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With their masks and goggles in place, and the air circulating, the two set about cleaning the hall as much as they were able, ignoring, for the moment, the individual weapons displayed along the walls and stored across the columns and racks. From the carpet to the ceiling corners to the table, counter, and storage chest tops, they swept, dusted, mopped, scrubbed, and vacuumed until Edgar was confident they could sit and clean their weapons without fear of constant recontamination. Throughout the process, Edgar watched Isabelle with a careful eye; though he appreciated her apparent willingness to accompany and assist him, he remained suspicious of the necessity of the collar and her reasons for it.

Isabelle was unbothered by Edgar's side-eyes, assuming them to be lustful glances. He employed not even the most minute effort in subtly, but boldly looked at her on occasion. Having been turned in her late 30s, she remained an attractive woman; she knew it, and had often used it to her advantage. She was unaware of what advantage it might afford her here, but she was willing to take any opportunity to amplify her advantages wherever possible.

They cleaned for some time. Edgar drew Isabelle's attention to some area when an area was completed, and Isabelle made a show of removing dust from her breasts when she caught him looking. Was this a nervous tick, Edgar wondered. Or was this, perhaps, an attempt at flirting? He shook his head the first couple of times it occurred, then ignored it the remainder of the time they cleaned.

The armory was soon as clean as they were going to get it. They slumped down in chairs at one of the tables. Edgar looked at Isabelle and started laughing.

"What's so funny?"

Edgar threw his head back and gestured in the general direction of her body. Isabelle looked down. She was covered in grime and soot, with much of it smeared across her torso. Broken by his laughter, he said,

"For someone so vain as to be constantly wiping at her breasts, you did a poor job at keeping them clean."

The confusion melted from Isabelle's face, revealing a raised eyebrow and a frown. She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked Edgar up and down.

"You're not looking much better, you old fuck."

Edgar, still laughing, looked down at his clothes. His shirt and slacks were a discolored and disheveled mess of grunge and gunk. He looked up to find Isabelle staring at him with satisfaction. He shrugged as his laughter subsided. At least his jacket and vest were salvageable.

Isabelle said, "I could use a shower."

This statement brought the grime caked to his clothes and body to the forefront of his thoughts. Edgar sighed.

"Yes, but not yet." He stood and picked up the mop and its bucket. "One more thing."

He led Isabelle to a narrow corridor toward the rear of the armory, then through a door at the end which opened to larger space. A single lamp suspended from the ceiling snapped on as they entered, emitting a low blue light. The vampires acclimated to the low light with ease. Isabelle saw the room was quite large, larger than the armory itself. A low counter ran across the room on her right, cutting away a small space at the entrance. The counter was separated at regular intervals by narrow panels. She approached the nearest section and saw a target at the far end of the room.

Edgar huffed. He was frowning again.

"What, old man?"

Edgar walked to the counter and ran a finger over it, raising it for Isabelle to inspect. Dust hung thick over his finger. She looked at the counter and saw the path his finger carved. It etched a deep path through the dust. This thick layer of dust blanketed the counters and the laminate floor. She groaned. This would take forever to clean.

"We're already filthy," said Edgar. "And we already have everything out. A horita es el tiempo." Now is the time. "Let's just get this out of the way."

He handed Isabelle the bucket and pointed to a sink at the far end. Grumbling, she took the bucket and made her way to fill it up. Edgar leaned the mop against the wall by the door and returned to the armory to retrieve the rest of the cleaning supplies. Together, they brought the shooting range into a manageable state of cleanliness. Tired, gross, and exhausted, they cleaned the supplies before returning them to the closet, and then washed their hands of the grime they had collected.

"Now can we take shower?" Though annoyed, Isabelle half expected Edgar to assign them another horrendous cleaning task and was resigned to it; either she went willingly or would be compelled, and she wanted not to give this creature the benefit of commanding her where she could help it. She thought of the most tedious job she could think of so as to mentally prepare for whatever came next. Perhaps they would remove the weapons one by one and deep clean the columns? Much to her relief, Edgar said,

"The rifles we looked at earlier, we still have to clean them. But first, we bathe." Edgar saw the relief on her face. His eyes trailed down her body. "And clothe ourselves properly."

Was that disgust she saw in his expression as his attention tumbled from her eyes to her calves? Isabelle's temper flared. She was about give him a piece of her mind when he walked away. She watched him for a moment, then followed, eyes narrowed, mouth turning into a snarl.

Continued after the break

Edgar walked to the rear of the armory, close to where the door to the janitor's closet stood ajar. To one side was a row of large metal chests placed neatly on the ground. With the second set of keys in hand, he opened the chest closest to the door. Isabelle approached, ready to roast Edgar for his earlier remark, but stopped when she saw him withdraw a dark body suit from the chest. Isabelle remembered these from her days being hauled back to the Manor from El Salvador. Members of the [[Pelican Squad]] referred to them as "slicks." There would be a matching set of gloves, boots, and a helmet to go with them. She assumed they were organized in the other chests.

"What is that for?"

Edgar began running the material through his hands, tugging at the seams, testing the garment. He was pleased with the chest; at least one piece of equipment in this place did its job in defending against the dust. The body suit he handled was clean and in excellent condition. This he set neatly on the now clean floor, then reached in and withdrew another, examining it in the same way he did the first.

"These will make us daylight proof."

Isabelle thought back to her time in transit, in the snatches of space when they removed her hood and allowed her to feed. Every member of the group had worn the slicks, though she often saw them without their helmets. They only ever pulled off her hood at night, or in a dark dwelling where light failed to pierce. It was likely they kept her hooded to protect her when they were moving in daylight, though she once thought she was hooded to prevent her from knowing where they traveled. It was likely both.

"Are we going out in daylight?"

Edgar looked up from his examination.

"No. But if we get caught outside when the sun rises, we will be fine."

Edgar resumed and completed his examination of the garment, set it on top of the first, and proceeded to do the same with a third, and then a fourth. He picked up the four garments and turned to examine Isabelle. His wandering gaze brought back his earlier comment to Isabelle, and she flared up again.

"Listen you perverted fuck--"

"Oh shut up already." The collar went to work. Edgar watched as Isabelle was cut off mid-sentence. "Mierda. I didn't mean to do that." Edgar waved his hand; the gesture wasn't necessary, but it gave Isabelle the visual confirmation that the collar's effect was dismissed. "I'm sizing you up to make sure I have the right slicks for you. You are far too young for my tastes."

Isabelle's temper rose.

"Is that why called me disgusting, you fat fuck?"

She approached Edgar, looming over him. Edgar rolled off his knees and settled onto his heels and haunches. He was calm, displaying no emotion.

"Disgusting? When did I call you that?"

Isabelle huffed. She was not going to let him get away with his loud mentally commentary.

"In the closet, you looked at me like you were grossed out." Her voice was becoming louder. "Maybe it's me who is disgusted with you, you pig."

Edgar looked her up and down. "Well now I know you can't read minds. That is a rare skill." He turned his attention back to the chest, closing and locking it, before standing. He looked at Isabelle and said, "A rare skill indeed."

He folded over and picked the slicks from the ground.

"These will be enough for now," he said. "But we'll have to wait in donning them until we get cleaned up."

Isabelle looked down again and deflated. She wasn't much worse than before, but this meant nothing, considering she was filthy. Where she thought Edgar was admiring--or condemning, rather--her body, she now realized he had been looking at all the grime.

Edgar, having turned to make his way through the closet, did not notice Isabelle's shift in temperament.

"We'll head back to the spa," he said, calling back to Isabelle, unsure if she was following. "That area appeared to be fairly clean still. We'll look for other clothes you can wear later."

Isabelle shuffled to catch up.

"You mean I don't have to go out with this, if I can find my clothes?"

They passed through the closet and into the back hallways.

"We don't leave without the slicks," said Edgar. "You just won't be naked while we rummage, if we have time to rummage before the sun sets."

"I'm not your type, but you've waited until now to clothe me."

Edgar continued without a word. He would not cater to the arbitrary whims of a youngling. Perhaps she was not beyond the collar; he amended his earlier consideration; more time and observation would be necessary.

"Don't fucking ignore me!"

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