xp_logs | Cammie & Morgan: Don't Let the Door Hit Your... (Backdated to Sunday the 8th)

Cammie taunts Morgan about what little of the woman's past she knows on Morgan's way out of the mansion - Backdated to Sunday.

Morgan didn't really have that much stuff. A few boxes of books, a big duffle bag and a few more boxes that were filled with clothes, a couple bows with quivers and arrows and a box that held knives, ammunition, and a couple handguns in addition to the one that was currently in a holster hanging off her belt on the opposite side from the knife that was always clipped onto her belt. Despite her lack of stuff, Morgan was impatient and didn't want to have to run up and down the bleeding stairs all day. The answer, of course, was to multitask, or rather to carry more stuff at once. It was four in the morning so she didn't exactly bank on anyone being up and about. She certainly didn't think it would be a problem that she couldn't see over the boxes she was currently carrying that were stacked one on top of the other. Clearly she was wrong because Morgan stepped off the last stair of the main staircase, turned to the left to head to the garage and collided with something solid, but definitely movable. Very likely it was a person. The first thing out of the metamorph's mouth was a string of quiet expletives followed by an, "I'm sorry. I didn't figure on anyone being awake." She still couldn't even see who it was so Morgan turned to the side to figure out who she had run over.

"Oh, you must've caught me on one of my moments out of the bubble," Cammie returned. The person Morgan had run into was the five foot four, green haired girl who liked to ride the surly train. And had decided she didn't care much for Morgan but that was a different story, "What's with all the boxes, going to go live with the rest of the smurfs?"

Morgan's eyes narrowed at the tiny package of surly. Damn, if only Morgan had actually run the annoying little bint over with something more effective. Like a steamroller. "That's right, too many females here for competition. I'm going to Smurfville where I can be Whore Number One and service Papa Smurf all day. I love guys who get off on me calling them Daddy." Her voice was flat and sarcastic, a hint of her annoyance coloring the words as well.

"Really, you didn't seem like the type to go for guys. I would've taken you for moving in with Smurffette, and watching the entire population dwindle to zero from lack of breeding sometime before Gargamel got tired of trying to snack on your asses," Cammie returned. Running her over with a steamroller just would've made her grin. There was something about being able to get just under the skin of someone you didn't like that she loved.

Morgan blinked at Cammie. This was already way too far progressed into the realm of Saturday morning cartoons, which was a world away from any world Morgan could even remember living in. "Yeah, I've got nothing for that one. Seriously. Don't watch enough cartoons to compete. You win. I'm going to eat out Smurfette. That and fisting. I wanna see if I end up bluer up to my elbow from the experience."

"Depends on which end you use, I'm sure," Cammie returned. She was suddenly very cheerful. "Well, I'd offer to help you, but I'd seriously just break all your junk, so the best I can say is don't let the door hit your ass."

"There are places I'd rather not think of a fist being," Morgan replied with a small cringe. "Seriously, thank god I never had those kinds of customers." It was amazing to think there were things that had not been foisted upon her when she'd been in that line of work, but luckily for Morgan mostly people wanted fairly vanilla sex with people who were otherwise unattainable. Usually. "My junk appreciates the lack of help. My ass, however, is very sad a lack of smacking is being wished on it. Seriously. Very sad."

Cammie paused for a moment, "No wait... back up. You're a whore?" that endlessly amused her. If there was one profession she considered to be for people completely devoid of talent to make a living another way, it was hookers. Because it took almost no time at all to learn how to pick locks or jack car stereos. Both of which could net you more than you'd ever hope to make turning tricks.

"I mean, stop me if you were being sarcastic and all."

"Was. Past tense," Morgan corrected as she tried to inch around Cammie so she could continue to the garage without running her over again. "From the age of fourteen to seventeen. The mutation helped set me apart, I guess. It's easy to not think of the person you're fucking being fifteen when she looks twenty-four or thirty-eight or whatever age your wet dream of the moment you hired her to copy is."

She couldn't help it, she started laughing. For all the high and mighty attitude this chick had and she was a whore. Now that, that was pure gold. "Oh...oh that's so rich."

Morgan shook her head. Yeah, Cammie was definitely a kid. "Yeah, so was the day I had to make a rule about not killing kids anymore. But I'm guessing you'd understand just about as much about that life as you do about having to give up your virginity to a john."

"Well you see, the smart girls generally don't have to," Cammie said once the laughing died down. She really shouldn't be getting so much joy out of the idea of someone's misery. (Though who knows, she might have liked it. Cammie heard that happened sometimes.)

"You know very little about the world, don't you?" Morgan didn't let the comment get to her. She knew who she was both now and then. She understood that Cammie was a kid, both in spite of and because of her age, who likely couldn't see anything from outside of her own very narrow worldview. Morgan wasn't out to make her understand. She didn't have the patience for anything like that.

"No, no, I know enough. I know if you actually have talent that you don't have to go there," she laughed.

Morgan kept walking toward the garage. "And I'm sure you know all about talent. Maybe you knew how to steal cars and who to sell them to at the age of fourteen, but some of us were good kids before we had to fend for ourselves. Guess I already have my answer as to whether or not you ever were, don't I?"

"Better a thief than a whore," Cammie called after her, not bothering to follow. She didn't need a refill on anti-freeze quite yet. She didn't disagree with Morgan's statement though, she knew the truth. And it was stupidly simple. One of her friends had a beater car that was keyless and had to be hotwired to start. But that was only the basics. She had taught herself as fast as she could on her own. Stealing a whole car was also too dangerous, bikes were easier. And stereos out of cars. "Anyone can spread their legs, jacking a car? That takes talent."

"Yeah, got that talent too, kid. Jack cars, pick locks, put a bullet right between your eyebrows, wire a car to explode, make a bomb, assemble an assault rifle in less than half a minute, fix your gun so it won't fire ever again, wire cell phones together to make a listening device, break into old school safes and even some of the modern ones. You wanna compare talent, have at it." Because in the end Cammie was just a cocky teenager who thought she was better than someone she didn't know. "But spreading your legs and being good at it still pays better than jacking cars when you don't know the people to sell to who will give you the best price or when you are too stupid or scared to take something worth real money because you don't know how to get past the alarm system without getting yourself arrested. Besides, I never landed in jail and I was never smacked around. Probably better than you did, innit?"

"You can do all that and you still wasted time as a whore," she said, shaking her head. It was a waste of time. On the cheap end, where she had always seen it, it hadn't been worth it. So she had never bothered. Hell, it hadn't even been worth it to fake it until someone got close enough to take their wallet. Most guys she ran into who were looking at picking up a hooker never had more than fifty bucks in cash.

"Oh, if we're doing arrest records now, you'll never find my name on one either," it was about out running the cops. And not getting caught at all. She was clever, sometimes too clever for her own good. As with most smart and cocky kids came the feeling she was better than any other smart or cocky person. A lucky shot and a hole in her side be damned, she was still better than someone who had to resort to hooking to make it through. "Good thieves don't get caught."

"Everyone gets caught eventually," Morgan said over her shoulder. She was done, though. Carmilla had proved her maturity and her perspective to Morgan. Since the woman in no way felt the need to justify, defend or prove herself to the arrogant teenager she was going to leave it. She fully expected Cammie to pipe up to have the last word, but Morgan wasn't going to respond. Her pace picked up to her normal speed and the girl was put out of her mind.

"I'm still waiting for it," sure, it had caught up to her one way. The trick was about knowing when to vanish, she was good at that. A knife in the side was a result of the fighting not the theft. She let the over-grown smurf walk off, waving brightly.