Meenah is in the middle of kicking a security guard in the face when her phone starts to ring. It proceeds to ring seven more times before she's done; she hums along with the tinny midi ringtone version of "Below the Ocean" as she chokes the guard out. The casino vault door shines bright and clear in the centre of the wall of surveillance camera screens, just waiting for her to walk over to it with a security pass when she's done. She nabs the guard's walkie-talkie and starts patting him down.
She says "False alarm, all clear here," into the walkie-talkie, and "What," into the phone.
"Meenah, I thought we agreed--"
"No Meenah here."
"I'm not using the codenames. The whole point of codenames is to protect your identity, and you're already gone in with your metaphorical guns blazing, if not your literal ones as well--"
"No Meenah here."
There's an audible sigh, and the line goes quiet for eight seconds, which is eight seconds longer than Aranea's usually quiet for. The security guard doesn't have his pass conveniently on him, which is such a load of crap. Meenah yanks open his desk drawers and starts rummaging, and, welp, someone must have found the suckerfish she stuffed into the dumpster, because all over the screens people in black suits and glasses are touching their earpieces and starting to casually walk away from their posts.
"M-Dogg Pizzle-Shizzle," Aranea eventually grits out between her teeth. "Can you please--"
"Aww yessssssss."
"Stop that."
"You said that. That actually came outta your wordhole."
"I said it to get your attention! Look, this is far too dangerous, even for you. I don't know why you keep doing things like this, but you have to stop! I mean, you don't even need the money--"
The security pass isn't in the desk drawer. Well, fuck. "I don't need nofin!" Meenah barks, and throws the drawer on the floor. "I don't need no protectin', I don't need no motherin', and I don't need no girl shoutin' in my pier!"
On the screens, the black suits start to filter into the corridor leading to the security room. The corridor. The single, sole corridor. Suddenly, the plan of "WR-ECK T)(-EIR S)(IT UP" seems a lot less awesome.
"Ear, I mean," Meenah sighs. "Pier, ear. That one was oarful."
"I understood it well enough." There's a long silence. It's almost like Aranea's searching for words, but that's got to be one of the signs of the apocalypse. "What do you need, then?" she asks.
There are a lot of people outside the door. Meenah flips them off on the screens, then slumps on to the guard's chair and kicks at the ground, spinning around in desultory circles. "I dunno," she says. "You're always the one who thinks of that kinda fin."
"Oh, Meenah," Aranea says. "One day you're going to have to figure it out for yourself."
The door opens, and the group of thugs steps in. It parts down the middle, and then there's a smaller figure in the center, suit somehow going with her lipstick.
"But in the meantime," Aranea says, and cocks whatever she's got pressed into the small of some goon's back, "I've got two .44 specials and a driver outside, and hopefully that will have to suffice."
Grabbing Aranea by the waist and spinning her around is a dumb idea with a roomful of muscle looming around them, but the suits cower away as Aranea's guns veer wildly around the room, and anwyay, it's totally worth it.
"You're an angelfish," Meenah grins.
"You are a horror," Aranea says, and slides on a pair of dark glasses. "Come on, let's blowfish this joint."
Rather light on the bildungsroman aspect, whoops. Consider it a scene from a larger work where Meenah gradually learns more about herself via a whole lot of breaking, entering, and kicking people in the face. :B
FILL: TEAM GAMZEE<>KARKAT
She says "False alarm, all clear here," into the walkie-talkie, and "What," into the phone.
"Meenah, I thought we agreed--"
"No Meenah here."
"I'm not using the codenames. The whole point of codenames is to protect your identity, and you're already gone in with your metaphorical guns blazing, if not your literal ones as well--"
"No Meenah here."
There's an audible sigh, and the line goes quiet for eight seconds, which is eight seconds longer than Aranea's usually quiet for. The security guard doesn't have his pass conveniently on him, which is such a load of crap. Meenah yanks open his desk drawers and starts rummaging, and, welp, someone must have found the suckerfish she stuffed into the dumpster, because all over the screens people in black suits and glasses are touching their earpieces and starting to casually walk away from their posts.
"M-Dogg Pizzle-Shizzle," Aranea eventually grits out between her teeth. "Can you please--"
"Aww yessssssss."
"Stop that."
"You said that. That actually came outta your wordhole."
"I said it to get your attention! Look, this is far too dangerous, even for you. I don't know why you keep doing things like this, but you have to stop! I mean, you don't even need the money--"
The security pass isn't in the desk drawer. Well, fuck. "I don't need nofin!" Meenah barks, and throws the drawer on the floor. "I don't need no protectin', I don't need no motherin', and I don't need no girl shoutin' in my pier!"
On the screens, the black suits start to filter into the corridor leading to the security room. The corridor. The single, sole corridor. Suddenly, the plan of "WR-ECK T)(-EIR S)(IT UP" seems a lot less awesome.
"Ear, I mean," Meenah sighs. "Pier, ear. That one was oarful."
"I understood it well enough." There's a long silence. It's almost like Aranea's searching for words, but that's got to be one of the signs of the apocalypse. "What do you need, then?" she asks.
There are a lot of people outside the door. Meenah flips them off on the screens, then slumps on to the guard's chair and kicks at the ground, spinning around in desultory circles. "I dunno," she says. "You're always the one who thinks of that kinda fin."
"Oh, Meenah," Aranea says. "One day you're going to have to figure it out for yourself."
The door opens, and the group of thugs steps in. It parts down the middle, and then there's a smaller figure in the center, suit somehow going with her lipstick.
"But in the meantime," Aranea says, and cocks whatever she's got pressed into the small of some goon's back, "I've got two .44 specials and a driver outside, and hopefully that will have to suffice."
Grabbing Aranea by the waist and spinning her around is a dumb idea with a roomful of muscle looming around them, but the suits cower away as Aranea's guns veer wildly around the room, and anwyay, it's totally worth it.
"You're an angelfish," Meenah grins.
"You are a horror," Aranea says, and slides on a pair of dark glasses. "Come on, let's blowfish this joint."
Rather light on the bildungsroman aspect, whoops. Consider it a scene from a larger work where Meenah gradually learns more about herself via a whole lot of breaking, entering, and kicking people in the face. :B