More Pretentious Than You
May. 11th, 2003 02:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ursulaThey were best friends. They killed things. That was, when you came down to it, what really mattered.
There were men occasionally, also. At sixteen or seventeen Theo had fallen madly in love with a priest (or was it a duke?), killed his brother for the inheritance, and escaped to a passionate wedding beside a volcano in Iceland. Then she had grown bored. She insisted at various times that her husband had joined a rock group, or gone insane, or purchased a Napa Valley vineyard. The only sure part of the story was the twisting blue band of tattoo around her left wrist. He designed it, she said. He knew how to find things.
Prue was more consistent, or had less to tell. At the moment she sat cross-legged on the bare floor of their apartment, erasing last night’s bleariness with her eighth cup of tea. “He was so gentle,” she said. “Did he really think he could hurt me?”
“You did meet him in the philosophy section,” said Theo. “I think the glasses confuse people.”
“That’s the point.” The glasses in question were wire-rimmed, round, and fogged with steam from the tea.
“You’re supposed to be confusing demons, not philosophy majors.”
“Maybe I should try a demon,” said Prue.
Theo laughed.
“No, seriously. Our men keep going just . . . all . . . squishy. We need someone stronger.”
“But demons aren’t.” This was true. The remains of the last demon they had met were neatly folded into a peanut-butter jar on the kitchen counter.
“So we’ll find a tougher one.”
“Tougher than Aegaeon?”
“Sure.”
“Who?”
“Dis.”
“The King of Hell?”
“Why not?” Prue set her teacup carefully into its saucer.
“Yes, why not?” Theo laughed. The floor shook, a little, and the teacup rattled, but they both ignored it. Theo and her friends were used to minor earthquakes.
There were men occasionally, also. At sixteen or seventeen Theo had fallen madly in love with a priest (or was it a duke?), killed his brother for the inheritance, and escaped to a passionate wedding beside a volcano in Iceland. Then she had grown bored. She insisted at various times that her husband had joined a rock group, or gone insane, or purchased a Napa Valley vineyard. The only sure part of the story was the twisting blue band of tattoo around her left wrist. He designed it, she said. He knew how to find things.
Prue was more consistent, or had less to tell. At the moment she sat cross-legged on the bare floor of their apartment, erasing last night’s bleariness with her eighth cup of tea. “He was so gentle,” she said. “Did he really think he could hurt me?”
“You did meet him in the philosophy section,” said Theo. “I think the glasses confuse people.”
“That’s the point.” The glasses in question were wire-rimmed, round, and fogged with steam from the tea.
“You’re supposed to be confusing demons, not philosophy majors.”
“Maybe I should try a demon,” said Prue.
Theo laughed.
“No, seriously. Our men keep going just . . . all . . . squishy. We need someone stronger.”
“But demons aren’t.” This was true. The remains of the last demon they had met were neatly folded into a peanut-butter jar on the kitchen counter.
“So we’ll find a tougher one.”
“Tougher than Aegaeon?”
“Sure.”
“Who?”
“Dis.”
“The King of Hell?”
“Why not?” Prue set her teacup carefully into its saucer.
“Yes, why not?” Theo laughed. The floor shook, a little, and the teacup rattled, but they both ignored it. Theo and her friends were used to minor earthquakes.