#nightmove

new york is a shithole full of shitty little yuppie hipsters, villanelle’s least favorite type of people, but the apartment they’re placed in is nice enough to forget about it. there’s a revolving door of security constantly armed to the teeth in the lobby area and air conditioning, two of many things they’re not used to. luckily, unlike the sleek exterior, the interior is rustic enough, its walls lined with brick with a loft overlooking the living area and kitchen and the bedroom behind a sliding door. villanelle takes the amtrak home from a job in florida, feeling freshly tanned and tired. after a nap, they decide to take a long bath with all of the oils by the big tub and braid their hair to fit the fuschia suit they dig up from the depths of their closet. there’s nothing to do, now that the excitement from the job is over, and now that the numbers are officially in their bank account they feel obligated to spend it. 

as the elevator door shuts, they hear footsteps rapidly approaching the door and sticks out their arm to stop it from shutting all the way. when the doors slide open, a woman with hair curlier than eve’s and dressed in a matching jogger set steps inside. villanelle smiles wide.