#sdnshouldpaymemore

Being roommates with prism & flambaé is a blessing and a curse. You live in west Hollywood with is AMAZING but with their job and reputation, you found your being a house mom to their friends and colleagues or even hookups.

Tw: cussing, General criminal things, breakups, hot-comb mention?

Doomscrolling lead you in no-mans land your ex posted a photo with a new girl. God she was pretty, her hair reminded you of those 70's groupies - it made sense as the scumbag of a man always loved the rockstar life. The glances in the mirror had you seeing something, or maybe it was the lack of sleep as you leaned towards your craft scissors.

Now you're sitting in a very small bathroom with the two yelling at each other on what to do with your hair. Like angry parents, they scroll through photos trying to save every inch they can.

"IT'S FUCKING FRENCH" Chad yells, the sound of metal hitting tile brings the three of you to a stand-still.

"It's what?" Alice stares blankly at him, the air still as if you somehow didn’t exist, her face contorting at the thought.

Chad gestures towards you, his hands waving before colliding with his temple.

"French, I don't fucking know its like chic or whatever the fuck." His arms gesturing at the mess you made.

Alice nods and taking the scissors to your failed attempt.

Why did you just take this? The two bickering about you like some child, the bar seemingly like it's getting lower by the minute. Your throat tightening at the thought that the most affectation you've gotten in months is coming from villains in rehab.

"Fuck they're crying." The words fall from Chad's lips the moment a tear finally falls.

Alice ushers him out, he'd never been good with emotions.

Her hand on your shoulder as she finally closes the door.

"Y'know once my mom burnt my hair before school pictures." Her voice softer, as she found her way back to you.

"She was fixing my hair, y'know straighten it out and all." Her hand plays with the pink strands of hair, "but she was chatting with my Nanna and next thing I know I had lost a good bit to the comb."

Silence returned as an stiff laugh escaped her lips.

"She sent me to school in my Nanna's church wig." The pink strands still being twirled. "Anyways, it grew back."

She shrugs as she rises, looking at you now with intent.

"Give me 20 minutes, your trust and a 'J ."

Her voice dripped with confidence, knowing that if you just let her help everything will be better.

So you nodded.

There was no way you could leave looking like this, so you had to trust her. It wasn't like you could afford a hair appointment or get even get into the stuffy salon's within your budget.

Alice lead you to the kitchen, the counter cleared and a towel by the sink. She already has Chad pulling out her assorted supplies, his hair pulled back tight.

She gestured for you to lay on the counter, dipping your head back into the sink. The water rushes across your scalp and cold metal embraces your nape, a sensation you had nearly forgotten. You can just barely hear your roommates' conversation over the suds taking form upon your scalp. You never thought you'd miss the ache that now forms in the crook of your neck.

Alice's hands finish rinsing the last bit of conditioner from your hair, as Chad tries to strike her interest in different styles of cut.

The towel wraps you tightly, warm and rough against your face as they sit you down with different style's displayed across screens. Patient faces as you choose; A new style, a new start...

A new you.

The scent of bleach and weed filled the kitchen, as a concoction was spread across your scalp.

Letting your eyes rest, at this point it was out of your control. This wasn't a problem you could solve - and even if it was?

You'd hardly had taken care of yourself in months, managing the rotating door of characters that ended up on your couch. If not, you'd be saving your coworker's ass at your dead-end job. At this point, there was barely a candle to burn.

Lavender bubbles caress your face as Alice finishes her last rinse.

Damp hair against your nape as you move back to the chair again as they finish up.

──────────

"Now as payment, gotta go to the bar with us" Alice quipped before revealing her work. Her hands over your eyes as she walked you to the mirror.

"And! you have to do karaoke!" Chad joined in, already sat for the reveal.

You stopped, and her hands drop.

Hard Reset.

That almondy blonde fell onto your shoulders, pinky hues hinted through the ever changing light. Before you could even thank them, you were sat back down.

The bar wasn't a question, nor a matter to reschedule. You were going out tonight now and going to like it. The curler teased at your skin, heat ever growing along with the music.

Your face squeezed as Chad applied his touches, liner tight against your eyes and a lipstick stolen from his auntie's drawers.

Despite many protests, they made their plan clear.

You can be sad, but you'll be hot too.

"Uber will be here in 10." Chad yells out from his room.

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

@sdnshouldpaymemore

The first time Courtney heard about the Phoenix Program, she thought: what a dumb fucking idea.

Not because she didn’t think people deserved a chance to turn their lives around, but because she figured this must be yet another exploitative endeavor under the guise of redemption. No one in their right mind would willingly hire criminals to do the work of heroes. So the only explanation is this was a trap. A means to blackmail and subjugate and control those desperate enough to think this program could save their lives. Put them in metaphorical handcuffs presented in contracts and toss them in prison to rot if they didn’t do as told like little obedient soldiers. Other side of the same fucking coin Shroud is on.

The only problem is that Courtney is one of those desperate people. Enough that she contemplated it, eventually even considered it, and then lastly … decided to go for it. All it took was blowing up one of Torrance’s most revered heroes to slap some sense into her and make her think: hey, Courtney, maybe killing innocent people isn’t what you wanna do? Even if your life is at stake?

Of course, Courtney didn’t divulge that part to SDN when she showed up at their offices. Likely she’s never going to tell them. Helps that the Red Ring and Shroud are taking credit for Mecha Man’s fall but … the real person to blame for what happened to him is … her.

And now here she is, in the conference room, sitting with arms crossed, waiting to meet her new handler and be briefed on how this whole thing’s gonna go. Blonde Blazer already gave her the gist of it, and she’s been … weirdly welcoming. Like, a little too welcoming. Even said she’d help her brainstorm a new alias because “Invisibitch” doesn’t capture the essence of a hero. Whatever the fuck that means.

The two could not be more different and yet, Viktor has a fond respect for Dale. Time and time again they had managed to skim past all the terrible PR and convince the public it was not shit being smeared over SDN, but chocolate. But their was plenty of holes to punch in the stories, if anyone was interested in doing... which he was. It was in his interest to see SDN, specifically the Torrance branch on the negative in the public eye. They were making his side hustle more difficult to pull off. So when the time came for the Press conference to address the people of Torrance about the Red Ring's war, Viktor was there in the front and center. For some reason the Torrance Tribune was given the exclusive on interviewing them... everyone else was given an excuse not to show up or simply... vanished. So, here he sat across from Dale, one leg crossed over the other. His notes in order, which he pretended to skim through as if he didn't already know them by heart.

Xue laughs, one leg dangling off the edge of the bench she’s lying down on. It’s nice that he asked! Dale is a smart guy, and as much as it annoys her to admit it, he’s got a good head for framing… social media stuff, if not physical photography.

[txt: dubble dee] u can give input!

[txt: dubble dee] I might not do what ur sayin but ur smart so I probably will

[txt: dubble dee] just no freakin job interview photos!!!

[txt: dubble dee] u gotta know

[txt: dubble dee] i’mma do things my way! It’s my way!

[txt: dubble dee] MY WAY OR DA HIWAY!!! >:P

"Hiya Dale. Doing alright?" Emma tilts her head, "Heard that uh...since your mandatory leave started you've been going stir-crazy. This is my way of saying 'you alright over there?' So...yeah."

flambae scoffs loudly, and the heat answers it immediately, flaring under his skin. "yeah, no shit!" he snaps, words coming out like an accusation; flames lick up his forearms before he bothers to stop them, orange light stuttering against the walls. "because everybody loses their fuckin' minds the second I breathe too hard in public." he paces, fast and agitated, boots scuffing against the linoleum floor. "you think I started that shit?" his hands gesticulate through the air, wild and angry. "everyone was fucking laughing and then-- suddenly it's reports and damage control and..." he jerks his thumb back toward dale, eyes blazing. "now you're on my fuckin' case like I don't have enough pilin' on--"

but then, he stills. it's not dramatic, there is no snap, but the heat under his skin checks itself, like something hit the brakes hard. weeks. the word lands heavier than it should, scraping against all that pent-up noise in his head. he remembers the Sardine in flashes: cheap neon glare, the crack of glass, bodies scattering, the sheer fuckin' euphoria of it. he remembers thinking it'd be over by morning. a report, a slap on the wrist maybe. because who fuckin' cares about a villain bar being busted up--

he hadn't thought about what came after. his shoulders sag a fraction, the room feels smaller. shame creeping in sideways and vicious. because he remembers trying to fuckin' torch robert. remembers the white-hot urge to burn him where he stood once the ugly truth was out. remembers everything mecha man took from him - fingers, tooth, pride, the version of himself that didn't know he could be better. and worse - how robert is just ... robert. how that complicates everything.

his jaw clenches before he exhales, a faint whistle betraying him. he scrubs a hand back through his hair, restless, embarrassed in that way he fuckin' hates. "yeah. I ... " a frustrated huff. "--didn't think about it takin' that long." and that's the issue, isn't it? he just doesn't fucking think. he looks at dale then, really looks - wet rag of a normie, tired eyes, shoulders wound tight, broom up his ass. flambae shifts his weight like a scolded child, heat dropping a notch, voice losing some of its bite. bitter humiliation twists his gut, hot and mean.

"listen. I wasn't tryin' to piss on your work." he mutters, no longer hostile. just … conflicted. hell, he didn't even know that was a job people had. "just--" he cuts himself off and sighs, irritated, mostly at himself, and his shoulders lift in a tense, reluctant shrug. "I know you cleaned it up, okay?" he adds, grudging but real. "dunno what you want me to say."