NICE GIRL.

     If there was one word to describe Sandy at this moment, it would be exhausted.  She felt it, she looked it;  complete with deep bags beneath her half-lidded eyes and smeared makeup that looked well-worn.  "So, like, asking for a friend:  how much of this stuff would you have to drink to pass the fuck out?"  Sandy's got a bottle of cheap beer raised to eye-level, a brow raised in question.  She doesn't drink often.  When she does, it's usually store-bought wine coolers with the prettiest picture on the box, so it's safe to say that she knows very little about anything liquor-related.  Sandy raises tired eyes to Quinn, with red lips set in a thin line.  "You know, hypothetically."

                aspen  took  a  deep  breath,  offering a  smile  that  held  no  hint  of  hiding  how  forced  it  was.  (  although  that  doesn’t  mean  she  didn’t  try. )   hands  grasp  the  glass.   ❛   right!  congrats, sandy!  if  anyone  deserves  the  front  page   —–    it’s  you. ❜  an  easier  laugh  passes  through  her  lips  before  she  takes  a  large  gulp  of  the  champagne  allow  herself  to  savor  the  taste  and  let  it  warm  her.    the  spirit  in  the  corner  was  a  forced  forgotten  as  she  pivoted  her  body  to  keep  it  from  her  eye line.  ❛   no,  this  isn’t  about  ME.  We’re  here  to  celebrate.  ignore  me,  i  was  just  spacing.   ——  sorry.    ❜

     "I mean, yeah, I could've gotten charged with breaking and entering for that feature photo, but...  well, journalists take risks and all that, right?"  She's trying to uplift the mood, but her laugh isn't nearly as light-hearted as it could be;  something's off with Aspen, but how can she press without seeming insensitive?  Without being pushy?  ( Don't be rude, Sandy! Be respectful! )  "Yeah, okay, you know what?  I'll bitch at you about it later  --  but I won't forget!"  Picking up her own glass, Sandy sips generously at her champagne, a half-smile tugging at her lips.  "You wanna go someplace else, Aspen?  We could shop or something."

                   her  fork  clattered  against her  plate  as  the  prickle  grazed  the  back  of  her  neck.        the  creature  materialized  behind  the  other  across  from  her.       it  was  a  full  figure  of  a  woman,    blood  tears  were  streaming  down  her  face,    her  eye  was  black  and  her  face  was  contorted  into  an  ugly  weep.        aspen’s  gasp  caught  in  her  throat.    with  a  bit  of  effort,     aspen  forced  her  eyes  to  meet  the  other  person  across  from  her.

                                             ❛   sorry —–  what  did  you  say??   ❜

     "I said... we're supposed to be celebrating!"  Sandy's got a glass of champagne shoved in Aspen's face, finger raised and waving, imploring her to pay attention.  "It's not every day I get my article featured on the front page.  I can't have you spacing out on me!  Come on, I spent like... tons on this bottle of bubbly."  A soft frown paints her lips;  it's not the dinner she's worried about, not really.  Now, the worry creeping up her spine and balling up into a weight inside her stomach is solely for Aspen.  "What'cha got on that mind of yours, huh?  Talk to me."

     "I watched one of those cheesy serial killer movies the other day.  Where the police just happen to come by right after the shit goes down and not a minute before, but there's always that one survivor running out to greet them...  one of those, you know?"  A bottle of cream soda in hand, Sandy is sprawled out on the floor with her legs bent at the knees.  Her free hand toys with the belt loops of her jean shorts, dark blue eyes staring intently at the ceiling, unblinking, as if she'd find the answers to all of life's questions behind the off-white color  ---  if only she could get up high enough to chip the paint away.

SOMETIMES  I  FEEL  LIKE  A  DOLL.   Not really real.  You know it?  I fix my hair, and every now and then I have to hem a skirt, or maybe I have to babysit the kids when mom and dad go out.  And it all just seems very fake...  Like I could peek behind the living room wall and it would be cardboard, with a director and a cameraman getting ready for the next scene.  Like the grass and the sky were painted on canvas flats.  Fake.