#mwriting

Your short little maid dress was ripped, thanks to some handsy patrons, and your feet were aching from being crammed in heels since the Cafe opened. Not to mention how cold it was, and how dreadful the walk back to the orphanage had been.

You knew that taking the bus would be faster, but you couldn’t afford to spend even a dollar on something so frivolous. You’d take all the bus trips in the world, you told yourself, but only after you paid your debt for the week, and bought everyone gifts for the holidays.

To make matters worse, you were propositioned on the walk home. The sun was only just setting in the sky, but that didn’t stop a lanky man in a red convertible from pulling over beside you as you walked. He honked his horn and yelled for you to get in, telling you he’d make it worth your while if you could show him a good time. By the time you managed to stammer out that you weren’t selling, the man was livid.

He followed you for a solid minute, his convertible moving at a crawl so he could shout abuse at you, calling you a cock-tease, screaming at you that you were asking for it, parading around in such a short little dress.

You didn’t let your tears fall until after he had peeled off, not wanting to let the bastard see how much the words hurt. If life were easier, you wouldn’t have to wear shit like this just to make enough tips to scrape by.

By the time you reached your block, you didn’t have any more tears left to cry.

As you walked closer to the orphanage, you noticed someone leaning up against the side of the building. A lit cigarette dangling from their fingers was all it took for you to realize who it was.

“Where the fuck’ve you been?”

“W-Whitney? I was working.” Whitney says nothing, blowing smoke into your face instead of responding. After a few beats, you begin to wring your hands together. “...Have you been waiting long?”

“I’ve seen you hanging ‘round that freak in the library.” She interjects, taking a few fast steps towards you.

“Sydney?” You stumble back, tottering on your heels, but you refuse to take a step away from her. She’d only see that as a sign of weakness. “She’s my friend.”

“I don’t fucking care. She wasn’t at school today. And neither were you.” Whitney stares down at you, so close that you have to stare up at her to make eye contact. For a horrifying moment, you think she might put her cigarette out on your face. She had used your arms before, singeing you through your school shirts back before you started dating.

But she doesn’t. She flicks the butt away, letting it sizzle out onto the snowy pavement.

“So you better be real sure you were at work and not fucking around with that freak.”

“Sydney's an initiate at the temple, like me. We pray together and hang out at school, but that’s all.” You avert your eyes, a sigh falling from your lips. This was the last thing you needed after the shit-storm that was today.

You hated having to miss your classes, and you hated the detention that followed even more. But some days you simply can’t afford to go to class, especially with the holidays coming up.

You had to cut costs everywhere, even if that meant cutting down the time you spent not earning money. Going to school didn’t cost you anything, but it took up precious hours you could spend working.

If you worked hard during the day, you wouldn’t have to resort to walking the streets at night. Hell, you’d drop out of school completely if it meant you wouldn’t have to start selling yourself like Bailey expected you to do.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all you do together. Look at how you’re fucking dressed.” Whitney sneers, looking you up and down. “What, is the little church mouse into roleplay? Does she like it when you dress like a pretty maid for her?”

You shake your head in defeat. “I can’t do this tonight.”

You try to walk past her, but she blocks the way. Whitney's taller than you by at least a foot and broader than you could ever even dream of being. Usually, the size difference between you two makes your heart race and your thighs clench, but right now it’s only an irritation.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Something inside you snaps, the exhaustion from the day is still there but the surge of anger you feel is enough to give you one last book of energy.

“I’m tired, Whitney!” You’ve never yelled at her before, never expected to. And judging by the way she freezes up, she hadn’t either. Pushing past your initial shock, you continue. “I’ve been working all day, getting leered and pawed at by customers and having to face it all with a smile because I need the money! Everything hurts, I’m tired, and I just want to go to bed!”

“The fuck?” Her face contorts into a snarl as she roughly grabs you by your waist. “You’re my bitch, and I don’t fucking remember giving you permission to whore yourself out.”

“I don’t have the luxury of being yours!” You yell, face red and hot despite the frosty temperature. You try to pull away from her, but she tightens her grip. “I… I’m not even making enough to scrape by as it is, and Bailey keeps raising my debt and-” Your voice cracks. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

It’s only then that your exhaustion comes back, hitting you at full force. You let out a sigh, shoulders slumping and eyes shutting. It’s taking every ounce of willpower to not melt into sobs. So much for being out of tears.

“Fucking idiot.” She grumbles, tugging you forward and making you stumble. Your arms move up to brace against her as your head bumps into her chest. She’s warm, despite the snowflakes floating around her, and you know if you let yourself relax, you’ll fall asleep right here and now. “Should’ve told me.”

“It wouldn’t change anything.” You murmur into the fabric of her shirt, fingers curling around it.

“How many times do I gotta tell you you’re mine before it sticks in that stupid head of yours.”

You don’t know how much you believe her. Sure, she didn’t let other people hurt you anymore, but you doubted her protective streak came from the kindness of her own heart. She probably just didn’t want anyone else’s sloppy seconds. But even if Whitney’s view of love was warped, she cared for you. And God knows you care for her as well.

A coldness settles over you, but you push it away by snuggling deeper into Whitney’s chest.

“I’m real tired, Whitney.” Your chest shudders as she pulls you closer to her, her grip so tight it could bruise. “I’m running out of ways to make money without…”

“Shut up.” She gives your hair a reprimanding tug, cutting you off. “No slut of mine is gonna be working the streets. Just let me take care of it, yeah?”

“Whit-”

“I didn’t ask for your permission, so keep your mouth shut. I take care of whats mine, you hear?”

Q: What art program do you use? A: I use Clip Studio Paint EX for my main art/animation, and mspaint for my smaller pixelly doodles! Q: What brushes do you use? A: I genuinely barely use any super unique brushes. Currently I use this brush for my lines, though!

What did, unfortunately, concern him was the ferrying to and fro of the diplomatic team on what was supposed to be his day off. Normally Wei Wuxian left operations such as the transporter to his second in command or one of his many competent underlings. However, as the diplomatic group was filled with fancy peacocks in their flouncy feathery diplomat garb and their delicate terror of all things involving space travel, Wei Wuxian was required to be the one to personally beam them down to the planet (because god forbid one of his baby juniors got their dirty little hands on the apparatus they worked with on a daily basis and accidentally caused the first case of splinching-via-transporter to ever have occurred). As a rule, Wei Wuxian wanted to spend as little time in a room with Jin Guangshan as physically possible. But then, his second in command was a woman and he wasn’t going to subject her to the awful man, so he had little choice but to show up to the transporter and try to block out the oily quality that oozed from the man’s mind like puss from an boil. Ah, the joys of being psionic.

As Wei Wuxian was also expected to beam the landing team back from the planet, he stayed in the transporter room, terrorising his minions by pulling out the wiring on the consoles and trying to “break it, sir, you are trying to break it” improve the functionality of the thing. Eventually Lan Wangji turned up and towed him away by the arm, no doubt alerted by one of Wei Wuxian’s traitorous underlings. They always told the First Officer on him, knowing that he, Jiang Yanli, and Wen Qing were the only ones who could get Wei Wuxian to stop when he was in the middle of something (the crew never bothered Jiang Yanli because they liked her too much, and they never bothered Wen Qing because you went to the Chief Medical Officer if you were injured or dying and for no other reason - she was a doctor, dammit, not a babysitter). Jiang Cheng could also get him to stop, but not voluntarily, and usually while resorting to violence. After the third time one of them had shoved the other in a Jeffries tube and blocked the entrance, the crew was banned from asking either of them to involve the other in anything. 

Anyway, the point was that Wei Wuxian was very busy and so had absolutely no idea what was occurring on the planet until the ship was put under a yellow alert and he was asked to beam the landing party up as quickly as was physically possible (which, Wei Wuxian would like to point out, could have been considerably faster had he been allowed to finish tinkering with the control panel).

The group which had arrived back bore little resemblance to the well-dressed and put together team which had left not three hours previous. The most notable difference was Jin Guangshan, who had been alive upon departure and who was now dead.

“Oh no.” said Wei Wuxian in a very convincing tone of concern. “Whatever could have happened?” “Not now, Wei Wuxian.” snapped Jiang Cheng, who for some reason had been included on this mission, as he helped Jiang Yanli support a clearly shaken Jin Zixuan out of the room. “Such a tragedy.” Wei Wuxian said sadly, shaking his head, and could have sworn he heard a quiet snort from his left, but when he turned to the First Officer beside him, Lan Wangji’s face was as expressionless as ever. “I have prepared the briefing room as you asked, Captain.” he said in that unmodulated tone of his.  “Thank you, Wangji.” said Lan Xichen with a strained smile. “Let us proceed there immediately.”

It had been decided, Lan Xichen explained, that the away crew would beam back up to the ship along with the surviving diplomats for the time being as a matter of safety and precaution. Meng Yao, Lan Xichen had insisted, was a valued member of their crew, and would be questioned, but not held without any evidence. Meng Yao himself seemed remarkably unbothered by the whole situation, but in that way which meant you were merely holding the threads of your being together until you could arrive at a solitary location and completely lose your shit in peace. Wei Wuxian could tell, because the waves Meng Yao’s mind were pushing out were not his normal calm ripples. Meng Yao was another one of those few people Wei Wuxian actively found hard to read (which was, honestly, a bit of a blessing - even if he found it difficult to connect with the man as a result, at least he got some peace). He thought Meng Yao might spend a lot of time actively shielding his mind from psionic interference - it seemed like the kind of thing the paranoid bastard would do, but it might also have something to do with his mixed Human and Orion heritage. Just now, however, Wei Wuxian could tell that he was genuinely perturbed by the situation, despite what his calm mask indicated to the rest of the world.

When they arrived at the briefing room the rest of the away team had already assembled, along with the other heads of departments excluding Wen Qing, who Wei Wuxian knew would have gone to see to any potential injuries amongst the diplomats. Lan Xichen first ushered Meng Yao into the small auxiliary room used by the Captain for discussions which were better not heard by multiple ears, and Lan Wangji followed. As neither seemed to notice (or have a problem with) Wei Wuxian following them, he decided to take that as a tacit invitation to be present for the conversation. And what an enjoyable conversation to witness it was, where Lan Xichen had to sit Meng Yao down and be like “Did you murder your father”, to which Meng Yao replied “No, I would never jeopardise my position at Starfleet by murdering my father, he’s not worth it”, which was not quite the “No, I’d never murder someone in cold blood or generally hold designs of patricide” Lan Xichen was looking for. But then he did have a surprisingly pacifist and optimistic outlook on life, particularly considering he was raised by the same man who helped form Lan Wangji - pacifist and optimistic were not words one would use to describe the First Officer.

However, it was enough to look into other avenues. There were, after all, plenty of people who had wanted Jin Guangshan dead, and as far as Wei Wuxian could tell Meng Yao wasn’t lying. Lying, or even bending the truth, often produced a very specific mind-taste which was rather unpleasant. Another reason to be glad Jin Guangshan was no longer among them, considering the frequency with which the man did it. 

The four officers joined those waiting in the briefing room to hear a full account of the events. Many of the assembled crew members seemed energised or on edge or both. Nie Huaisang seemed particularly concerned, although what Wei Wuxian was sensing from him was more low-level enjoyment of the chaos. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, had just wanted a prolonged 12 hour nap on what should have been his day off. The briefing went on for a full two hours before they broke up to attend to other tasks arising from the situation - luckily for Wei Wuxian, this did not involve anything to do with smoothing the ruffled feathers of the diplomatic party.