits. Not that we cared, we were already wanted en mass, so why not just start adding to the ticket? It's not like we had anything to lose for it. The engine roared as we shifted gears and Kat began to reenact her favorite car chases from the action movies of the seventies and eighties we had seen innumerable times, swerving and diving, jumping off hills and landing with a satisfying flow of our hydraulics system cushioning impact and making sure it was still going before pressing on down further. We swapped CDs and waited a while before checking the news again on whatever godawful right wing AM radio station we could get down here, since that's really all that existed in this miserable swath of nothingness on I-5.

On the bright side, we would soon be exiting this legendarily boring stretch of road and onto something more infamous.

The Grape Vine.

A notoriously twist and winded road through the mountains that separated Los Angeles from the rest of California, going up and down as well as around and around. Many a celebrity have died here pulling the kind of driving stunts we needed to do to get the hell out of town, and many many more lose their lunch to carsickness from the demanding work that is placed upon your balance and stomach getting through such at an area at anything resembling a decent driving pace. Thankfully, weed is good at preventing nausea, so we loaded ourselves up and gave Ayame another one of our famous cookies just in case she felt like hurling. Not over the side of this fucking amazing car she was going to do this unless she wanted to spend the trip outside Disneyland cleaning it off while we had fun.

Shit's expensive to repair.

We got through it through with our new found sense of adventure and our appreciation of our outlaw status meaning who the fuck cares how fast we go, and in no time Los Angeles and its many palm trees and chunky skies came into view, and so we stopped in the local Hispanic neighborhoods and got ourselves some new duds to put on and immediately snuck off and slipped into them.

Kat opted for the business casual look with leather and a tie, wearing a lasso at her side, because apparently golfers in her fucking universe are good at rodeo. Ayame was dolled up in a traditional skirt and billowing top, showing off her assets proudly. I went full fucking moron and picked up a poncho of many horrible colors and the biggest sombrero that our money could buy. If nothing else, we looked memorable, but just not in the way that the news was showing us in.

We thanked the owner and moved on to Anaheim so we could stop and have a bit of fun, and also use up our season ticket passes before they expired. If nothing else, our new personas too should enjoy a bit of vacation, and we could pretend we were traveling north for pleasure and business, where our business is in our pleasure. We covered The Pussy Wagon and parked near the entrance, showing our passes and running in to the Most Magical Place On Earth, which is pretty fucking magical when you're as baked as we were at this point, high on both the green stuff and adrenaline. We agreed to meet up by the gate if any of us got lost, and agreed that we should only stay until sunset, before closing which is when traffic would be at its worst, and headed to the photo booth to complete the photo taking needed to fake our passports. We said cheese and posed, picking out only the dumbest looking ones for our fake files, including one with Ayame shoving her finger up her nose. She was trying so hard to be bad and we appreciated it. With our fake names filled in, we ran towards our favorite rides and bid each other farewell for a few hours while we enjoyed what may very well be the last bit of enjoyment we could muster in this state.

Soon, it'd be farewell California, our home, and hello to our darling new mistress, Mexico.

Tijuana was a few more hours off so we could be there by midnight if we tried, and could just duck into the closest bar and find lodging for the night. There, we could plan our trip through the country, gathering information over the course of only a short day or two, and then refilling our tank so we could pull out one of our secret weapons and haul ass down to South America. No airplane would take us, not even in these ridiculous getups, without being too suspicious of us, and no bus or tank or anything would take us.

Ahh yes, the tank. We needed to make one small stop on the outskirts of San Diego, where Koshka had parked the tank she gave us the key to so long ago, and roll it in. Lady Sanchez here could drive it since nobody is gonna fucking tell the El Presidente's cousin what she can fucking do in her own country. It's not like anyone would care, given as it was a rather small tank, more akin to a personnel carrier, so we could just call it our badass jeep. It was named The Red Menace, after its country of origin, and was sent here and reconstructed and modified by Koshka ages ago, hidden out here where she could just take it over to Palm Springs and have some fun with it without anyone giving a shit, since all that exists in that god forsaken desert is old people. And those boring lesbians. But they weren't there this time of year, so old people it was.

After a few hours of lights and magic filling our drug addled brains, we bid farewell to The Magic Kingdom and kissed it goodbye, getting back in the car and making our way just barely east of San Diego to the bunker Koshka used to park this. It was an abandoned military lot, untouched by anyone in decades besides us, and inside would be our needed firepower, just in case they started adding their own vehicles to this. No doubt once word reached we had gotten past the border that Yozakura and her boss would be sending out their full force in full force.

We hauled ass and unlocked the shed, and inside was the vehicle Kat would commandeer through the other countries and far, far down south of here. I tossed her the key to the shed, and she made a note to thank my girl profusely later for this, grinning as she unlocked it and hopped in, flipping the switches needed to turn the vehicle on. The Red Menace was in business, and with a bit of clever blanketing, it looked more like a carrier or jeep than a weapon, and we revved up the two vehicles we now had and made for the Mexican border as twilight began to hit.

Tijuana and Mexico have an amazing and beautiful night life. And day life. But nothing beats fooling the immigration guards like the moonlight reflecting off your lowrider and your tank at once. We felt like total badass spies, making in under the cover of darkness, Kat giving our hot officer lady a cute wink and a lowering of her sunglasses, implying she'd like to give her the business end of her golf balls, making the poor girl blush and enabling us to get in a lot easier. Because when you're spies on an international scale, you need to make it with some women.

And that's exactly what we intended to do was find the nearest hot waitress at the closest and cleanest hotel and have our way with her, too. We had a thing for local waitresses, it seemed, and it had been that way since Kat and I began these drug fueled threesomes with random women back in the Sierras. Remember the hot miner chick? I sure do. I'd go back and mine that cavern for gold again, if you get my drift.

But for now, we needed to get Ayame a warm bed, as she was nervous and nodding off, a long and exciting day now slowly going behind her. Poor girl had never been outside of Japan until now, and it's only been so long since she was, a couple short days since this mess began, and we intended to end this shit soon if only for her sake so she could maybe go back quietly and stop creeping on us. We trolled the streets in a grand and slow walk, as if taunting the Nazi cyborg cops that no doubt were lining the roads, waiting in ambush for what they thought would be us instead of the, well, fake us now flaunting it in front of them.

We parked outside a local watering hole and inn and locked things up good, pulling out Lady Sanchez's ahem, golf bags full of our weapons and weed and money, so we could make sure it was all still there and intact and ready for anything at any time. We were now clearly behind enemy territory, and we needed to get ready for the worst, and Ayame needed to learn how to use a shotgun soon anyways. We also brought up our favorite bong and took it out back on the side of the dirt road after we checked in and sent Ayame, or now Lady Del Bosque, to bed to guard our stuff, taking a few long drags off it and blowing smoke rings into the night sky. This poor country would need our help, and if we could just get to Neo Brazil intact, we could liberate them and California and everyone from this Cyborg King's control. The stars twinkled down on us and the Pacific winds blew in our faces from nearby, cold and sharp as our reality was, but unable to dampen our spirits.

The piece's name was the Flametongue, named after the legendary weapon of some paladin in far off distant stories I may or may not have worked with under the name of Lady Valdez. Nothing could be as sharp or strong or hot as it, and it seemed like an appropriate name to give something that could knock you on your ass easily if you weren't used to the kind of hits that Kat and I were used to taking, and we meant that in more than one way.

“So this is it.” Kat, now Sanchez, said, sounding determined. She always sounded that way in some form or another, but a hint of seriousness finally graced the blonde's brain as it did when the situation actually warranted it, and being this far away from home was finally getting to us both and making us seriously think critically on our situation.

“Yeah. Been a while since we went this far out of state, huh? Who'd have thought we'd return under these circumstances?” I replied.

“I hope the girls are alright.”

“They're fine, they're stronger than us, usually. They'll make do, even if the Cyborg King somehow finds them and sends shit after them, I know they know how to haul ass and kick ass. They have faith in us, so have faith in them, too.”

“Yeah, you're right.”

We sat there pondering our destiny and mentality a bit longer before we decided it was time to set that aside until tomorrow afternoon, when most locals would be up and working, and we could get more info. For now, though, we insisted on finding ourselves that hot waitress, that lucky woman, and bringing her up for some fun. Or hell, just bending her over the bar, because we like to show off. Ayame got dibs on the last one, being the virgin she is, but it was about time we had a little but of fun ourselves and get more into the characters of the people we were faking to be. We don't care who would be watching, so long as they left large wads of money in return for the show. If not, the locals would have a legend to speak of for a while of the free show they got this night.

Midnight is such a lovely hour to get into trouble with.


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The Hall of Heroes | Atma's Writing Dump

December 2016

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