Head Canons + Extras

[CharlotteV]

everything about you is something that you s t o l e

This thread is just a place to put anything you make or think of that involves your character or the story as a whole. Pieces from their past, relationship building, missing scenes. Whatever floats your boat. If you have extra content and want to share it with us, please, be my guest.

[I say this like ya'll literally don't know how it works wtf is this professionalism]

[leisurelyatwar]

Adrenaline still pumping, Bambi couldn’t sit still. They had run across the cabin in the woods by pure chance and set up camp for the night. Some of the crew had bundled up in blankets on the porch sharing handles of alcohol between themselves. Dylan and Alexie had separated themselves, talking by the car and smoking cigarettes.

Bambi approached the two, they stopped speaking once she was in earshot. She didn’t have to announce herself. The two stood side by side, watching her as she approached. Dylan already seemed bothered while Alexie at least showed mild interest. She went into the car for her tobacco, taking a seat in the front as she rolled her cigarette.

Dylan came around, “Great timing,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words.


”Oh sorry, did I interrupt your little date or something?” Bambi teased, standing and closing the door behind her.

“Are you just going to hang around, then?”

”You mean around my car?”

Dylan walked away, an annoyed expression scrawled on his face. Gravel kicked out from under his feet as he walked away, leaving Bambi and Alexie sitting side by side on the hood of Bambi’s latest steal. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, staring ahead. He didn’t bother to feign disinterest, watching her. Her hair fell into her face, his hand went to push it back behind her ear. His touch was gentler than she ever would have imagined.

Bambi beamed, almost purring into his hand. He had already returned as if nothing had happened. She squinted her eyes, she wouldn’t let it go that easily. He lit a cigarette, eyes following Dylan’s figure as he went to sit across from Ash. Bumping her leg against his, Bambi gave Alexie an impish expression.
"What was that?”

He raised a brow, shrugging.
She waited for him to elaborate, he did not.

He had an edge she couldn’t help but to test, drawn to the emotionally unavailable. Like a kitten pawing for attention, Bambi reached for his hand. He watched her with fascination as she moved his palm to her cheek so he cradled her face gently. Slowly she moved his hand to her neck, his one hand alone could crush her throat.
”You could kill me right now if you wanted to, couldn’t you.” She said, he nods his head. This only makes her hotter, she senses he knows this. His hand hasn’t moved and she hasn’t moved hers, still resting atop of his. His thumb tightens his hold around her neck and like a dog reluctant to release his toy, then his hand falls to his side.

”Too tempting?” she jokes.

He looks away. Bambi looks over to the group, she can feel the heat of Quin’s gaze. Butterflies flutter from within, Bambi bit her bottom lip. Alexie was dark, all sharp corners. He provoked the part of her that wanted to hurt and be hurt, that wanted to paint the world red. In all the chaos, Bambi hadn’t seen much past Quin lately. Alexie made her feel more like herself than she had in weeks, almost like she was home. In a different world maybe Alexie would have been friends with one of her brothers. She looks at Alexie, he stares back unblinkingly.
Gently as she can, she pushes him from the car. He’s a wall of muscle, and while he moves it’s apparent it’s because he chooses to.

”Well if you’re just going to stand there and stare, I’m going to at least get some work done.” She popped the hood, untying the bandana from around her bicep and rubbing it between her finger tips - a habit. She was never gentle with her toys, they were bound to require some maintenance. His eyes didn’t leave her, finishing his cigarette. Leaning over the engine, her petite frame bent over to get a better look. She switched her hips, the attention excited her.

She imagined Quin watching, unsure who Quin would be angrier with - Bambi or Alexie. He came to stand beside her again, his fingers running up her thighs. He grabbed a lock of her hair, rubbing it between her fingers and examining it like an archeologist would to soil. Bambi looked over her shoulder, amused by his actions. She kept playing with her bandana, looking Alexie up and down. The heat from Quin’s stare was burning a hole through her. ”Unless you plan on making it worth it, I better get away from you before you get me in trouble.” She winked, closing the hood of the car and taking a cigarette from Alexie’s fingers. She had a feeling very people could do such a thing and walk away unscathed. Bambi had that affect on others.

He laughed under his breath, lighting his cigarette as she walked away. ”Just wait, Bam.”

[emotionless]

Family



Lilly Porter

Age: 10
Personality:
Leo is the ultimate devil’s advocate, he thrives on the process of shredding arguments and beliefs and letting the ribbons drift in the wind for all to see. Unlike his more reserved sister, he does not do this because he is trying to achieve some deeper purpose or strategic goal, but for the simple reason that it’s fun. No one loves the process of mental sparring more than Leo, as it gives him a chance to exercise his effortlessly quick wit, broad accumulated knowledge base, and capacity for connecting disparate ideas to prove their points.




Lilly Porter
Age: 10
Personality:
Lilly doesn’t make many assumptions, preferring instead to analyze her surroundings, check her facts and arrive at practical courses of action. Lilly is no-nonsense, and when she’s made a decision, she will relay the facts necessary to achieve her goal, expecting others to grasp the situation immediately and take action. Lilly has very little tolerance for indecisiveness, but she loses patience even more quickly if her chosen course is challenged with impractical theories, especially if they ignore key details.

[leisurelyatwar]

The Huntress and The Fawn
6 mos. ago || Bambi and Quin || First Encounters
co-write Emotionless

Ladies and Gentlemen, you know her, you love her, give a warm welcome to our local goddess Karma”

Quin has long abandoned her shame and modesty, and no longer burdens herself with self-consciousness.

Quinton slinks on stage, smiling coyly. She makes sure every movement is full of dark poetry. Her job is to make them want her, and she loves it because it is all to easy. They come to see her every night, they come to fantasize, as if they ever have a chance. She likes her men like she likes her coffee cups – tempting and disposable. They came for the glamour and leave with a story, that's the way it is. She laughs with a lack of humor most would find disturbing.
She advances slowly, letting her hands drop down trailing down her body to show off her garments, or lack thereof. She wears whatever they tell her to, she could wear a clown costume and make the crowd cum. She feels the crowds eyes follow her hand, travel from her face to her collar bone, delicate in the semi-darkness, then to her breasts.

Quin retreats, pirouettes, and ends up draped on the pole. She melts to the floor, into a split any gymnast would be proud of, she grips the pole at center stage. She crawls up, slowly, selling every move. Her skin was illuminated by the strobe lights, making her look far more angelic than she could ever hope to be.

Kicking her right leg forward with pointed toes and flexed calf muscles, Quin pivots in a revolving whirl of sharp precision and accurate grace. The entirety of her being began advancing in movements with purposeful clarity and absolute control. With each poised stride
she takes, the electricity in the air grows. It’s like a crackling in the air. She twirls on the pole, lifting herself with a grace and ease a woman her size should not have. With a few easy spins she let her feet fall gracefully to the floor. Money rained on her and she stretched a thin come hither smile on her face.

She drops to the floor once again and crawls forward to the edge of the stage just as her song is ending. Quin slithers off stage to start her rounds as a waitress, contented with her performance.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bambi said, slamming her car door behind her. Ricky’s car was parked right in front, he’d probably been one of the first ones in today. He’d spent 40 out of the last 60 days in the club, lusting after the main lady of the joint - Karma. She was undoubtedly gorgeous, sexy and smart. Still, Bambi didn’t see the appeal. Bambi could do all Karma did in her show and more, but that had more to do with her brothers teaching her parkour to break into places than anything else.

The bouncer recognized her as she walked in, she had been around enough to be a regular. Her brothers often tried to keep her away, but Bambi always found her way back to them, probably ready to fight about having been left out. This time Marco had been the one left out.

He had left the house in a storm after getting physical with their brother Ricky. He’d been slipping as the head of the family, losing sight of his priorities. Their ma had been in the hospital and Marco didn’t even bother going to see her. He had been falling apart since he and his girl had broken up. At first they had let him be, let him have his mourning period - they had been together for seven years after all. Nowadays he spent most his days throwing out family money on booze, drugs and alcohol.

Bambi manipulated through the crowd. Men reached out to her, she slapped their hands away. One got a hand around her wrist, attempting to pull her back. She yanked him forward, surprising him with her strength. Her knee impacted with his gut, causing him to keel over.

”Tha fuck, Bam?”

Bambi turned, Marco had spotted his sister blazing through the club in pursuit for him. She was fuming, a tiny fire ball. She seemed unable to speak, he tried to pull her aside but she evaded his reach. Already a few drinks in he lunged forward, losing his balance. Moving graciously, Bambi dodged him to step aside. When his balance began to waver she pushed him over, quick and sure footed. With three older brothers built like trees she had to learn how to use her small stature as a tool against them.

He splayed out on the floor, too drunk to recover smoothly. He tried to get up but Bambi knocked him back down again in the process. People were staring but she didn’t care. “Get your shit together, Marco.” She said, spitting venom. He went to get up and this time when Bambi went to knock him down he grabbed her leg, twisting it so she’d fall flat on her face. She tasted the blood before she felt it. ”Motherfucker." she growled, lunging for him.

The bouncers appeared from the shadows, pulling the siblings apart from one other. Bambi was kicking wild, her brother swinging wild. She slipped from their hold, swinging and hitting her brother square in the jaw. When the bouncer pulled her back again she spat at the ground. ”You proud of that? Busting your baby sisters face?” she yelled over the music, spitting on him. The dancers and patrons alike had stopped what they were doing to stare.
Marco had taken a seat again, head in his hands.

When Quin’s close enough to be heard over the music she eyes the young beauty. Large innocent eyes stare back at her and it piques the interest of the most disturbed parts of her. She wants to reach over and lick the blood from the girls mouth, use it as some form of depraved lipstick.

"That's just about enough of that baby girl" She says in a tone much lighter and sexier than she would use normally. She is on the job after all, it wouldn't do to have anyone know how fucked up she really is.

"You must be little sister..." she says with aperfectly arched eyebrow to indictate that the girl can contradict her if she is wrong but she knows she's not.

“Stay out of this hot tits,” Bambi said, still fighting to get out of her brothers hold, “you’re the reason I’m here in the first place. My brother is hurting and you bitches just bleed him dry.” The bouncers still had either arm, but seemed to be taking their cues from Quin.

Exasperated, Bambi sighed heavily, letting her body go limp. The sudden dead weight surprised the bouncers, giving Bambi the leverage she needed. Once again maneuvering from their hold she managed to snake around Quin to reach her brother. ”Marco, lets go.”

A bottle flew, she dodged it by a hair. It shattered behind her. Her expression a combination of anger and pity, but she did her best to push it down. The bouncers, seeing she had stopped being as volatile, backed away. She attempted to pull her brother up to carry him out, but it was almost comical to watch.

Defeated, Bambi let her brother slump in his seat, throwing her hands up. Quin still stood in their vicinity, watching cooly. ”Didn’t I say stay out of this?” Bambi seethed, pulling out her phone and taking a few paces for some privacy to ask her brothers to come and help drag Marco out.


"Cher, can you and Bruno over there get our young patron to my office. There is a fresh pot of coffee, pour him a glass of that and some water. I brought a sandwich, it's in my desk. Make sure he drinks both the coffee and the water, and he needs to eat at least the bread from the sandwich." Quin says to the burly men previously holding the young woman as she gestured to her brother. They didn't hesitate in listening to her, she does after all, run the place.

"Alright ladies and gentleman, sorry about the interuption, drinks all around on me." She calls and in turn she receives cheers.

Otherwise preoccupied Bambi didn’t notice the bouncers carrying Marco away. Phone still to her ear, she catches as they disappear into the back. The venom gathers at the tip of her tongue, heavy with vile language. Just as she’s about to shout out, Quin’s voice cuts through the room - apologizing on Bambi's behalf. The club erupted in cheers, Bambi threw her arms up in exasperation. No one ever listened to her when her brothers weren’t around.

"With me little one" she says to Bambi as she walks away, towards the VIP section.

Annoyed, Bambi turned to look where her brother had disappeared. Until her brothers came she didn’t have much weight in the club, that seemed to be Quin’s territory. She had to play nice. She follows begrudgingly, texting her brothers as she maneuvered through the club to the VIP rooms. Bambi’s brothers had rented one or two in the past, they were lush and sensual. Quin seemed right at home.

She looked Quin up and down, crossing her arms. Even scantily clad in the middle of a strip club, she had a certain sort of elegance that Bambi presumed she always carried with her. Intelligence sat behind vibrant eyes, though Bambi rarely stuck around long enough to see any of it. As far as Bambi was concerned, Quin was just another girl her brother used to replace his ex. Quin wasn’t just a stripper, she was able to fill a role in Marco’s life that Lettie left behind - someone who gave him attention and made him feel good about himself, even if it was only for her money. It made Bambi sick to think of someone taking advantage of her brother like that.

“I’m not here to listen to some weak as excuse how my brothers problems aren’t your fault,” Bambi started, her foot tapping. “Some of us have to do more than hang out at a strip club to support ourselves. Marco has a duty, my brothers are on the way and we will take him and be out of your hair but you can be assured that we will not be coming back.”

Every word slapped her harshly but Quin shrugs it off, or at least that’s how it would appear to anyone looking at her. The truth is they fuel the fire that burns inside of her. Every arrogant phrase was like gasoline to it, her fists began to clench and her heart rate began to rise. Quin examines the Bambi as she rages at her. She has a kind of understated beauty, perhaps it was because she was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness. She is an adult I suppose, but so young that she still has the exuberance of youth. She has that movie star look, not overly tall and willowy, but more like an action star. Her muscle definition was perfect and she walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. Something so pretty could possibly harm you, right? Quin waits politely until Bambi is done ranting and smiles.

Quin moves quickly and without thought. She lunges at Bambi, using her own body weight to force the other woman against the wall. She presses her left hand to the girl’s throat, her thumb and trigger finger at each pulse point. She uses her right hand to pin the girl’s arms above her head, and presses her knee between the girls leg to pin her completely.

“Listen here, little girl. I don’t give a damn about your opinion about me or this club. What I do care about is you causing a commotion in my place of business. You just cost me about a day’s wages, if not more, all because your brother can’t hold his liquor. You’re right, it’s not my fucking problem, and I don’t fucking care.”


Bambi wasn’t prepared for Quin to pounce, but that didn’t mean she was defenseless despite how it appeared. Quin’s form pressed against her, arms pinned above her head - if there was a camera in here they might have a hit. She slackened under Quin’s hold, a fawn held by the mouth of the huntress. Bambi wasn’t going to struggle free, that only tightens her grip. She almost lets Quin dominate her, not even attempting to fight back. She was hard to read, inscrutable. Quin’s body was warm against hers. Bambi’s back arched, pressing her hips against Quins. Big doe eyes blinked at Quin, she bit her lower lip like a child being scolded.

Quinton pauses and gives a squeeze of Bambi’s throat to punctuate her point as she lowered her face to Bambi’s ear.

“But if it was my problem, and I did care, I would be very nice to the Manager of the club that my brother binges at since she hasn’t charged him for a dance or a drink since she found out his sob story.” She growls out.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Quin says as she steps back releasing the girl. She instantly missed the heat, the feeling of her hands on Bambi’s throat.

You’re lucky you’re cute. Wasn’t the first time Bambi heard that. She rubbed her wrists, biting the inside of her lips to keep herself calm. Hands steady, always steady. It was a blessing and a curse, when woman is assaulted she should shake. Bambi seen so much shit there wasn’t much that could shake her. In fact, Quin had excited Bambi. She remained where Quin left her, leaning against the wall.

“You can say thank you now.” Quin says confidently as she stretches out on the couch.

Bambi laughed under her breath, pulling out a flask from her back pocket. The vodka helped her swallow the pill named Quin. She took a couple steps toward Quin, a new expression lighting her features. It was a mixture of amusement, disbelief and just outright attraction. She could barely bring herself to speak, Quin’s mood swings had given her whiplash. “That’s a little premature, don’t you think?”

”Bamber?” Said a familiar voice, Bambi grinned. Followed by the club’s security, her three remaining brothers filtered in, assessing the room. ”Jesus fucking Christ, Bambi - the fuck happened to your face?” Ricky asked. The brothers assessed all those in the room, ready to strike the sonofabitch who made their baby sister bleed. She shrugged it off, rolling her eyes and coming to stand beside them.

They intended to walk out right then and there, but as her brothers walked away Bambi lingered. She looked over her shoulder, there Quin was - practically expecting Bambi to return. Even though Quin’s arrogance drove her up a fucking wall, it also fed something from within Bambi. Quin was unabashedly fierce, it allowed Bambi to submit in a way that exhilarated her. Her brothers looked at her inquisitively, watching her. Bambi never called the shots, but she still could have some say.

She pivoted on her heel, her brothers following suit as she came to sit across from Quin. They stood behind her without question, she was their princess and them, her knights.

[emotionless]

||Quin meets the kids||

Quin stands in the silent apartment. Its dark, too dark, they must have shut off the electric. Damn, had she paid the electric? Probably not, she wasn’t even sure if she had paid the rent yet. Who needed electric anyways? Shadows of light and dark are all that Quin’s eyes can detect. She sighs in irritation and brushes her hands across the wall searching for a shelf that holds her candles and matches. She fumbles for a moment before she finds the matches.

The candle gives far less illumination than the electrical light bulbs, but it bathes the room in a soft glow that gives Quin a sense of calm she hadn’t felt in a long time. In that moment, the flames mesmerize her and she is as still as she would be in a photograph. She imagines touching the flame, and becoming a part of it.
Suddenly there is a cough. Quin whirls around, her hands instinctively reaching for the bat she keeps by the door. She can see the shapes of the minuscule furniture but the colors so muted that they are almost grey.

“Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?” She growls out, her voice steadier than her feelings. She brandishes the bat and searches through the darkness for the intruder.

“Ah…wait…” A small voice squeaks from her left. She swings around and is confronted with…children.

“Who the f u c k are you?” She repeats, still flourishing the bat. The boy steps in front of the girl as if to protect her and Quin raises an eyebrow.

“Leo. My name is Leo Porter….This is Lilly Porter.” He responds, still shielding his sister. Immediately quin feels a sinking feeling. Porter. Porter as in her whore mother Michelle Porter.

“Okay, why the fuck are you in my place?' Quin repeats though she is sure she knows the answer. Her mother is d e a d. How does she feel about it? She doesn’t fucking care. At least that’s what she tells herself.

“Pigs dropped us off, said we’re your problem now.” Leo answers bitterly. Quin laughs, almost hysterically. Kids? She doesn’t like people in general, let alone small versions. She has to admit though, she like's Leo's style.

“Yeah, no.” She says as she whips out her phone to figure out what the fuck is really going on.

“Please…don’t send us back.” This is the first time the girl speaks, and it stops Quin in her tracks. It is a broken voice, that of an abused and alone little girl, fighting to hold on to her sanity. Once again Quin’s emotions turn jagged and my insides tight. She struggles with them, and she feels like she drowning. For a moment she is small again crying out for anyone to give a damn, to hold her and help her. To love her. She knows the endless pain of waking up one morning and realize that you are dead, buried and forgotten by those who are engrained to love you, but alive and kicking to strangers, a people who don’t give a damn about you. She is familiar with the pain in a way that is traumatic. She swallows down the horrors of her past and slides the phone back into her pocket.

“I’ll make you a deal, don’t be a pain in my ass and you can stay” Quin says before putting the bat down and lighting another candle. Damn it, now she has to pay the electric.

[Wiley]

---

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXOut Of Control
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXOctober 2nd, Age 17.

---

Sips vodka, spills it over the rim. Drink held in loose fingers, liquid movement back and forth. She blends, bends her molecules to the beat of the music that swells over the crowd. Feels the pulse of it deep in her bones. A rhythmic rocking, back and forth, and back, and forth. Bites her lip. Lets go of the moan inhibiting her soul.

People meet her eye, introduce themselves more than once. Get lost in the average way she speaks, the hand me down clothes she wears. Nothing to set her apart from the monotony of expectation. She's got a dozen stories warped around this room now, a different life for each name she can't remember. Boredom sets in around the fifth time she starts slipping back into herself. The booze a natural catalyst to her own spoken truths.

When Lucia comes back to the fore front she leaves, slipping on wet earth and loose leaves. Walks down the street without a left shoe and her shirt gone. Undershirt stained with spilled drink. Theres a bob to each step, a carefully practiced limp in the way she moves. Sings under her breath, a song that Carla must have taught her as a babe. Laughs then, remembers that Carla's rotting six feet under without a head. No. Her skull must still be in the basement, amongst the others. She wants to ask for it, hang it above her bed. Like a nursery Mobile.



Arturo Ramos would get a laugh out of that, praise his devil spawn for the cruelty of it all. Then probably beat her bloody in the next instant for speaking to him at all. Lucia grins, chokes on it. Doesn't want to go home so she cuts down side street after side street. Her body knows where she's going, head swimming up in the clouds above. She's a tumbleweed blowing in from the wrong side of town, preying on the weakness of rich girls with preacher daddies.

Finds the house she's looking for while sucking up the last drops of irony from a Lullaby long forgotten. She mimics the actions of a victim, pounds her fists on the door with increasing frequency. Theres a silent thrill in knowing that she's either about to get her ass kicked or have the time of her life fucking someones perfect daughter.

Either way, it'll melt the ice clinging to her lungs.

"What the fuck," The door swings open, so fast that Lucia pitches forward into a pile of giggles. Sprawls over the entryway, smears blood from her scraped palms over the white tiles. Good luck cleaning that shit out of the grout. "Lucy?" fuuuuck. She hates when people say her name that way, with pity. Looks up at a clean skinned blonde, blue eyed baby in a womans body. F a n t a s t i c.

"Casey, fucking help me up yeah?" Lucia can't get her legs beneath her long enough to pull off the ground. Slips over the mud that clings to her one remaining shoe and the bottom of her other foot. Laughs at herself when she smacks her face on the tile the first time she tries. Feels too fucking good, the spreading of bruises across her body. Doesn't know what she'd if she had never known pain. Laughs again when Casey gets her arms underneath Lucia and lifts.

"Jesus Christ, you're lucky my parents aren't home." Says the girl, like Lucia gives a fuck. Had her parents been there she'd have just told them how often she'd been coming over and dosing up their daughter with street grade cocaine then indulging in her every 'in-the-closet' fantasy. Now that would be prime entertainment. She wonders how red her dads face would get, or how shocked her whore of a mother would be. Can't say she hasn't thought about showing up during the day before just to figure that out.

But she likes Casey enough not to do that to her. She lets Lucia be her fucked up self without too much complaint. And for that, she's more than willing to keep her around. If only to watch those pretty eyes roll to the back of her skull. Enamored may be too strong a word but theres no doubt that she l o v e s this.

Off the floor now, Lucia bends forward with one arm barred around the pains in her stomach. Holds back the vomit willing itself to slide from her esophagus. Cackles at the burn of it once its gone and stares up through heavy lidded eyes at the figure before her. Casey's always been one of her favorites, she doesn't know whether she's a grown up now or still stuck in the time of pink pyjamas and stuffed animals. Lucy knows theres a treasure trove of disorders inside that pretty blonde head of hers, wrapped up around the strict no-nonsense rules of a father who cares too damn much and a mother that gets on her knees for anyone willing to promote her.

Doesn't know why this bothers her, except maybe its a life she doesn't have. An Identity thats so far from her own it hurt. Gets the fluttering of her pulse under control by leaning heavy into the warmth of Caseys body, head tilted upward in a demanding way. Expects lips to meet and not the hand that covers her mouth. Licks a stripe over the palm and laughs when Casey recoils in disgust. Enjoys the salty taste of her skin.

"You're wasted." Casey gripes, starts leading her towards the stairs, pauses at the top as she considers how she's going to get Lucia down them and into the basement. "Fuck it. Just throw me down." Lucia whispers right into her neck, likes the way that Casey shivers. "Im considering it," She hisses, "Don't want to break your fool neck though."

"Do it anyway, I've always wondered what that would feel like." She wonders just how far she'll be able to push before Casey breaks under the pressure of her words. Theres a darkness in her too, Lucia knows it. Like attracts like, and if the other thought that Lucia liked her only for the wads of cash to be pilfered from her home, then she was blind.

Casey grunts, "Fucking sicko," Under her breath as she starts dragging Lucia down step by fucking step. They trip over the last step together and Lucia chomps down on her lip hard enough that it splits and bleeds; at least it wasn't her tongue. But make it to the basement without any other hiccups. Stumble blind through the dark into a bedroom just off the landing. Smells like pot, Lucia grins, pulls away and sways her hips to the beat of the song in her head, right over to the radio. She cranks it to the highest volume she can handle and starts to strip down to her underwear.

There's no protest, but no encouragement as she moves towards the bed where Casey is now sitting. Straddles her lap with pleasure. "You wanna kiss it better?" Lucia whispers, laving her own tongue over the blood on her lip. Smiles bright. Like theres nothing at all wrong with the picture here.

"Not really."

Lucia wrinkles her nose, pushes away in offense. "Fuck you too." She doesn't have time to entertain this. She wants to forget. Doesn't know why she's here anymore. Why she came here in the first place. Can't begin to think and can't stop thinking all at the same time. Theres a conflict brewing like a war in her head and the feeling of loose teeth where Arturo last doled out a punishment. She had tasted blood then, too. Wonders if she'll lose the molars back there.

Sort of wants to lose em all. Maybe then she'd stop wondering when they'd go.

Steps away to find her pants, digs through the pockets till she's got a cigarette in hand. Lights it u as she settles on the floor, defeated by Caseys cold stare. Spreads out with one arm behind her head. Takes steady drags, letting the smoke escape through barely parted lips. Enjoys the thought that every inhale is slowly killing her. Seconds at a time. Breathes in the music and exhales the feelings that keep plugging up her throat.

"Whats wrong with you." Her companion asks after watching the pitiful display. Lucia wonders if she enjoys this, watching Lucia fall apart under the false pretenses of loving every minute. Her chest hurts, the constriction of panic a restless enemy. She feels pathetic.

"I think my moms dead."

"Oh." Lucia wants to laugh at the dumb way she says that. What a stupid fucking word. "Still wanna fuck?"

Lucia stubs the cigarette on the carpet, burning a hole through it just to mark up something that is not hers.

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

---

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXBloodflood Pt II
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXOctober 1st, Age 17.

---

Mom.

Lucia has never felt anything when she spoke the word, out loud or within her own head. It held no meaning to her. She didn't know who birthed her, though logically it had to have been someone. No matter what Arturo often said of her origins. Conception isn't a one man show. Sometimes, when she thinks hard on it she wonders if it had been Carla. They were of a similar kind. If she squinted hard enough while looking at photos of them together she could see a resemblance in the way they smiled.

Carla had been darker, all around. Darker eyes, darker hair, darker skin. But that didn't mean much. Genetics were a fickle thing sometimes and Arturo has easily colored within most of Lucias lines. She tells herself that, of all the women who came and left, that Carla had always stayed no matter what. Through thick and thin. Even after receiving the same tepid treatment from Arturo. She had protected Lucia fiercely, taught her to live with the spattered bruises.

But that had been her mistake all along. Teaching Lucia to live with the monster that stalked peoples dreams. Gave her a false sense of home where it did not exist. Her father was a rough man, but Carla had almost convinced her to love him for it. A mom wouldn't do that. Or, thats what Lucia assumes. Of all the observations she could make of the world she had come to the conclusion that most people's mothers were kinder. Some weren't. A few were gone just like hers.

Handfuls of her classmates could attest to the protective nature of theirs. The way they coddled and held on to the last of their childhoods. Worshiped the innocence they wore as badges pinned to their chests. Lucia wants to scoff at the very idea of having someone care that much. It sounded like a lie made up by the pathetic thousands who couldnt face reality. But as truth would have it, there were plenty of mothers out there that cared.

Jaded as she is, Lucia just can't see it.

Wonders sometimes what hers would be like. Soft? Harsh? She'd have had to been some form of fucked up to let a man like Arturo knock her up. Probably crazy, maybe a drug addict. Lucia could have been a heroin baby for all she knows. She'd never have the truth laid out on a pretty platter for her. But the one thing she does know is that among the many who came, Carla had been her favorite.

Watching her get her head sawed off with a freshly sharpened machete hadn't been the most enjoyable.

Neither was digging her grave.

But this was just another form of punishment. A reason for Lucia to stop attaching herself to people when they could so easily be taken away. Theres no use fighting against the unfairness of it, not when its bound to happen again and again. She was nothing in a world made of somethings, and thats just how it is supposed to be.

And when, after falling into her bed at the end of the night. Bone weary from shoveling dirt from a 2 1/2 by 8 foot hole in the ground. She finds her mind unable to comprehend the exact reasons why she can still smile. Maybe she's just as fucked up as the rest of the world.

- And in her dreams there is a flowing waterfall that feeds into a river, its crystal clear waters turned red from the blood that poured from Carla's neck. -

---

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXSpanish Sahara
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXOctober 2nd, Age 17.

---

"I thought you didn't have a mom." Casey whispers along the curve of her spine, teeth dragging along skin. Lucia shivers and shifts, feels the blood rush to her head with the conflict of wanting to answer but also wanting to stay in this feeling forever. "I had to come out of someone, don't think dicks are capable of reproduction in that way."

She feels the bed shift as Casey pulls away. Lucia turns on her side, glances through the veil of her hair at the other girl. She's lighting up a joint. Probably the reason she's mellow enough to take all of Lucia's eccentricities in stride.

"Be that as it may," Casey pauses to inhale, holds it till she's good and ready, then exhales the smoke towards Lucia. Petty shit that she is. "She's either dead or she left, and you don't even know her so why do you care so much."

Lucia knows that theres no logic in her thinking when she opens her mouth to explain, then stops, aware of how very stupid she's going to sound. No matter how she frames it theres no simple way to render her feelings in words. There's only vague half thoughts and the utterly illogical feeling of being the next on a very long list of victims bound for the ground. She's never fancied the idea of rotting away while bugs and worms crawled through her decaying skin.

Theres nothing appealing about that at all.

'I don't want to be like him.' Sounds foolish in her own head. She doesn't need a mother to not become like her father but of all the identities she's constructed it feels like at her core there is nothing normal in the way she is. Its the curiosity really that kills her. She wants to know who she's supposed to be. Who created the being that can change faces so damn easily. Ah. The answer stares her in the face, if it were a venomous snake she'd be twice dead by now.

"I want to be normal." Lucia answers, chews her nail down to the quick. Lets it bleed freely when she bites too far down. Can't believe herself really. Has to. But can't. Casey must not believe it either. Laughs long and hard until Lucia hushes her with a kiss. Furious. Lets go with the taste of the others chapstick lingering on her own lips. Feels herself drifting with the high.

"Nobody wants to be Normal."

"I do."

---

Postscript she finds the meaning of her own wants in the ache beneath her ribcage. Let it settle like a storm in the angry tempo of her heart. Normal is a word that ties its fingers around her skull. But it will never be her. She exists in the fringes of society, a nothing, forever among somethings. Without an identity of her own. Just the way she was intended to be.

---

[CharlotteV]

The Art of Finer Plumbing
Ashley Mackenzie || Seventeen years Old || Inspiration

---

---

“You gotta keep that job when I get out.”

“Can’t support you forever, kid.”

Wilmington is a fucking funny place because it’s this weird ass circle of rich surrounding poor. The countryside is sprawling with 25 room mansions where only two people live and in the city 25 people live in a two room house and spend their nights wondering who's going to die next.

Ash always finds it fucking funny when they get Finer Plumbing for a repair, because despite the fancy ass name they’re anything but. A couple of illegals and a handful of kids barely holding onto their GED’s much less a high school diploma. Their rates run cheap, and those fuckers in their nice fancy houses call almost more than his next door neighbors.

Sometimes Ash thinks rich people stay that way by being real fucking cheap.

He’s standing outside in a yard that could fit about fifty of his and Dyl’s apartment, grass is real fucking green and there’s fucking flowers and shit. Real big ass trees. Crap he’d honestly thought only existed in goddamn movies. What even was the world, outside of Wilmington?

A place to be somebody.

A place to be some body.

He’s got his coveralls hanging round his waist, white tank sticking to his body, backwards cap pulled over his hair, cigarette between his teeth, and he’s pretty sure he smells, but the Whittaker girl keeps looking at him like he could make her see God and make her scream loud enough for HIm to hear her too.

He probably could, if he swung that way. If she wasn’t about sixteen he’d pass her number onto Lucia, let her find out how much more fun it was to meet the devil instead.

He knows why she’s here. Mother and Father are out for the day, and while they obviously trust her with him, they don’t trust him with the house. He wonders if he should tell them she snuck her boyfriend in through the upstairs window not five minutes after they left.

Richie Rich is a fake-tanned, pressed hair sonofabitch and Ash wonders if he should tell him that he ain’t gettin baby girls rocks off. What a fucking tangled web. He’s so sick of this shit.

The guy comes back from inside the house holding two fancy as fuck drinks with little goddamn umbrellas and his nose curls up at the scent of Ash’s cigarette. He spares a look at his girl though and then suddenly he’s a lot more interested. “Hey man. Can I bum one of those?”

“Hey man, can you buy your own?” Ash shoots back, one eyebrow raised, smile on his face like this is a pleasant conversation. “They ain’t cheap.” Not like Ash knows, he’s never bought his own cigarettes, ain’t fuckin legal yet. “And I’m pretty sure your pocket book is a lot fuckin thicker than mine.”

Ash wants to see it. His nerves light up and he wants to dare show me yours, and I’ll show you mine so bad he can almost fucking taste it. Richie Rich frowns, his brows coming together, trying to figure out how to recover from this one. Maybe he does know the Whittaker girl’s all dry after all. Ash actually takes pity on him. “Use your tongue more.”

Richie Rich’s eyebrows go up, and he darts a glance between the girl and Ash again. She’s trying to pretend like she hadn’t been staring now, crossing and recrossing her legs, bright blush on her pretty cheeks. Sometimes it really is too bad he isn’t straight. “Okay,” RR says, then, lower, “where, exactly?”

Ash chokes on his next inhale and he has to fucking leave because this guy is too much and he can’t stand this shit. He waves the dude off and walks back into the house, pathetically mumbling something about his break being over. He’s pretty sure he gets told he can’t take a cigarette in there but he doesn’t give a damn.

The toilet he’s working on has got to be the fanciest shit he’s ever seen. Or, for the fanciest shit, he’s not entirely sure which. Regardless, it has a goddamn seat heater. Personally warm toilet seats freak him out but whatever, to each their own. Time to sweat some more.

He’s real fucking itchy and he has been for awhile now. Ignored anxiety over the bills, school, life. He doesn’t want to be in this God Forsaken town anymore and he knows Dylan doesn’t either but where the fuck are they gonna go? How the fuck?

He licks his lips and thinks about the fact that the water’s probably about to go off back home and they’ve still got to eat somehow and Dyl needs new work boots, not his problem but present on his mind. That tool, no the other one. His hands shake. The other one. Palms start to sweat. No, not that, idiot.

Run, run, run.

Mine, mine, mine.

Fuck these rich bastards.

He’s always wanted a seat heater anyway.

It’s not a conscious decision before his hands are moving too fast and he hardly knows what he’s doing until the toilet comes free of the wall. Pipe off, other tool, switch hands, pick it up, how heavy? Not too heavy. The water goes in the shower and there’s exaggerated moans coming from the back yard and really, really, in the pool?

Richie Rich is probably shoving his tongue down her throat and what a waste - poor fucking girl.

Hallway, front door, avoid the camera just like last time, good boy. Toilet goes in the back, lock clicks, tools tossed in, behind the wheel, going, going, gone. Doesn’t even realize what the fuck he did until he’s halfway home and that ain’t real surprising. It’s usually like that until he turns out his pockets and Dylan asked where the fuck he got something. He’s not always sure, just knows that he needed it.

Just like he needs that goddamn toilet.

He doesn’t know why, but he does.

He regrets it, by the time he’s climbing up the steps to their place, pushing his hat off his head so he can run his fingers through his hair. Dylan’s lounging on their couch with a beer, Quin’s sitting across from him on the floor, and she tilts her head back and grins when he enters.

“Hey kiddo,” Dylan greets, and there’s that little hint of pride in his tone that Ash is being responsible and he feels like a dick. “How was work?”

“Good, fine,” he nods a little aggressively, shifts his weight from foot to foot, rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. It’s not a big deal, is the thing. Finer Plumbing contracts out, the website says they’re not at fault for discrepancies. Can’t even be traced back to him, he’s a number in a corrupted system. It’s fine. But he can’t fucking keep it.

He doesn’t even like warm toilet seats.

Dyl arches an eyebrow.

Ash sighs.

He was responsible for almost a year. Almost. A. Year.

It was bound to come crumbling down eventually.

“Yo. Know anyone who needs a toilet?”