Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Spanner 3.3: Her Name Is Rio

...from previous

Chaos Angel Spanner — Chapter 3: Rock Is Dead
Part 2: Her Name Is Rio (Final Revision)

31 august 2014.
Posted to LocaFantoma99’s Profile on August 31, 2014:
[wears yellow VW Bug plushie hat and black baby tee reading “YOU CAN PANIC NOW!” over her breasts]

Heard the one about the killer loli? Who hasn’t? The lamestream’s been in a great big panic over it all last week. Know any civilians she’s killed? Me neither.

But of course she’s out to get you! Just like the seventy-two terrorists lurking behind every bush for no one else but you! The Corporate media command you to panic!

That got boring eons ago. I’d rather think of something more interesting. Just ten days from now I’ll be legal, so that can only mean one thing.

[pauses, smirks]

telesphere. Sirens scream madly. The Driver plays hard to get. The Cop’s camera zooms onto his taillights and away and back in dizzy obsession. The arrogant announcer self-righteously spits contempt for crime, whatever it is does not matter as long as he can sneer at it. The Cop and the Driver race and chase at maximum velocity heedless of innocent traffic: speed is all.

They live only for each other. They have no existence beyond the chase. The moment they stop they will cease to exist. Cop and Driver together forever in never-ending chase down the infinite expressway in the night that never ends.

house, bremerton. A large and charming old red house near the shore of a riverlike passage on the west side of town. Two earnest young Mormon missionaries walk to the door and knock. Opening the door to answer: a beautiful woman of slightly under average height not much older than them, with beautiful face like a softer prettier Drusilla, bright copper hair cut pretty-boy short, thigh-length black T-shirt of baroque MMA design printed with the fierce oversize face of the reigning women’s champion, and the intimidating presence of someone accustomed to fighting giants, fixing them with a skeptical look in her bright piercing green eyes. She is Desiree Richter-Thomas (23), fallen DisneyPop child singer turned doer of odd jobs, Drusilla’s estranged daughter by her Rocker second husband, scary reputation hovering about her like a dark thundercloud; electrokinetic like her mother, emotionally unstable like her father. The missionaries flinch.

Desiree smiles pleasantly. “How can I help you, boys?”

They smile back. The blonder one says, “Hi, I’m Elder Greyson and this is Elder Justin, and we’re with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.”

Elder Justin, the brown-haired missionary, adds, “We’re here to share the message of Christ’s love for you and the plan He has for your life.”

“Sorry, boys,” says Desiree sadly, “but I was through believing years ago.”

“God can help you with that,” says Elder Greyson helpfully.

She glares at him. “No he can’t.”

A cute blond girl, barely pubescent and indifferently unclothed, side-glomps Desiree. “Mom, can I kill ’em?”

“No, Melody, you can’t.” She kisses Melody’s forehead. The girl stares warily at the strangers. Intimidated, they apologize and scurry away.

Next visitors: a Korean-and-American couple with glassy eyes. Desiree rolls her eyes. The Korean holds out his brochures. “Show your support for God’s war against liberal terrorism.”

The American holds out her collection bag. “We’re trying to save America from ungodly moral decay.”

Desiree laughs at them. Melody, this time wearing an oversize T-shirt, asks, “Who are they?”

“Moonies.” She scornfully tells her unwanted visitors, “I grew up in a cult and don’t intend to join another. Your Father and my mother can go to Hell.” She slams the door.

Next visitors: two old Jehovah’s Witness ladies who gasp in shock at the sight of two beautiful sisters, nude and tattooed, in lustful embrace. Charlie (26, singer; day job: nurse), shorter and curvier with slightly longer tousled auburn hair, caresses Desiree’s breasts from behind. Desiree smiles defiantly. “My sister and I are in love. We’ll never give it up even for Jesus.”

Charlie says, “Our love is worth Hell.”

The sisters embrace tight, squeeze each other’s soft buttocks, kiss open-mouthed caressing tongues; sheer force of lust knocks the old ladies off the porch screaming weakly and clutching their failing hearts until they die of pure horror.

As the Mormons drive away, Elder Greyson says, “Scary beauty.”

Elder Justin says, “Scarier kid.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I hope that’s not what I think it is.”

This is Red House. The family who live here, the Richter-Thomases, are not normal: beautiful, eerily ageless, seemingly amoral, without inborn incest taboo; they belong to the professional tribe known as Rockers, freakish to normals, the West Coast branch infamous for their easy tolerance, easier libertinism, casual nudity, and love of street Anglicisms. The Revolution locked them in permanent feud with the paranoid Beckets. To keep ever-prying Echelon from squealing, the Wilder Foundation built an anti-surveillance shield better than the military’s; for legal protection, the Foundation provide the formidable Angela Coyne; to protect against assassins and military strikes, Desiree and Charlie project their Repulse fields from the annex in back.

The Beckets imprint on one mate only and have an inborn mating taboo against everyone else. Drusilla Becket imprinted on Cedric Anthony (Ric) Thomas III, Red Mercury of the Band With No Name, flame-haired pretty-boy punk rocker with a flame-decal fire-engine-red Gibson Flying V named Lizzie Borden. He bought Red House when grunge made the No-Names briefly rich, then built a fence and grew a hedge so his family and friends could go nudist without getting noticed by neighbours, gawkers, or paparazzi. By then he and Dru were divorced and feuding: he got the house, she got the kids, the kids ran away from her to live in his house...

American glampunks in London: the Band With No Name just released their first hit record and play their first big show. Guitarist Ric Thomas and Liverpool-born keyboardist Betty Shears are the newest hot husband-wife team of the New Wave. Virtuoso electric violinist Willa Richter-Thomas, at seventeen one of the most flamboyant women in rock, openly flirts with both brother and sister-in-law on stage...

mtv. The song: “New Wave Video Slut.” The video: scandalous. Willa wrote it. Ric, redheaded pretty boy, sings it. She and the Shears sisters (blond Betty on Keytar, raven-haired Raven on bass) wear bosom-baring bondage gear, nipples taped like Wendy O. Williams. Willa rides her brother like a horsie and waves her long blond ponytail around like a whip...

Argument with Betty: Ric withdraws to his own place and finds a young Drusilla Becket waiting naked in his bed; she throws herself at him...

Ric and Betty break up bitterly over Dru as their terrified children Arlo and Ruby look on...

Pregnant Dru Becket forces Ric into a shotgun wedding. She smiles in triumph...

Sad little Charlotte stands by herself, again and again, growing older. Soon Charlie gets a redheaded little sister named Desiree...

Ric and Dru go to war. Their divorce is grand opera: he wants what’s right for Charlie and Desiree, she wants revenge. The judge gives him the money, houses, cars, and copyrights; he gives her the kids, then marries her—but he refuses to give up on them...

Two broken little girls growing up, holding hands, holding onto each other for dear life, separated and handcuffed to a flagpole, turning into disturbed teenagers as Dru laughs—Charlie flies away, Dru howls in rage—Desiree all alone, grenade in hand, a juvenile delinquent with murder on her mind, a child of her own appears and disappears...

Desiree in jail, shattered into pieces, living on the borderline. Charlie comes back to take her home and give her a new life. The two sisters declare their eternal love and make love with unrestrained passion...

biotron labs.
The sisters take advantage of the revolutionary chaos to break into Dictel Research to take back the daughter weapons researcher Lars Thorwald created from them eleven years ago...

After buying their Exception from the Eugenics Institute, a Presleyan minister marries Charlie and Desiree together as their daughter watches on. The Elvis impersonator says, “You may kiss the bride.” They kiss as their family cheer them on. Melody Richter-Thomas is now legitimate...

That night, Drusilla Becket spends her dreams in utter torment, suffering her daughters’ victory over her. On waking she vows revenge. She knows what they don’t: the whereabouts of Desiree’s lost daughter Lucie...

There are no more rock stars. Rock ’n’ roll has been dead too long. But don’t tell the Band With No Name...

Under the annex, inside the garage, a sexy new Mustang in shimmery metallic cherry red; underneath it, Shira works on the engine, nude but for work boots, safety goggles, and paper facemask. Work clothes are superfluous to her; besides, she likes the feel of oil and grease mixed with the sweat on her bare skin.

He enters wearing only untied unbranded basketball shoes and the beautiful scary tattoos of the Rocker. Ric Thomas doesn’t look like a father: tall, strong, strange, too shockingly beautiful to be fifty, he passed his wild red hair, hot temperament, and passion for mischief to his twin youngest daughters. When someone once demanded why they act more married couple than father and daughter, Shira answered, “He is my wife.” Seeing her sensuous succulent nether lips, he kneels to kiss them. She writhes squeals giggles with surprised delight; afterward she goes limp with a sigh and gasps “god I love you.” He grasps her thighs to pull her out from under. “Nice view, eh.”

She beams ecstatically. “She’s gorgeous! I’m in love with her.” She winks. “Her name is Rio.” The grease-covered girl wields the wrench in her work-gloved left hand like a kung fu weapon; with the right she pulls the mask down and the goggles up. “Just ten days, a few more tweaks, and one damn sexy AI to go, and I’ll be ready to drive her. And you.” She drops the wrench, grabs him by the hair, and gives him an undaughterly hot kiss.

He grins. “You’d do it.”

She winks. “In a second.” He pulls her on her feet into a tight embrace. She puts his hands on her soft buttocks and kisses him again.

“Have fun last night?”

“Minty was so fresh.”

“Heh. So what else was going on in the chaos?”

“Leila Shelley was there in the shadows.”

He laughs. “Well! I knew she was trouble.”

Shira grins. “You know how much I adore trouble.”

“Rock ’N’ Roll in the blood.” They laugh.

Suddenly Shira goes serious. “Chucky called me the other day.”

His smile vanishes. He rubs his chin. “You don’t say.”

“His mother told him I was unscrewing the navel of the world.”

“Ha! Everybody knows there’s only two kinds of people in the world.”

“Those who think there’s only two kinds of people in the world and those who don’t.”

“He’ll never get the joke.” They laugh. “So how come he hasn’t sent his killer drones after you yet?”

She rolls her eyes. “And create an invincible martyr? Kira’s too much for the old fiend already. I reminded him: I die, he burns in Hell. Alive.”

“He’s terrified of us,” adds Hope, strolling in wearing moccasins on her feet and nothing on her dark smooth untattooed skin. She and Ric were united in legitimate marriage until the Conservative Revolutionary miscegenation prohibition turned it outlaw. She holds her daughter and Rocker not-husband tight and kisses them deeply in turn. “You tell him about the trip yet?”

Ric replies, “She texted me the Anon tweet: ‘NERON PWNED.’”

Hope laughs. “I got that too!”

“It so was totally accurate,” Shira mock protests. “Y’know, the way the Man overreacted to that Spanner guy, we were lucky to survive.”

“If you didn’t,” says Ric, “the old fiend would be in profoundly deep shit right now.”

“Speaking of old fiends,” Hope says, “Ross says wants to replace all the SPEC teachers with robots.”

“He wants ’em pliable,” he mocks. “Drat them perfidious uppity humans! so unfashionable!”

Shira purrs, “I hope they’re sexbots. They got more personality than all the suits in the world put together.” She caresses her Mustang. “Rio sure does.” She winks.

“Well, give her some good lovin’, cub. I gotta have a talk with your other wife.”

“You mean you want me to stuff strawberries in your mouth,” jokes Hope. They laugh together until Shira deep-kisses them silent.

Shira scampers back onto the roller, has Ric then Hope kiss her oil-smeared breasts and trembling moist cunt, rewards them with her squeals and moans. “I worship you two,” she sobs. Hope grabs Ric’s arm and kisses him into the house. Shira rolls under the car and goes back to work.

In the darkest corner of the garage, Shira’s hoverboard leans against the workbench, waiting for her to tweak its lifters. Next to it, plugged into a power strip, her phone processes video while recharging. Rebel Styles glitches, stutters, and jerks like a digitized madwoman.

21 june 2010...
game room.
Ten-year-old Shira and Kira cuddle naked together on the couch and watch beautiful nude girls not much older than them prance across the stage without shame and show off their bodies to thousands in the auditorium and millions of television viewers across Europe. Then Leila Shelley, an angelic beauty with pale skin, long silky black hair, and a perfect body steps onto the stage, enchanting everyone who sees her. She is the gods’ ideal of a woman. She is eleven years old.

“Oh my god,” says Shira deliriously, “I’m in love.”

“There’s something about her that bugs me,” says Kira.

Shira flashes her sister a narrow-eyed What you talkin’ ’bout? look. “I don’t care. I’m in love with her.”

“I hear she’s got crazy issues. She’ll tear you away from me!”

“But Kira, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. I love her, and I want her for myself!”

Kira gets up off the couch and storms off to bed. “Have it your way. She creeps me out.”

“You don’t know what you’re losing!” Shira sticks out her tongue and mock-farts at Kira.

For the next few hours, Shira stares enchanted by the black-haired beauty seducing the camera. So gorgeous, so intoxicating: her long silky black hair, the languid animal way she moves, the liquid shifting of her breasts, her total identification with her flesh. By the time Leila leaves the stage, Shira has fallen hopelessly, obsessively in love.

stalker shrine. For the next year, Shira watches and rewatches the Junior Miss Nude Europe 2011 video just for Leila Shelley alone. She discovers nude photographs of her in European magazines and on the Internet; she cuts out the magazine photos and prints out the Internet images, then covers her bedroom walls with them and turns it into a shrine to the girl she worships. But Shira romances her twin sister so she will never lose her love again...

A knock on the door. Shira, nude and clean and wearing only untied gangsterskin boots, rushes over. “I got it!” She spies them through the peephole: Willa in a sleeveless pinstripe coatdress, Jennifer in a light white dress; she opens the door. Jennifer tosses the small canvas clothes bag she’s carrying to Willa, throws herself into Shira’s arms, and kisses her violently.

All the Red House residents converge for a mass hug-and-kiss: Ric in slack shorts and untied canvas basketball shoes; Hope in slack shorts and “Take Back Our Schools” T-shirt; Charlie and Desiree, dressed for a road trip; and two overjoyed dogs.

Hope puts her arm around Willa. “You’re looking professional today, love.”

“Serious business, darling.” Willa winks. They laugh, embrace, and kiss. “So how’s yours?”

Hope sighs bitterly. “The Guild leadership won’t let us elect or even recall. They’re loading up on SPEC stock and options, even firing members and hiring scabs. The Guild. Scabs.”

“Word has it,” adds Shira conspiratorially, “they’re gonna purge all members outside corporate management.”

Willa whistles. “Now that’s serious.”

“Karen’s busy building up the Student Union,” says Jennifer. “Her goal’s to force Ross to shoot himself in the foot by expelling the whole student body if he wants to have his way at our expense.”

“The post-coup Guild charter bans strikes,” says Hope, ”so we’ll have to rely on the students.”

“They’re already trying to force spies on us, Fleer’s kids run the Student Council, the Party sent a rep...”

Shira adds, “And Debbie.” Jennifer and Willa roll their eyes and sigh.

After Charlie and Desiree leave, Willa asks Ric in the kitchen, “How close are we to getting our songs back?”

“MIAA’s starting to really panic.” His voice wavers with unconcealed rage. “Talking IP Defenders.”

She throws herself into his arms. “Oh my god—”

Shira returns, phone strapped on, clothes in her arm, followed by Jennifer. She swipes a raspberry beret off the microwave and a clip-on yo-yo pouch from the buffet. “Ever have a run-in with the Fashion Assassins?”

Hope looks at her sternly. “Don’t tell me you almost got killed by one last night.”

“Leila skewered a couple of ’em mid-fuck while I was saving Minty. That might have been the advance guard, now that you mention it.”

Jennifer stares at Shira. “So you finally met Leila. I was afraid you would eventually.”

Shira smiles and holds her tight. “I’ll tell you what. When I get her in bed, you’re gonna join us.”

“I hope so.” Shira gives Jennifer a reassuring kiss.

Willa checks her watch. “Sorry we can’t stick around longer, Red, but we’re here to take your daughter away.”

Jennifer winks. “Can’t have a magic show without her.”

Ric kisses Willa. “Hey, Blondie, I’m sorry I can’t go with and help you three crash the party downtown.”

“We’d take you if you offered,” replies Willa. “Meanwhile, we gotta test out Shira’s new car.”

In the garage, as Hope and Ric watch, they get into Rio: Willa at the wheel, Jennifer shotgun, Shira in back leaning between them. Willa takes a four-terabyte portable hard drive out of her purse and jacks it into the Mustang’s USB 3.0 port; when she turns the key, the car’s computer boots from the drive to install the operating system and AI. “She runs so smoothly,” says Shira, “and oh how she purrs.” Willa and Jennifer grin at her.

The installer prompts for a name. The word “Rio” enters itself. Willa and Jennifer stare at Shira; she smirks and wiggles her eyebrows.

Jennifer climbs in back, out of her dress, and into Shira’s arms. Willa activates firewall, antivirus, surveillance microwave shields. The windows turn to one-way mirrors. When a sexy voice purrs “All systems are go,” she unjacks the drive and puts it in the glovebox, then Bluetooth syncs her phone.

Shira playfully stomps on Jennifer’s boot. “What was that for?” demands Jennifer.

“Steel, right?”

“You never know who might be stalking us.”

“You two better start making love now,” Willa says. “Keep down just in case.”

Together the girls shout, “Okay!”

Willa drives Rio out of the garage and onto Marine Drive for her maiden voyage.

church. Byron Scofield, Chief Shepherd Drusilla Becket’s designated Prophet in top hat and round glasses, tells her, “Your daughters have just murdered two more missionaries. With their filthy lust alone.”

Her other acolyte, atoning black metaller Jeremiah Light, says in a Norwegian accent, “Their pet mudblood has a new car red as sin. Echelon told us she is driving toward the boardwalk of her town.”

“We sent Enforcers.” Scofield pumps his fist. “The little bitch is finished!”

Drusilla presses him, “Have you initiated your plan to eliminate those terrorists yet?”

“Our hired killer has already planted his bomb at their meeting place. Clearly he enjoys his work. But I will be there to make sure he succeeds.”

“Beware of the sister.”

“You mean their pet, Your Holiness?” asks Light.

“Order them to be extremely careful. Lord Ra has told me she is an angel of Chaos.”

on to the next...

Back to Chapter 3 index...
Back to Chaos Angel Spanner table of contents...

Copyright © 2011, 2012 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.
Creative Commons License

[Revision 3, 9/13/11: Added new introduction and a few short passages to fit. Corrected continuity and text errors.]
[Revision 3.1, 10/22/11: Incorporated the main Shira/Leila relationship line begun last installment. Corrected continuity and text errors.]
[Revision 4 Final, 7/5/12: Renumbered 3.3 and renamed “Her Name Is Rio” after the car. Expanded and heavily revised for Revision 4 continuity.]

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