curiosity killed the cat , but satisfaction brought it back ! the assumption that humans didn’t naturally come in the pink and magenta variety was common sense , yeah ? a new variety of the scene or punk scene with the smeared makeup and large hair , perhaps , though contrasted with the inverted heart shimmering against her chest ; she was nothing but alien ! not that majima minded , of course . weird was wonderful , a fact he knew much too well if gaudy skins and leather didn’t give it away . he might of been staring from much too long from where he was leaning , sudden words breaking stone cold stare into something much more relaxed : a catlike purse of his lips in intrigue , one hand going to his hip as he turned to fully face the oddity .
“ i’ve seen weirder . just ain’t often that i see pink people . i like yer’ style , lady . “ voiced in his typical exaggerated drawl and he almost felt a laugh come up in his lungs , fending it off with a well-masked snicker in his nose . he might of had come off as sarcastic , given how quick to dismiss the passive aggression , but for a man of his lifestyle , so tainted and stained with brutality ( morality ? who was she ! ) , he was so difficult to faze !
“ looks like you’ve been cryin’ . got somethin’ botherin’ ya’ ? “ single eye peered over black streaks and a seeming redness that flustered her bottom eyelids , reminiscent of times he had to comfort his hostesses after a rough night at the cabarets . to anyone , a look like that would of torn at their heart to pieces ! even for a dog such as majima , he had a heart SOMETIMES , didn’t he ?
GOING ON THE defensive was so instinctual for her by now that it happened as naturally and easily as it did for a human to breathe — a basic necessity, a bodily function performed automatically, without her even having to think about it, just to keep her system alive. SURVIVING. Still, no matter how practiced and basic it’s become for her by now, Spinel still had trouble disguising the all-too-telling body language that gave the bitter truth of her emotions away in a heartbeat. It would be immediately obvious to anyone looking at her at the moment, even from a distance, that as casual as she made herself sound, she was guarded, unsure. The tension in her shoulders never slumped, and she leaned in a way that tilted her back from the stranger before her, as if everything inside her wanted to flee. Not out of fear, but out of a need to protect, to ISOLATE.
EVEN WORSE, THERE was still that stupid part of her, that foolish, hopelessly naive part of her that she kept trying so desperately to kill, that LONGED for companionship. That looked at any new face and immediately dredged up all that old hope that maybe this could be a friend, maybe this could finally staunch that bloody wound that had lingered for the past 6000 years, fill the void that had opened up a chasm in her chest for so long . . . that was the part of herself Spinel HATED the most. Not everyone could be a best friend — and this guy certainly didn’t seem a likely candidate, she had to remind herself.
STILL, SHE HAD never been one to pass up the opportunity to be flattered. Something in her softened at his compliment — even if she DID catch the sarcasm, it had been so long since anyone had said anything nice to her at all — and she let a little smirk brighten her angry features. ❝ Oh, yeah? Saaaay, your style ain’t so bad, yourself! I didn’t know humans could dress so fancy! ❞ She never really could surrender that part of herself that was so eager to please, much as she tried.
HIS NEXT WORDS were enough to chase whatever pleasantness she’d had away from her countenance. The fact of the matter was that she had been crying, but it wasn’t like he needed to know that. Humans were an insatiably curious bunch, but never really CARED about what they were asking, never really empathized with whatever became the next object of their fascination. Bitter as she was, she eventually realized he’d been talking about the marks on her face, and it occurred to her to be embarrassed. Still, she toughed it up and simply snarled, ❝ Hey, if I’m cryin’ about somethin’, bub, it’s just ‘cuz — ‘cuz ya stink so much! ❞ She punctuated her feeble comeback with a disjointed, slightly hysterical laugh, a jagged echo of the giggles that had once been so innocent. She still attempted at jokes, even now, though they weren’t any good — she supposed she never could escape the role she’d been made for. ❝ What’s it to you if I was upset, anyways? ❞
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