A NIGHT AT GASTON’S || PANIC AND RITA
When the mention of the gang’s finances came up, she shifted in her seat uncomfortably and shrugged, saying nothing. Yes, the band of friends were a bit on the poor side—okay, let’s face it, on the extremely poor side—but she didn’t like strangers knowing that. It showed weak spots, and she knew from experience that showing weakness practically invited danger and bad things.
As for the gang question, she was also hesitant to answer. They didn’t always “go against the law”, per se, but not all things they did were entirely legal. Like, most of the time, she had to shoplift some little treats to feed them all, or the Dodge had to slip a string of hot dogs from a cart down the way to give them all dinner.
She was about to open her mouth to answer when Panic barreled on ahead, chattering somewhat nervously. She listened, soon cocking her head to the side and furrowing her brows. “TRAGEDY?” she asked when he had finished. “Like, where Meg works?”
Before waiting for his answer, she answered his questions with a vague, “We get by with what we have in my gang, and we aren’t always on the same side as the law. Now always, but sometimes.” She gave a decisive node and watched him, her head still tilted to the side as she studied him.