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“So… um…” The clock ticks, and Brief tries to think of a good way to phrase the question he has. “Panty, your guns…”
“What about ‘em?” They’ve put on some trash reality show while they wait for Garterbelt to finish lunch, and Panty is half paying attention to it and half paying attention to him. Even half of her attention is almost too much, makes him stutter and forget his words.
“They’re based on… dick size.” He tries to say it casually, as if he hasn’t been thinking about it almost constantly ever since that stupid Lingerie Run.
Panty snorts. “Get to the point, Geek Boy.”
“Do you. Have. One? Or does it work differently if – “ He isn’t sure how he was going to end that sentence, but Stocking saves him from having to say anything by cutting in.
“It’s hilarious how you think our junk is any of your business.” She says it in the same dry, sarcastic tone she says everything, so it’s hard to tell if she genuinely finds it funny or wants to kill him. The plushie she keeps tucked in her arm seems to watch Brief judgmentally.
Brief feels his entire face redden. She’s perfectly right, of course, but you miss all the shots you don’t take, and all that. Maybe he’s hopelessly delusional, but he’d thought they might be good enough friends at this point to ask the question.
Panty sighs, and turns to Brief. All the thoughts leave his head, replaced with pretty and close. She must have washed her hair this morning, because there’s a waft of strawberries coming from her general direction. Her expression looks like she’s trying to figure out how to explain algebra to someone who hasn’t fully mastered two plus two. “Have you ever read the Good Book, Geek Boy?”
“The Bible? I know some parts.” The parts that everyone knows, mostly. The Virgin Mary, Jesus dying on the cross. Angels, in their myriad and dizzying varieties. The Bible never, to his knowledge, mentioned angels taking the form of beautiful, foul-mouthed women with weapons crafted from tastefully slutty lingerie. Brief supposes that means he can’t rely on it for any actual facts.
“Does it ever say anything about the dick situation with angels?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Angels don’t have genitalia, usually.” Stocking adds. She isn’t looking at either of them; she’s staring straight ahead. “Gender and sex are human ideas.”
“But Adam and Eve –”
“Those two assholes were just two different types of human, so humans could make more of themselves. It was humans who called Adam a man and Eve a woman.” There’s a sharpness to Panty’s tone that Brief knows means shut the fuck up and listen. “Angels don’t have dicks or pussies because they don’t need them – if God needs more angels, he just makes more of them.” She smirks. “And good little angels aren’t supposed to have sex, let alone want it.”
“Good little angels,” Stocking echoes, “who guide and protect men, but are not of them.” Her voice gains a strange quality, as if she’s reciting something that she’d memorized a long time ago. “Angels who become too attached to the trappings of humanity fall, and their bodies change as a result.” A look passes between the two sisters. “They become more human-like.”
Brief nods as the implications sink in. “So… you do have dicks?”
“We have both sets, if you must know.” Stocking takes a dainty sip of tea.
We. Brief’s face gets even redder as he recalls Stocking taking off her panties so her sister could dual wield during their first fight with the Demon Sisters. Both of Panty’s guns had been the same size. Well. That prompted some confusing feelings.
“Stocking!” Panty complains. “I wanted to let him obsess over it forever.”
“Oh, come on. He would have found out at some point; the whole town’s seen yours.”
“Fuck off. But yeah, best of both worlds. Which,” nudging him playfully, “you would have found out if you’d taken me up after our throwdown with the Demon Bitches.”
He laughs lightly, as if he doesn’t regret it every single day of his pointless, miserable human life. “Seems like a pretty good deal to me.”
Both sisters genuinely smile, a rare enough expression that Brief feels the urge to take a picture. “Honestly, yeah. I hope we get to keep ‘em when we go back.” Panty picks up the remote to adjust the volume.
“We probably won’t.” An odd detachment in Stocking’s voice. She stares at the area above the television, as if she can see the waves being transmitted.
“We probably won’t,” Panty echoes.
Their show continues to play. Brief sits at the edge of the room, and watches.