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A tripple-drabble that follows on immediately after this
The Angel sucked tonight. Cold stares and strangers with no fucking manners on the dance floor. The DJ didn't know her, and was mostly spinning shit with some private party taking up most of the first floor and shrouding the place in clove scented dry ice that scratched at her throat and made sure that you couldn’t find anyone. Mostly she was out of sync with the crowd – the wrong drugs, the wrong music, the wrong headspace for dealing with it. The satisfying thud of Wintermute's door shutting it all out again was half admission of failure and about two thirds Fuck You.
It was the music that reminded her – the opening bars of Love Cats from the mix that Karl had sent along with hobnobs, and a slew of magazines. Love Cats and yesterday's DDR battle. Sprawled laughing on the steps of the arcade; she'd challenged Neo to a rematch. Inside the cold shivers she couldn’t shake, the sudden memory seemed honey-warm somehow. Safe and happy and utterly unattached to any of the things that used to be joy and now hid triggers.
Her makeup was smudged again when she decided that it wasn't that late, and that HeToh's was 24 hours for a reason. Teasing Neo into getting out of bed and coming out to amuse her was something she was relatively confident about, and she smiled a little as she dialled.
She sweetened the deal with the promise of a lift that arrived with one of Leary's bright cherry sodas and the aircon set to 'freeze your ass off'. Within minutes her night was looking better. This time when she threw Wintermute into gear she knew exactly where she was going, and she could meet her own eyes in the mirror with something like her normal sparkle.
The Angel sucked tonight. Cold stares and strangers with no fucking manners on the dance floor. The DJ didn't know her, and was mostly spinning shit with some private party taking up most of the first floor and shrouding the place in clove scented dry ice that scratched at her throat and made sure that you couldn’t find anyone. Mostly she was out of sync with the crowd – the wrong drugs, the wrong music, the wrong headspace for dealing with it. The satisfying thud of Wintermute's door shutting it all out again was half admission of failure and about two thirds Fuck You.
It was the music that reminded her – the opening bars of Love Cats from the mix that Karl had sent along with hobnobs, and a slew of magazines. Love Cats and yesterday's DDR battle. Sprawled laughing on the steps of the arcade; she'd challenged Neo to a rematch. Inside the cold shivers she couldn’t shake, the sudden memory seemed honey-warm somehow. Safe and happy and utterly unattached to any of the things that used to be joy and now hid triggers.
Her makeup was smudged again when she decided that it wasn't that late, and that HeToh's was 24 hours for a reason. Teasing Neo into getting out of bed and coming out to amuse her was something she was relatively confident about, and she smiled a little as she dialled.
She sweetened the deal with the promise of a lift that arrived with one of Leary's bright cherry sodas and the aircon set to 'freeze your ass off'. Within minutes her night was looking better. This time when she threw Wintermute into gear she knew exactly where she was going, and she could meet her own eyes in the mirror with something like her normal sparkle.