[Its loud, tonight, downtown. Theres the faint hum of barely-working streetlights, the laughter of men watching telly at the pubs. Footsteps echoing alongst the street, as groups of college friends prepare to go out clubbing.]
[The clink of bottles, as they drink. As everyone drinks. Those beautiful women lined up, sat at the damp-with-rain curb, the party-goers Ireland had always envied. They have such fun.]
"I'm not goin'a entertain this, Ireland!"
[Tucked between two long-abandoned apartment buildings, a woman storms out of a rinky trophy room, leather jacket wrapped around her torso. It smells like cigars.]
[Behind her follows another woman, one significantly younger, with bright blue hair. She slams the door in the blue-haireds face, the aforementioned Ireland, causing her nose to bump against the jagged 'open' sign.]
[Ireland rubs the bridge of her nose, hastily opening the door back behind the first woman, whos name we can also, only assume is Sarah.]
[The bell attached via hook to the door dings, as Ireland steps outside. The blue-haireds own coat, a beige-brown fur, rubs against the doorway. The bell hadnt triggered for Sarah.]
"Listen, listen. I'm sorry, okay?, s'my bad. You did nothing wrong, okay, I'm just squeamish! I'm stupid! Please, Saraah,"
[Sarah continues walking, with little regard for the woman calling after her. She pulls her right hand from out her pocket, a cigarette between her pointer and her thumb. The cigarette is moist with rain.]
[She lights it, then takes an unhealthily long inhale through the wrong side. Somehow, her mouth still gapes open, and out escapes smoke. She throws the cigarette to the ground.]
"Come back! Or, or slow down, atleast! Sarah! Sarah—"
[Her heel stomps against the cigarette, which pierces straight in the middle, and gets stuck. She's been trying to catch up to Sarah, despite the uncomftorable footwear. Its proving more difficult than she'd initially thought.]
[She stumbles, and falls. One heel flies up into the air, and lands at her right. The other stays loosely around her foot. The knees of her flesh-coloured stockings rip upon impact.]
[Sarah turns around, at the sudden 'plap!' of hands bracing against damp concrete. Looking down, she raises the muscle where her brow wouldve been if she hadnt shaved it off.]
[A long, uncomftorable silence ensues between them, before Sarah finally decides.]
"..never pull that shit again, y'hear me, Ire?"
[Ireland nods, fast, which causes her vision to blur at its sides. She considers a nice drink of water, though backs off once she remembers Sarah already smashed all the clean cups.]
"Yes, yes Sarah. Yes ma'am. I'm sorry. Please help me up."
[She reaches her hands upwards, for Sarah. They're dirty, as dirty as her knees now are, through torn fabric. Sarah rolls her eyes, and reluctantly obliges, pulling a wobbly Ireland back to her regular height.]
"Good. Now get back inside."
[Sarah pats Ireland on the shoulder, then points her back in the direction of the shop. Ireland nods, again. Ouch. Then bends down, picks up her heel, and scurries off.]
[Thats that over with, then. Good on you, Sarah, you handled that like a champ. Really showed 'em you're the alpha. You've just gotta teach that girl to take a proper punch.]
[After all, it was your fault, Ire.]
