SUPER

     ❛ they make apps for that now. ❜  he says that in an almost petulant tone,  but it’s more volunteered information that she probably already knows than a suggestion.  mateo wafts away a plume of smoke and shifts on his feet,  molding his back to the wall as he shakes his head with a sigh.  mildred isn’t wrong about that either,  but -

     ❛ i’m not this down.  i’m just… i don’t know.  but,  fuck.  by all means - if you wanna find a girl to kiss,  find a girl to kiss.  don’t let me distract you. ❜  he can’t outright admit to that.

“yeah, okay –– i’ve got two new pals out of Her and nothing else so don’t start.”

she towers over them, a head above their narrow shoulders and the dip of her spine where the ink sits. mildred’s arm is thread lazily through bus strap, rocking slightly as they rattle through town. she uses it as an axis to lean in to talking distance. without touching, the gesture all in the nod of her chin, she says, “cool tattoo.”

teaching yourself to flip and roll and bounce off the stubborn walls of an alleyway is a long-winded process, one that has her staggering, one that has her collapsing onto a flea-ridden old armchair. the spectator, out from one of the neighbouring cafes for a cigarette or a breath of fresh air, is no longer ignored.

she wonders if there’s something innate in your mutation, something in it that bursts from your personality. or something in your personality that waits for your mutation. which one informs the other? her attempt at stealth is as poor as one might expect from a butch in heavy boots with the power to explode particles in the air. she crashes into the side room through a vent, feet first, softening her landing with a blast of power. she can hear the murmur of voices –– a discussion on the classification of mutations by their local representatives –– through the thin wall. their voices didn’t pause when she crashed in. a good sign.

she literally falls from the sky, blasting a small surge of power under her to cushion her fall. her shirt billows as she lands, boots slapping the ground before she realises –– the boom made the person, closer to her than she thought, stumble back.

“You shouldn’t judge a book by its over,” her dark eyes looked up and down the other girl, her nose twitching. If the other was going to be sassy, so was she. “Look, I’m just lookin’ for a place to go dance and spend what little money i have on alcohol and drugs, so you can help me or not.” her was quick tongued, her  hands shoved into her pockets. “Tell ya what, if you take me to a nice club, I’ll even buy you a drink.”

     ❛ maudlin. ❜  the word sounds uncomfortable,  like moist or yolk,  but he repeats it in the same grumbling tone he said it in the first time.  to her credit,  mildred is a force to reckon with whether she means to be or not.  she isn’t lying,  either.  he only had one drink in that corner and avoided conversation almost entirely,  but it that been just fine with him.  comfortable,  even.

     ❛ mildred. ❜  it’s almost a groan,  but it isn’t a no.  ❛ why didn’t we just go out to eat like i suggested originally? ❜

getting through the bar is like going through a chemical change. the crowd, the heat, the specific sweat of people falling off and away from the dance-floor, the sudden, shocking air of the smoking area, a relief until their lungs adjust to other people’s smoke. “because i haven’t kissed a girl in like, three months. and i didn’t think you were this down.”

𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓻 ;; @dredmeat

“Um excuse me,” the young lady stepped out of the shadow of a building, addressing the female who was just standing there. “I’m new to NY, um, do you know any good clubs?” her voice was soft. She looked no more than maybe 17, but her ID said otherwise.

in a way that is new york to it’s very lip-curling core, mildred’s face goes blank before her eyes roll. she walks on the spot with an impatience that billows her big coat. she knew she shouldn’t have come out to the city. “aren’t you a little young?”

     the first thing he says is,  ❛ i’m not maudlin. ❜  but it sounds like a very maudlin thing to say.   his feet drag like those of a stubborn mule,  even as she guides him back towards the bar (he doesn’t know why he agreed to begin with).  the second is,  ❛ i just spent an hour in there. ❜

“yeah,” she drawls, the drag of her voice matching the way she pulls on his shirt until they’re back in past the bouncer. “but you sat in the darkest corner you could find and said maudlin things like i’m fine.” 

the shorn sheep –– a bustling crowd of them, like rocks in water, being dragged along by a current mightier than them, straying and bumping back into line –– drag a grin out of her. she looks for the current. ah, ginger.