gruesome twosome;
tripfindlay:
Trip didn’t bother turning down the music, letting it blare around them. Noise bled into the crevices of the van, providing a relief to the monotony of what felt like a regular day. Sometimes, he felt as though his mind was less of a network of thoughts and memories but more of a beehive– chaotic and jerky, much like the music that he played. Mickey entered the van, bags first.
He reached for one, tossing it into the backseat. The duffel landed on the seat, Piotr’s old place, now a bed of empty Mountain Dew bottles and unwashed band shirts. Trip snickered at the words, “Hi yourself, fuckhead.” The greeting wasn’t unexpected, the two fell into a rhythm easily– despite the years that stretched between their interactions. “Nah, I decided to get into meth, it makes me look healthier.” He waited for the door to click behind her, tucking long limbs into the vehicle before he shifted it into reverse. “Your sunglasses make you look like you’re undercover.”
She sunk down into the seat, bracing herself for the whiplash that had become second nature with Trip’s driving. Her lips pursed as she watched him throw her bag, “You didn’t see the handle with care sticker on that?” Mickey asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm, moments before the second one went sailing through the air to join the first.
“Fucking disgusting, they could probably film one of those dumpster Febreeze commercials in here,” the brunette remarked, her neck craning to see the filth that covered the back seat. Turning back, she nodded. “Meth’s a solid choice. Ever fall into bath salts? Makes meth look like Flinstone kiddy vitamins.” Mickey grinned, her smile always toothy. “I am. Who the fuck wants to be seen in this shit hole?”
