Walk Me Home: Dating a Monster Girl

“Heh, Norman’s gonna laugh so hard …” Amy muttered as she took a few photos of her pancaked avatar.

Once finished, Amy blinked as the thought of pancakes brought a realisation. She was hungry? Again??? What on Earth was wrong with this body! Alright, in all fairness, her atmospheric form was absolutely massive, but she didn’t see how a couple pancakes were gonna make a difference! Sure, the vestigial sense of human needs was somewhat independent of what her body actually needed, but Norman just pampered her with a steak dinner delicious enough to start a war! Was she just peckish?

Eh, whatever. She wanted pancakes, and she would get them. Unless it became a problem, there was no use complicating things.

Amy strode to the fridge. Before even reaching it, she gripped the air, feeling tactile resistance as her atmospheric telekinesis grabbed the fridge door and translated the force to her hand. She pulled. The door opened. Thick, rosy neon aerosol wafted out of the fridge before somewhat receding back into it. The stuff settled around food items especially. Good. The fragment of herself that she’d packed into the fridge was still behaving somewhat like she wanted it to, draining heat energy to keep everything cold. Her biomass had a tendency to slowly forget what it was supposed to do if she wasn’t there to remind it. The fridge wasn’t quite as cold as she’d have liked, though. Of course, the fridge would have done that by itself, if the power company hadn’t stopped sending electricity to that side of the neighbourhood a few days ago. She somewhat understood the logic. Almost everyone there had either abandoned the area or gotten gotten dragged off by nyctals … which would also make them abandon the area when they survived the ordeal (she liked to be optimistic). She was still there, though. Norman had paid her last electric bill while holding out the hope that she was still alive. Maybe this was a mistake on account of the absolute chaos unfolding across the city. Still, it felt a little … t̸a̵r̸g̷e̵t̵e̶d̷.̵ ̴S̷o̸m̶e̷o̴n̴e̷ ̵m̸i̴g̷h̵t̴ ̴h̶a̸t̸e̸ ̵y̶o̵u̶.̸ … strange for them to make such a mistake, but she couldn’t come up with any reasonable theories as to why it happened.

Amy selected the ingredients and floated them out of the fridge, turning them over as her aerosol inspected their scents. They still smelt fresh to the touch. Yes, that was the accurate wording. Amy’s biomass could smell anything within it, or was that technically taste? Oh well. She wondered if it would have mattered whether or not the ingredients were fresh. Did hygiene really matter anymore? Her biomass had been through all sorts of icky conditions. After all, it touched everything around her, wherever she went: streets, gutters, even mucky puddles … Although she managed to somewhat keep herself off of certain things, it was impossible to avoid them completely. Her biomass had a fast and vicious immune system of sorts. It seemed capable of eating anything remotely organic. Could it ever get food-poisoning? She was inclined to think not, but as a human living in the body of a monster, she had standards to maintain.

Amy approved the ingredients with a little nod. “Mm hm.”

At her affirmation, they laid themselves on the counter: Flour, sugar, condensed milk, oil and, because she was feeling fancy, cinnamon and vanilla. These weren’t any old pancakes. They were a family recipe gloriously dubbed as: ‘Homemade Pancakes’. No special mix necessary, they were sweeter and chewier than the bouji store-bought stuff. She seen the process many times. Her mother had explained it to her. Surely, she could cook something so simple, right?

Amy spawned another avatar to prepare the ingredients in a bowl with some water while she carefully applied a current to the electric stove’s power cord. With her new abilities, she didn’t miss the lack of electricity too much. Her biomass had its own luminosity, which she dialed up or down to control the house’s lighting. That wasn’t quite the same as having actual lights in the house, so she mostly emitted the glow from around the cold, dead lightbulbs bereft of electricity.

It was time to liven up the place a little.

A third avatar scrolled through her phone’s music selection. She hadn’t had much time to miss her phone with the rollercoaster of life-altering events that transpired over the last few weeks. Too bad the Wi-Fi was down … oh, it seemed Norman had topped up her mobile data and upgraded the plan to a ludicrous degree. Okay, now he was just spoiling her. Just because she liked it didn’t mean he had to smother her in so many little gifts that mosaiced together to say: “I care, a LOT.” If she kept thinking about her dream guy, she’d zone out ‘till sunrise. Maybe later she’d settle down for a nice web novel, but for now? There was a song she wanted to hear.

MUSIC

Playlist:

Indie Supremacy (and other stuff)

Tek It (Cafuné)

Italo Disco (Last Dinosaurs)

Chamber of Reflection (Mac Demarco)

Lady Oddity (Mr E) - NOW PLAYING

Lost in Yesterday (Europa Deep)

Without You (RIDERS)

The phone emanated a contemplatively melancholy piano melody – a nice tune for looking through window on a rainy night, thinking about life. A violin came in and accentuated its bittersweet beauty, but there was tenacity in the drums that pressed on, taking life one step at a time. The lyrics were … very personal to her.

“Lady oddity,

I couldn’t fit you into this little ditty ( ( little ditty ) ).

Beyond rarity

One of a kind you’ll never find

in all eternity.”

A fourth avatar had spawned, dancing to the song. The other three paused to smirk at her. She smiled back, chuckling into a twirl. They shook their heads and returned to their tasks.

The cooking avatar floated the ingredients into the air, mixing them together in shapeshifting blobs. That wasn’t necessary, obviously. She just really wanted to do it. If she had something akin to telekinesis, why not have a little fun with it? When the pancake mix rapidly turned pink, she was quickly reminded of the difference between her power and true telekinesis. The floury goop was trapping bits of her particle swarm. She set the mix back in the bowl and gently tried extricating herself from it. She was succeeding, sort of, but her efforts created little bubbles that changed the mix’s consistency as she suspected it would. Amy decided to leave it be. Her aerosol was highly resistant to heat anyway. The pancake would cook around it, even if it felt weird. She’d just reabsorb the aerosol when she ate.

The avatar with the smartphone chuckled at her antics while browsing for a movie to watch.

“I know you’re just a little lonely

as I stand right next to you,

lightyears away merely …”

Amy paused the song as all her avatars turned to the window as they caught wind of a commotion outside. It sounded like a nyctal battle. Did someone need help?

A new avatar manifested above the house. This one was different. Taller than the norm, its limbs were just a little too long, bearing distinct, lengthier claws better suited for reaching, snatching and slashing. Its arms split into four. Raptorial talons raised slightly, it held the posture of a predator prepped to pursue and pounce. The avatar seemed to drink up most of the light that reached it, standing out against the dark mostly due to the rosy aura around its silhouette and lightning writhing through its hair. Its aura fluxed and spasmed erratically as if its very existence was an affront to reality that the laws of nature desperately fought and failed to purge. Anyone unlucky enough to see it floating above her house might have quailed. This avatar was a beautiful nightmare, emanating elegance and menace in equal parts: mesmerising to the eyes, paralysing to the body. It was not designed to make friends. It was made to terrify and destroy monsters.

The avatar rose skyward, stretching the biomass atmosphere in which it dwelt as far as she comfortably could. She spotted a whistling wing getting absolutely owned by … a tentacled twilight angel? It seemed more death angel than anything else. She zoomed her perception even further and took in the details. Its serrated mantis arms got her thinking. She glanced at her own limbs and added similarly serrated teeth to the forearms. With more of her arms serving as a weapon, this could come in handy for chopping attacks in battle. She supposed the closest thing that a real martial artist would do was … some kind of knife hand technique, maybe? She really should ask Norman to teach her some actual martial arts. So far, hitting stuff really hard and really fast with no real technique was enough for her, but it couldn’t hurt to actually know what she was doing.

“It’s just a big ol’ nyctal cat fight,” dismissed the avatar with the phone.

“Maybe I should check on Norman anyway?” suggested the one powering the electric stove.

The ingredient-handling avatar sighed. “How did that work out last time?”

Unpleasant events flashed through her mind. She’d failed to find Norman on earlier occasions when she tried. Cue the panic. It turned out he was fine, just much stealthier than she thought he could be. Then there was that one time. Amy rushed out there to find Norman taking selfies with a nyctal derivative of a galliwasp, or ‘guillowasp’, as people called them, thanks to its three, bladed tails that did their job as well as any guillotine. Norman had somehow managed to hogtie it. He almost sounded like Eve Erwin, going on about how ‘gorgeous’ it was. That was cute, but it got her wondering about his standards of ‘gorgeousness’. What did he mean when he used that word on her? Was she that kind of gorgeous? Sure, the guillowasp was … ‘gorgeous’, as much as a snaky, lizardy thing could be, but it was the kind of creature she’d prefer to observe from a distance and never, ever touch. Yes, Amy was technically a monster too, but she didn’t really look like one most of the time, right? Anticipating her thoughts, Norman dispelled her concerns. She didn’t remember what he’d said precisely. Only that it made her heart feel like someone poured melted chocolate down her vena cava until she could only squee uncontrollably. She’d tried to hug him. Her hair tendrils got to him before her arms. She hadn’t really asked them to do that. She hadn’t really asked them to deaden his muscles either. When Norman collapsed, Amy wasn’t sure what to do.

The i̸̷̶d̶̸̵i̷̶̴o̵̸̵t̶̷̴ poor guy who was apparently watching from a window understandably thought he’d witnessed a murder. His reaction? Shouting a colourful variety of hurtful accusations. Norman’s attempt at clarifying the situation came out slurred. Interpreting it as distress, the man whipped out a flashlight and shone it into Amy’s face. Luckily, it had nothing on Norman’s smitelight. That didn’t mean it was pleasant. She w̸o̴n̵d̵e̷r̷e̵d̷ ̶h̵o̴w̸ ̸h̸e̵’̸d̴ ̸r̶e̷a̵c̶t̴ ̶t̴o̸ ̵a̷ ̸l̴i̸g̶h̶t̴n̴i̵n̸g̸ ̷b̸o̶l̴t̵ ̶t̵o̴ ̵t̸h̶e̴ ̶f̵a̷c̵e̸ darted up to the man. Her hair tendrils pounced again. This time, it was expected. She grabbed them mid-lunge, smoothed them back onto her head, gently snatched away the flashlight, turned it off and gave it back to him before he could do anything (she was very fast). Amy tried to explain: “Please don’t do that. This isn’t what it looks-” He punched her in the face, screaming bloody murder over her voice. She blinked. It didn’t hurt, but it made her very, very angry. H̶o̸w̸ ̵w̶o̷u̸l̸d̸ ̷h̸e̸ ̵f̵e̶e̶l̵ ̴i̶f̷ ̵s̸h̸e̸ ̴c̴o̴n̸f̵i̸s̸c̷a̷t̴e̷d̵ ̷h̵i̷s̴ ̸a̸r̴m̶ ̵a̶n̶d̷ ̸p̶u̴n̷c̴h̶e̸d̷ ̷h̴i̵m̴ ̴w̷i̴t̴h̵ ̷i̵t̷?̵ He was very brave. It was almost admirable. She had to admit that.

Bolstered by his brazen act of defiance, several neighbours found the courage to open their windows and bombard her with flashlights, threats, and insults. “Leave him alone!” “MONSTER!” “You’re just like the others!” Apparently, this was one of the more populated areas. W̸h̴e̷r̴e̸ ̴w̸e̷r̸e̶ ̸t̸h̵o̷s̷e̴ ̵c̶o̷w̶a̴r̸d̶s̶ ̵w̵h̸e̴n̸ ̷N̸o̷r̶m̵a̵n̸ ̶a̷c̵t̷u̶a̵l̵l̸y̶ ̸n̵e̵e̴d̶e̸d̶ ̶t̸h̶e̶m̶?̴ She could have raised her voice above them all, but what difference would it make? Why would they believe her? As gossip about the misunderstanding spread faster than light, no one would ever trust her again. S̵h̶e̶ ̶c̸o̴u̷l̴d̷ ̴a̵l̴s̶o̸ ̵w̷i̵p̸e̷ ̵t̸h̸e̵ ̶c̸i̶t̶y̶ ̵b̵l̶o̵c̴k̸ ̴o̶f̵f̸ ̴t̴h̴e̸ ̵m̸a̸p̴,̷ ̵s̶i̷l̸e̵n̴c̴i̶n̸g̸ ̵t̵h̷e̵m̷ ̷a̴l̶l̷.̷ What was she going to do? Maybe she should despawn her avatar, make another one and watch from a distance until Norman recovered enough to explain, but someone must have recorded this on their phone! There was always someone! Maybe they hadn’t started yet? She could black out the block a̶n̴d̸ ̴e̵a̸t̸ ̸t̵h̸e̶i̵r̵ ̵m̶e̸m̷o̷r̶i̴e̵s̵ ̵o̸f̷ ̴t̷h̷e̸ ̴e̶v̵e̷n̸t̵, maybe, but then their houses would be vulnerable to nyctals. Besides, that was just plain wrong. W̵h̷o̸ ̵c̴a̸r̷e̵d̵?̶ That wasn’t an option. Instead, she- I̶f̶ ̸h̷e̶r̷ ̸r̸e̴p̶u̶t̷a̷t̴i̵o̸n̷ ̸w̶a̸s̸ ̶r̶u̵i̶n̷e̴d̸ ̶a̷n̶y̴w̷a̸y̸,̸ ̸w̶h̸y̸ ̵n̵o̵t̸-̸?̴ -could … what was she thinking again? Pu̶p̵p̴e̷tee̶r̶ ̵N̷o̷r̷m̸a̴n̵'s ̶lim̸p̶ ̴b̵o̶d̵y w̶i̷t̴h̸ ̷p̵s̷e̶u̵d̸o̸ telek̸in̴esi̸s̴ ̸a̷n̶d̷ ̵m̷a̶k̴e̵ ̶hi̴m̷ ̶say̶ ̴w̴h̴a̶t sh̴e̵ ̸n̷eed̵e̶d̷ ̶h̸im̵ to̸-̴ THAT WAS NOT AN OPTION! Between the shouting, flashlights and self-censored thoughts heaping up, Amy’s mind was a dumpster fire. No one would have guessed, except Norman. With slow, deep breaths, she floated there. A battle blazed beneath her placid impassivity. The shadowy forms of avatars clawed and thrashed at the edge of existence as her darkest desires threatened to tear their way to reality. She wasn’t going to let that happen, but what could she do? “STOP!” shouted Norman. Against all odds, he pushed himself to his feet and explained that it was an accident, that she was a good person (̶w̷h̸y̴ ̵d̵i̷d̸ ̶h̸e̴ ̶k̶e̵e̶p̶ ̵c̶a̷l̴l̴i̴n̵g̶ ̸h̸e̵r̶ ̶t̵h̸a̷t̷?̴)̷, he’d be fine, and thanked them for their concern. Nonetheless, they owed her an apology, he insisted. Some complied with murmurs. Others shied back into their windows, while there were those who simply stared in ambivalent silence. He shot them glares before managing to hobble out of there under their scrutinising eyes. Maybe she could have carried him, but that would have made him look even more pitiful. Besides, contact gone horribly wrong was what led to this situation in the first place. That night, Amy accompanied him for the rest of his walk, ensuring that nothing took advantage of his state. Nothing tried, but she cringed through every second of it. After that stunt, she just wasn’t sure what to say. He assured her that there was nothing to say.

After that, Amy thought it best to give him some space when it came to getting home. He had it under control, right? It wasn’t like anything bad ever happened to him. He had an excellent flashlight, for starters. He insisted he was fine. She had to respect that, but what if respecting him led to his demise? All it took was one bad night.

The avatar over the house sighed, turned and dematerialised just as the smitelight’s flashes could be seen navigating the alleyways.

“He’d call if he needed help, right?” asked the phone-holding avatar.

The cooking avatar glanced back at her. “Maybe? I dunno. Norman’s always been the type to suffer in silence, if he thinks he can get away with it. Wait, what’s that smell?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘WHAT’S THAT SMELL?!?’” shrieked Phone Amy. “THE ELECTRIC STOVE IS ON FIRE! IT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!”

“I-I must have messed up the current!” exclaimed Electrician Amy as she sucked up the flames with a wave of her claws.

“You. Had. ONE. Job,” chastened the cook, dangerously testing the weight of a ladle as though gauging its worth as a blunt weapon.

“WE got distracted! How am I supposed to think straight when Norman’s on the mind? We’re all sharing a single braincell here!”argued Electrician.

“WE DON’T HAVE A BRAIN!” exploded Chef Amy, finally hurling the ladle at her counterpart.

Electrician Amy noped right out of there, despawning. Without a noggin to hit, the ladle smashed through a wall instead … leaving a hole suspiciously similar to the ones beside it.

“Yup. No brain says it all,” quipped Dancing Amy.

“That’s just peachy. Now we gotta fix the wall, all because I won’t just let me cave my skull in with a ladle!” ranted Chef Amy.

“This is fun and all, but I’m hungry,” Phone Amy griped.

Chef Amy spun to glare at her. “No, you’re not. You had dinner with Norman. You just wanna eat! There’s a difference!”

“Either way, you have failed me one too many times,” said Phone Amy, pointing at the disgraced cook. “Chef Amy, yer dun! You were an oxymoron as it was.”

“Wait, don’t be like that!”pleaded Chef Amy. “We’re like sisters! More than sisters! You’re me, but without the ‘oxy’!”

Phone Amy’s gaped for but a split second before closing her mouth, eyelids fluttering into a deadpan stare.

Chef Amy simpered, hands clasped behind her back as she innocently pivoted her torso left and right like a mischievous schoolgirl. She knew she’d done it good.

“That was a good one,” confessed Phone Amy.

“I know,” preened Chef Amy.

“Ooh! I got one! Wanna hear it?” Phone Amy asked a little too excitedly.

“Not really,” Chef Amy replied, eying her cautiously.

Phone Amy ignored her. “It’s called: ‘Begone, Woman’!”

As Phone Amy raised her fingers to snap them, Chef Amy knew her time was short. She had to act fast.

“GOMFF!” the sound of Chef Amy stuffing as much sweet pancake mix into her mouth as inhumanly possible. In other words, pretty much all of it. When she got finger-snapped out of existence, the pancake mix poured from her now-nonexistent cheeks. It was pinker than ever. Catching it with her pseudo telekinesis before it hit the ground added even more blush to the dough.

Phone Amy sighed at the sight.

“Heh, at this stage there’s more me in that pancake mix than actual pancake mix,” chuckled Dancing Amy.

Phone Amy groaned, easing the mix back into the bowl as she stroked the stress from her hair (apparently it had its own nerves or something). “Speaking of ‘me’, the song’s over, Dancing Amy. Depart to the void from whence thou ca- uhh, what are you doing?”

“The music stopped and I was idle, so I just started T-posing,” explained D̴a̷n̸c̴i̶n̶g̴ ̴A̶m̷y̶ T-Pose Amy, floating three feet off the ground in a crucifix position.

“That’s … actually kinda creepy,” Phone Amy admitted.

The lights flickered as T-Pose Amy glitched towards her.

“GYAAH!?!” recoiled Phone Amy, desperately snapping her fingers until T-Pose Amy disappeared. Clutching her chest, she took a moment to collect herself. “Hoooookay. Pancake Amy, it’s your turn … but you still look hilarious oozing off the bed, so I’m not finished with you yet.”

Pancake Amy guffawed goofily.

“It’s clear that we’re … I’m not qualified to D.I.Y. my electrical needs,” Phone Amy mused, dialing the power company. “I gotta charge this thing sometime, don’t wanna roast it like I did with the stove, and now I’m talking to myself which is … honestly no different from what I’ve been doing all along.”

She waited, listening to the phone ring before inevitably being told to hold for the next eternity by an answering machine.

“i ThOuGhT yOu WeRe TaLkInG tO mE,” offered Pancake Amy.

“That’s right! I’m talking to you! I’m not going crazy in the slightest,” Amy boasted. “This is like a cross between an imaginary conversation and a lucid dream. You may control the dream, but the figments inside it almost seem to do their own thing. Hmm … maybe it’s more like writing a book. You look down on this world of characters who all behave differently at the same time, but you can control them all because you’re doing it from the outside.”

Pancake Amy side-squinted at her. “WhY yOo ExPlAiNiNg YoOsElF?”

“The government needs to understand that I’m a sane, high-functioning individual,” Amy explained a-matter-of-factly, as if that clarified anything whatsoever.

Pancake Amy gave her a look reserved for poor souls in the process of a mental breakdown. “… wUt?”

“Think about it,” Phone Amy began. “I’m possibly the most powerful girl in the city, and people are starting to see me as some kind of hero, but I’m still a monster. The government would have to figure out if I can be trusted, if I’m mentally capable of being a good little sheeple. I’d be more surprised if they weren’t listening in on my personal life.”

Pancake Amy was silent for a time.

“… wE hAvE NoRmAn,” the pancake finally stated.

Phone Amy blinked at her. “Yes. Your point being?”

“ArE wE rEaLlY sO lOnElY tHaT wE hAfTa TaLk To OuRsElF?” Pancake Amy pressed.

Phone Amy frowned, sinking into sombre contemplation. “Norman is one of the best things that ever happened to me. I was weird long before the A.M.E. I thought it made me better, like Humanity 2.0, but Norman just came and tore it all down. He saw straight through me, all the shadows, and the shadows, and the … deeper shadows, but for some reason … he … still … loves … me … He’s always there, but he’ll never be here, ‘cause ‘here’ is where I am. No one can ever be ‘here’. All they can do is stand next to me.”

Pancake Amy turned that over in her head for a moment. “… aGaIn, wUt?”

Amy chortled into a sigh. “I guess what I’m trying to say is understanding me isn’t the same as being me. At the end of the day, I’m the only one.”

“WhIcH aPpLiEs To EvErYoNe, ThO,” Pancake Amy reminded.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Phone Amy agreed.

She flinched at the sound of a click. Someone was actually answering the phone? In less than ten hours after she was put on hold? Miracles really did happen!

“Hello, Bright and Power. How may I help you?” came a masculine voice.

“Oh, hi, goodnight!” she fumbled. “I’m calling about restoring power to my home. I live in one of the more abandoned areas, but this month’s bill was paid, so I was wondering-”

“… You’re that A.M.E., aren’t you?” he interrupted tersely.

Amy’s lightning storm hair ceased its dance, before continuing at a more tentative pace. She had a pretty good idea of how this would go.