@queenv liked for an episode based starter
The summer had meant that she hadn’t been someone to be there during what was, she knew, a difficult time for Veronica Lodge. Stripped of her friends in both herself and in Cheryl Blossom, they’d taken off, but known of the mess behind. Phone calls from truck stops revealing the progress (or lack thereof) on the case as it moved forwards, the ongoing demolition of the Southside. The war that had been left to a simmer with the Ghoulies, for what idiocy they wrought upon it. And then there was Veronica Lodge, doing her best to be the girl with a spine of steel, lips like cherry, and raven haired locks, with the stare that would reduce a man to a frozen state of being.
And she’d been kneecapped, thanks to the man that she called father, for the sin of picking a boy over the mafioso inspired set up he desired within his clan. It was hard not to feel sympathy for what felt so transparent, shocked that they even managed to advance the idea of 1st degree murder in the absence of evidence. How months were dragged, but then, wasn’t that the life of any Southsider? Not at all opposed to the fact that he needed the help now, seeing more of him than his paramour upon her return, though she made a point of finding her outside of the court, as the sentencing was put to a pause.
“Hey.” a hand at her arm, brows knitted with concern, there was no romance, no beauty to the gray morning that stretched out above them. A listless reminder of how fucked up this was, despite the summer that swelled and left them sweltering within that enclosed space, the ancient courthouse put to the test as he was put to trial. “I just...” what. Wanted to check in? How is the most horrible moment of your life panning out, sweetheart, how’s that PTSD flashback to your father’s own trial? Swallowing thickly, past her own known stumblings. “... can I take you out to grab something to eat? You look starving.”
