#dis7ance.

it's late, almost four in the morning, but she can't find it in herself to go back to her apartment just yet. she's sitting on a bench watching the waves with an unopened bottle of vodka next to her, and a brand new pack of camels that she only buys once a year in lieu of her usual marlboros on her lap. her mother's birthday brings out a side of her that she loathes — she feels weak and needy, almost frail and child-like... but she can't help that she misses her mother, or at least the mom she knew once upon a time. victoria had driven to key west as she does every year on the first day of march, watching from afar as her mother and father eat dinner at her mother's favorite restaurant. the last time she'd joined them, she'd been seventeen; she wonders what it'd be like now at twenty-five. she's about to place the bottle of vodka back into her purse when she sees her (what is she even doing up at this hour?), and she sighs in resignation. she's not up for a game or a fight. not tonight. victoria doesn't even need to look at gwen to be able to picture the way the other is looking at her — likely with a smirk and eyes that are hungry for a round two. she's watched her enough to know; she's memorized the way the other looks at her. while victoria doesn't out-right call out for gwen, who else would she be speaking to? there's no one else around. "how long have you been with... them?" she asks, curiosity getting the best of her. she knows nothing about gwen other than her name, her crew and the fact that she likes to gamble just as much as she does. (she knows her tells, especially when she's got a losing hand. she knows the way her lips taste, the noises she makes, the way her teeth... —). she shouldn't ask these things, she shouldn't even be talking to gwen, but she can't help it. she'll allow herself another night of being around her, especially after seeing her parents from afar. "sit. i have vodka."