BLACK BELLE.

Her wife deciding to get all dolled up for her not once, but twice for the special Halloween festivities the past couple of days was endearing. The miles that she would go to provoke the smallest of smiles on Anabelle’s face was beyond breathtaking, wondering how deep the blonde’s dedication to those she adored truly went. The wig she was sporting was rather shoddy, one of those cheap costume wigs, but the thought of the olive-skinned woman being a redhead was no doubt entertaining. The part-time dancer didn’t miss the interjection in Heather’s voice, as if she had been stunned into the next century, looking at her when she had positioned herself upright with utter faux innocence. She’d been keeping her intentions a secret for part of the evening, acknowledging her beloved’s raging libido hadn’t exactly been fed on a constant basis with Anabelle’s immense exhaustion. In fact, the fatigue bore down on her presently, yet the blonde’s reaction was a welcome distraction, especially when she received the desired effect of causing her to smile. “Well, it’s what Quinn always calls Ivy, which is why we make the perfect couple, honeybuns,” she hummed happily, draping her arms over her beloved’s neck when she pulled her in and turning her head to return the kiss to her temple with one of meeting lips. A soft laughter filled the air, relishing in the valiant story of how the girl of her dreams had obtained the teddy bear for her and braved the scariest maze in all of Queens. The smile was blatant upon her delicate features, filled with happiness that caused her small eyes to disappear into crescents from the crinkle of her dimples, leaning in to press a lingering, smacking kiss to Heather’s lips and purring, “My hero. I think that deserves a reward, don’t you? Say you and me, a roll in the hay while your brother-in-law keeps watch on Diego?” Lifting herself up and hoisting her thighs around Heather’s sides playfully, the raven-haired dancer kissed her cheek and glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the kids. “He’s fine... A bit fussy, but I told him he needs to share with Eugenia or no candy later. He bought it,” she hummed thoughtfully, fingers curling into the cuffs of the leather jacket she had swiped from her other half.

The icy homecoming queen she had been in high school she had presumed to be long dead and buried had been dug up by none other than herself during the Hell’s Kitchen competition and now she couldn’t always seem to turn it off in a normal setting. Her wife seemed to fawn over it when she witnessed it with others, adding to her imagery of being a complete, total badass, topping further reasons to cover up the flaws that were lurking beneath the surface and threatening to loom over her if she continued to stuff it down. For now, she was doing fine. Brushing her fingers through her black ponytail, she nodded when he assured her he tried to eat healthy. Or at least, healthier. For those young like him, it may not matter tremendously on the surface. Beneath it, harder to say. Unfortunately, the harsh truth was many-- like her-- did not have the time in the day to fit in eight hours of sleep and three full, healthy meals, plus a snack whenever necessary. Time was not a luxury that she had, every single minute counted. Thus, why was she here debating with him? Did she had time for this? “You do look quite young... That isn’t a bad thing, of course. Once you grow older, you will always surprise someone with your age,” Anabelle responded thoughtfully, thinking of her own mother-- the proud co-owner of a bustling trade business who had always appeared youthful, for which she attributed the youthfulness of her Asian heritage, “Rubber?” God, she could not stop repeating herself today. This time, it was out of genuine confusion. Her depletion was wearing on her five senses intermittently, frustrating as that was. “Sorry, did I hear you correctly? Rubber or... flubber? There is a ‘flubber’, isn’t there?” Did she sound stupid? Shit.

When she had spotted her wife approaching her with a particular stuffed animal in hand, her whimsical side conjured a variety of possibilities that it could be. The blonde had been preoccupied with the maze the entire evening and she was curious what could capture her attention about it, after she had struggled through the first time when they were together. Exhaustion and discomfort aside, the harlequin’s expression lit up to descry the love of her life and turning back to the flowering tree she had been regarding away from the bonfire. She had moved over to the area to watch her son playing with the other kids to assure he was sharing and playing nice, desiring to see his social skills blossom before he would be stunted the way his father had. Collecting a handful of the flowering petals that had fallen from the tree, the movement of leaning over accentuating her rounded ass in the tight leather pants that hugged her curves in all the right places, she straightened up after she had put together a small pile in her palms. Turning back to Heather, she lifted her hands and blew the colorful, pale pink petals in her direction when she was a couple feet away and harmonized in her best sing-song, fake Boston accent, “I cast a spell on ya, puddin’. What have you got for me, Red?”

The chef perked her head up at the thought of a carbonated beverage getting him through the day, echoing for what must be the thousandth time in their unsteady conversation, “Soda?” She didn’t mean to present herself as entirely rude; truly, she was likely just as tired as, if not more tired, the man with the bad coffee. It was becoming increasingly apparent she should likely introduce herself, interjecting that train of thought to address what was on the forefront of her mind. “You... realize that soda makes you crash after the energy boost, right?” she asked, cocking her head to the side with an air of curiosity. At this point, perhaps she was testing his nutritional knowledge-- he looked young, after all, and when she was younger she hadn’t been very conscious of her body’s needs. Hell, she barely was now, if only due to time constraints that suffocated her endlessly and forced her to resort to meals that were high in carbs and probable to hurt her stomach. “Cereal is pretty shitty too. Try to have at least toast with a banana or something for breakfast... you’ll feel a lot better,” the raven-haired woman responded, chuckling when his response to her question was rather sloppy. Something. It starkly resembled what she could imagine her sister saying. “And what would that be? The fountain of youth and energy?” she mused humorously, dark red lips curling into a mischievous smile. Anabelle rarely allowed herself to have fun these days with her back-to-back jobs, the only fun she had was getting her fringe trimmed at the end of the month. “I’m Anabelle, by the way. Impressed you’ve managed to stomach my cranky remarks with riposte for the past five or six minutes, honey.”

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“You-- don’t?” He must not drink coffee often at all if that was his stance on it, her nose wrinkling at the mention of energy drinks. Retrograded back to a couple weeks ago when she had been in the gas station searching for a caffeinated, battery acid in a can of her own to drag her through a five hour shift, she could understand his position. Her own health was sub-par and in truth, she should be avoiding something immensely unhealthy as that if she desired to expand her already possibly short lifespan. “They are disgusting, please try to stay away from them if you don’t want to have a heart attack in the next few years. You know that having a big breakfast would help you by giving you a boost to start your day?” the chef asked thoughtfully. Not everyone was big on breakfast, especially this early in the morning, but it was her only thought that didn’t equate to... coffee or other caffeinated beverages. Watching him take another sip, like a guy with something to prove now that he had ordered terrible coffee, she pointed toward his cup. “Yet, you keep drinking it? Do you have a death wish?” Anabelle inquired, half-joking with her expression unchanging as she took another sip of her own coffee. She should have considered ordering a solid to put in her stomach alongside it, like a bagel, but the pain construing her abdomen had forced her to rethink the notion when she was inside.