L0sty

As if claiming the seat meant winning some grand prize, Penny launched herself at the over-ripened banana Rippen called a car.

The sight alone made him stiffen mid-step, inched off the curb. Admittedly, the car wasn’t as valuable as gold, despite it’s color. The appearance alone would tell you that. But the only thing he could focus on was the loose steel hinge trembling like a freezing animal as the youthful redhead rattled the door handle with not a lick of patience in her eyes.

That shitty metal box already had a number of problems, and a missing handle was soon to be another if he didn’t unlock the door faster. 

And the second it was, Penny threw herself onto the passenger seat. The inside was nose-wrinkling, if not ghostly familiar; the air smelled vaguely of old plastic, despair, and whatever air freshener Rippen had bought five years ago and simply never replaced.

“You really do drive this thing everywhere..?” she muttered, her white sole adjusting a crooked vent that snapped back out of place immediately.

“Yes,” Rippen hissed through gritted teeth, sliding in himself. “...Because, unlike some people, I don’t have the luxury of being chauffeured around like a– Hold on a tick! Should I even allow you in the front?” he blurted, concerned less with human legalities, and more reluctant to deal with a teenager having full reins to his dashboard. “You’re like a paper clip. I don’t want you flying out when the window decides to roll down on its own again.”

Penny's eyes slid toward him, her head dropping sharply at tilt;  “Oh, gee. Gee. Ol’ Rip, since when did you become a wet blanket, on top of being a stick shoved somewhere dark and undignified?” She answered, noodle legs folding into awkward angles as she tried and failed to arrange herself comfortably among the questionable springs and the fossilized gum under the glove box; eventually, she resorted to kicking her legs up, only for her heels to be sourly swept off the dashboard posthaste. "It's probably fine!"

 “...You know what?” He jabbed an ombre claw to the car ceiling. “Sit wherever you like! If you shoot out the front, it’s no longer my problem!”

“Sure,” With a breezy dismissal, it was obvious she wasn't going to move either way. Penny made herself as comfy as those lumpy cushions would let her. "...Uncle Chuck’s car isn’t much better, fur in a lot of weird places actually.” she added, picking at a frayed seat thread. “It’s not that bad but they’re just,” Penny paused, fishing for something charitable or witty, but her comment landed flatly as her eyes escaped to the window.

“They’re them.”

Rippen gave a curt, disinterested nod. He didn’t care about her domestic peculiarities, not really. But there was a faint tug somewhere under his ribs. Unwelcome, uninvited, characteristically itchy; A nasty, sickly warm hint of sympathy.

But before the thought could travel somewhere sentimental, he forced the key into the ignition.