#anyways tobi you get limited special edition saints row writing for your dedication. thank u

[smellyunfortunate]

FLOWERS

“Y’know,” Shaundi says. “Flowers seem kinda out of character for you.”

They’re tangled together on the shitty mattress in Essie’s equally shitty apartment. Shaundi’s not really sure why she hasn’t upgraded it, considering she more than has the funds, but Essie said something about it being rustic. Shaundi personally think it’s just gross, watching one of the pipes that runs along the ceiling drip a steady trail down the wall.

She’s tracing idle fingers across Essie’s bare back: the thing’s a mess of scars and tattoos, a patchwork of puckered and disturbed skin she hides with inked designs. What’s really drawing Shaundi’s eye, though, is the flower sitting innocuously on the back of her neck. It’s a simple rose, nothing really important about it, but it’s out of character among Essie’s other tattoos, skulls and crossbones and guns and pin up ladies.

“Oh, that?” Essie says distractedly, somewhat in a sleepy haze from Shaundi’s ministrations. “It’s nothing important. I got it for Mom.”

“Mom?” Shaundi says, confused, then snorts. “You know, it’s funny, I almost didn’t think you would had a family. Like you just popped into this world screaming and ready to shoot at anyone flyin’ the wrong flag.”

Essie snorts. “If only. Nah, my mom is still around. She lives a few cities away. Don’t give a shit where my dad is. Dunno about my sister. She’s probably out somewhere not being the family disappointment.”

“Were you close? You and your mom, I mean. Considering you got a tattoo for her.”

“Guess so. I dunno. She got fucking annoying once I started getting into trouble. Always looking at me with those sad eyes. Telling me I was strayin’ off God’s path He set out for me.”

“Oh, and you’re Christian! I’m learning so much about you by being in your bed.” Shaundi coos.

“Ugh, don’t even start. God’s long ago told me to go fuck myself.”

“Can God say fuck? Like, legally?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, Shaundi, it was a metaphor. Your pillow talk is shit, yanno.”

Shaundi laughs. “So-rry. But really, your mom still think you’re just ‘off God’s path’? I’d say you’re a little further than that.”

Essie grimaces. “It’s worse than her rejecting me, even. She just pities me. Calls all the time, leaves voicemails asking me to come home. It’s the worst.”

“That doesn’t sound bad. Just kinda... sad.”

“I know! I’m not supposed to have a conscience! You know how many people I’ve run over with my motorcycle alone? Like, I don’t think God’s coming for me at this point, stop calling me!”

Shaundi is, in fact, reconsidering her choice of pillow talk. It’s a little strange hearing The Boss talk about her mommy issues. Like, two minutes ago, she didn’t even have a mother in Shaundi’s mind. It was more like she was born out of the flames of that boat, and baptized in a prison break. Not like, a normal person who grew up with a nice mother and went to church every Sunday.

“Have you ever... actually gone home?”

Essie turns to face Shaundi then, and it’s almost too much too suddenly. Her eyes are dark and wild. “No.” She says. “I promised myself I wasn’t ever gonna go back there.”

Shaundi almost wants to press further. She’s enticed by this glimpse of Essie she’s gotten, this chink in her armor. She’s got a family, for godssakes, one that shares the blood running in her veins rather than the blood she spills together with her gang.

At the same time, though, it’s too much. She’s not sure she wants to see past the curtain of The Boss. The one who smokes from broken lightbulbs with nothing but a sarcastic joke, who mows down her enemies with a submachine gun and never looks back. She’s someone to spend a night with, not a life.

“Well!” Shaundi says, sitting up. “This has been enlightening. I think I’m going to go now. Places to be, things to smoke.”

Essie snorts. Rolls back over. “You do that.”

Shaundi thinks, as she closes the door, she might need something a bit stronger than usual to forget the afterimage of that rose.