Cohost writing prompt: @Making-up-Monsters — Monster who needs a magical girl
The answering machine picks up the phone call, warbles tinnily to itself, and beeps in the darkened living room.
“Jennifer,” the voice on the other end slurs. “Jennifer, I’m threatening the city,” and Element Knight Magnesium — née Jennifer — spills cheap beer on herself, and mutes the infomercial she was staring hollowly at before consciously reacting at all.
She makes herself stop, halfway across the room, just for a second, to tell herself she should ignore it. Then she carries on and picks up.
“I’m on holiday in Vancouver,” she says, because it’s the first thing that pops into her head.
“You’re lying,” Pain Queen says, drunkenly haughty. “Why would you lie about Vancouver?”
“You’re lying,” Magnesium counters. “The city’s fine.”
There’s some indistinct mumbling, and a few loud rustles, down the phone line. “Say it again,” Pain Queen says, imperiously aloof. “Sound angrier.”
“You’re drunk,” Magnesium says, sounding tired.
“Say it.”
“You’re lying,” Magnesium starts wearily, stops herself, clears her throat. “You’re lying!” she tries again, trying to remember how to sound young. Angry. “And furthermore, you’re finished!”
Pain Queen grunts. “Nearly,” she says.
“Fucking hell, it’s a Saturday night, just go out and get laid,” Magnesium says. “Nobody even remembers the world conquest thing. You’re — even I can admit you’re hot. You’ve still got it. This is pathetic.”
“Oh, the wheelchair’s a big hit on Tinder,” Pain Queen snaps back. “And I get to showcase my sense of humour about it! Don’t worry, I’m ambulatory, so I can still spread ‘em—”
“I’m hanging up,” Magnesium says, fingers tight on the receiver.
“No you’re not,” Pain Queen snarls. “You fucking owe me, Little Miss Ultimate Finishing Move, and if I want it paid back in phone sex that makes you heave your guts up in self-pity after I finish, you’re going to pay up—” and she grunts sharply, several times, then lets out a long, shuddering moan of relief.
“Well, if that’s what does it for you,” Magnesium says. She picks at a hangnail, which she picked at earlier in the day, all day, because it was a Saturday and it’s usually Saturdays, and it had been a while. Blood wells, lazily.
“The skirt, actually,” Pain Queen says. “Those terrible little fetish-fuel panty-flashing Element Knight miniskirts. You wore it best. You always wore it best.” She sighs, drunk and satisfied. “You know, we wouldn’t have to do this if you’d come out for drinks in person.”
“No,” Magnesium says. She puts her finger in her mouth, filling it with the familiar metallic taste.
“You’ll do it one of these days,” Pain Queen says, and laughs and hangs up.
