A/N: the-lazy-bum: Yeah I could see it too. That gives me an idea actually...


Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.

― Robert A. Heinlein

The Siren's long hands were tugging at a pair of bloody pants, undoing the fastenings.

He was glad Brick was over the hill where he couldn't see. The big man was obsessed with her being a "lady" and Mordecai really really did not want to be apart of disillusioning him.


"What the hell are you doing?" He wiped uncomfortably at the sweat dripping from under his mask, and considered just running the hell away as fast as he could.

Do I really want to know?

You know you'll wonder about it if you don't...

It had a point. Curiosity was his worst flaw (and potentially greatest strength). He frowned harder. Sand bit into the exposed part of his face as the wind blew and he cursed the dust ball that was Pandora.

The yellow eyes turned toward him were wide and deceptively innocent. How she managed it with her hands undoing a man's fly was beyond him. Some theater talent scout somewhere had missed a real gem.

Mordecai was fairly sure she didn't have an innocent bone in her body.

"I just want to see." The pleading note in her voice made his skin crawl a little, the voice and the eyes in complete discord with what her hands were doing.


This is why you don't follow strange women around...

He gripped his rifle tighter, considering just making a run for it. Women were difficult dangerous things that cried for no reason, expected you to read their minds, and threw things if you didn't.

Oh and this one? Yeah she can do crazy witchcraft shit.

He was reminded yet again why he worked best alone.

Shit like this just did not happen then.

"Oh c'mon Mordy live alittle." She was cajoling in her sing-song voice, the one that made Marcus give her a discount.

He cringed.

Mordy? Fucking really?

Lilith took advantage of his silence to rip the now unfastened pants and whatever was underneath down.

"Is that...?"


For a moment only sound was the wind howling around their still figures.

"Nine-toes really did have three balls..."

Some are born weird, some achieve it, others have weirdness thrust upon them.

― Dick Francis, To the Hilt