#⋆ threads : girty & abilene .

[wolfvsh]

Although it might’ve seemed that way at times, Girty wasn’t carved from cold, impenetrable stone — deep within layers of decay and rot, something still drummed. A heart was a heart, no matter how ugly its shape. She’d never admit it — not even to herself, hidden in the shadows of her trailer — but the words pathetic and tragedy struck true, burning a hole straight through her iron armor. She refused to show weakness. A beast who’d rather die baring its teeth than beg for reassurance or a gentle pat on the head. Never again would she crawl on hands and knees, never again would she grovel for love that came only with a roll of the eyes and muttered curses — she’d done enough of that in one lifetime. Thank you, Charlie Jo. Sure, her grin might’ve faltered, but not for long. It grew sharper, more macabre.  “Easy to look down on us from your fuckin’ high horse, ain’t it? But the time’ll come when you’ll need us scum. ‘Cause the truth is, people like you can’t handle ugly — while we eat, breathe and shit it, baby.” Words meant to bite — a curse ripped straight from the pages of a hockey Witchcraft for Beginners book. Still, her performance sold it: eyes about to jump out of her skull, pupil swallowing green iris, shaky finger pointed, spit flying everywhere. “So stick those prayers up your prissy ass…” Girty drank some more, stepped back, then smacked her lips — a spiteful kiss. “And have yourself a blessed fuckin' night.”

Abilene stiffened, the sharp chill of Girty’s breath and words biting at her more than the bitter wind. She kept her shoulders rolled, her posture straight, standing her ground against the chaos that was Girty Stafford. She wasn’t proud of the anger that burned in her chest, but it was there, eating away at her usual restraint.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she exhaled through her nose, her gaze hardening. “You think you’re funny, Girty? All you’ve done is prove what everyone already knows - that you’re a walking tragedy. Don't have anything else left in you?"

Abilene's hands balled into fists like she was ready to brawl - go toe to... wet toe with the girl, but she didn't have it in her. She wasn't a fighter - she couldn't even throw a punch if she tried. “So, go ahead. Keep drinkin’ and runnin' that mouth and draggin’ yourself lower. It's really pathetic."

It wasn’t the warmth or the hope the youngest Pryor used to carry with her, but these days, Abilene didn’t have much of that left to give. She used the closeness to turn her cheek - if they had moved even an inch closer, they probably would have touched lips.

Abilene let a tender hand rest on Girty's shoulder as she began to step back from the scene, like a dog tucking its tail between her legs. Then, with a soft smile she said, "I'll pray for you."

[wolfvsh]

No shock, no offense registered when Abilene pushed her. Instead, foggy eyes lit up — a small victory, drawing such a violent reaction from someone so prudish. Greedy as ever, she hungered for more. How far could she dig her fingers? “Pretty kitty’s got claws,” She murmured, voice light and teasing as she steadied herself from the stumble, closing the distance between them. Step by step, wobble by wobble, until she stood at her side, slowly leaning in, nose gracelessly landing against the girl’s frosty cheek — carrying the faint scent of canned beer and a cheap vanilla with her. Classy.  “And here I thought all you God-lovin’ freaks were s’pposed to be thankful… I just did you a service, y’know? Won’t even charge a penny.” Girty’s gaze dropped to the soiled shoes, her smirk curling wider, meaner. “Maybe you should start questionin’ your faith, Pryor… ‘Cause if He’s real, why’d He let you walk outta the house lookin’ like … ” She nudged the side of her foot with her own, “That.”

Girty was a plague to Misty Mountain. They had their fair share of criminals, murderers, and drug addicts roaming around town - what little small town didn't? But Girty was like a different breed. It was clear she needed help, and was tormented by the cards fate had dealt her. What irritated Abilene was the way the Stafford twin just needed attention. To most, it would look like a cry for help. If that were the case, Girty wouldn't be acting the way she was now.

Abilene was always stunned by what the girl could come up with. "You know, maybe if you weren't so ruined, you would have a fine career in the dramatics," and how right she was as the next turn of events unfolded in a blink of an eye.

Abilene looked down at her shoes, a shriek escaping from her mouth in an instant. "What the hell?" Which caused plenty of onlookers to turn their heads. Not that many surprised to look over and see that it was Girty causing a ruckus - Abilene thought that's all she was good for.

Instinctively, Abilene pushed Girty's shoulders back - enough to get the other out of her metaphorical bubble, but not nearly violent enough to welcome a full blown cat fight.

"Let me guess, bill you for the dry cleaner?"

[wolfvsh]

There wasn’t anything that got her blood boiling quite like townsfolk who saw themselves as morally superior to others — when, in reality, everyone in Misty was their own special brand of fucked. That's why Abilene’s face made her fists tighten, weapons ready to strike. Her glossed-over eyes darkened in a matter of seconds, staring down at her with pure, molten hatred. Girty still remembered how the Pryor family had tried to help her, preaching that she’d find a savior in God’s light — like slapping a bandaid on a damn bullet hole. Well, if her smudged eyeshadow and lipstick were not a clear enough indicator, she didn’t need any saving.  “Aw, man, I ain’t funny enough for you, baby? Well, why don’t you just fuckin’ stick a knife into my chest and twist it.” Her head drooped to the side, gap in her teeth coming out to play as she forced a crooked smile onto her cold-bitten features — that, along with her dead gaze, made for a very chilling combination. “I dunno how I’ll live now that I know Abilene Pryor doesn’t find me amusin’ — how the hell will I ever cope?” She took one, then two, then three wobbly steps forward, until the tips of her boots kissed the edge of the saint’s pristine shoes (which earned a snort). They were so close now that the air they were breathing felt one and the same. “Save the whole holier-than-thou act for the stage… I’ve caught wind of the reviews and, lemme tell you, they ain’t too kind or pretty.” The Stafford took a long swig from her flask, but instead of swallowing, let her cheeks balloon with the liquid. She glanced down, spraying it near the other’s feet. If dirt and grime were what she thought of her, dirt and grime she'd get. “Piss-fuckin’-poor, actually.”

It was inevitable that the Flurry Festival would continue. The people of Misty Mountain always needed something to make them forget the horrors of their own town and tourism was tourism - that didn't stop because people were turning into human icicles.

Abilene had learned long ago not to fear death. Of course, it came with the whole rejoicing and being with the Lord for eternal happiness, but now - the idea of being free from pain and the whispers of the middle aged gossipers that got off on the others pity? That was an eternal vacation Abilene would sign up for.

Abilene couldn't help the eye roll that instinctively made its way back to her head. "Do you not have any sense of decorum?" Although, they both already knew the answer to that. Abilene had tried to step in a few times, when she was younger - offer a Bible verse of repentance and new beginnings - but just like anyone dealing with Girty Stafford, she gave up.

"A man is dying and you're making jokes? Jokes that quite honestly, wouldn't even make the cutting room floor."