@vaempir
Tulip had never been one to cake on makeup much before, lipstick was her favorite, made her look like a proper femme fatale when she wanted, left nice rings around Jesse Custer’s dick, but not anymore. Busted lips were the perfect shade of burgundy (and even changed color from day to day! for free! what a prime friggin’ deal!), black eyes left eyeshadow useless, it was nice sporting them, scaring the shit outta people. Tulip wobbled on her steps as she made her way out of the latest bar she’d kicked ass in, wiping saliva and blood onto the back of her hand, wondering if this is how things would’ve been if she’d taken up Dani’s ‘viktor job.’ Those thoughts die down awful quick the moment she hears a strangled gurgle, the sound of fists on flesh.
Normally, she’d turn around, ignore it ‘cos she’s tired and a little buzzed, but whoever’s getting their stuffing tenderized isn’t making a goddamn noise and that bothers her. Tulip’s rounded the alleyway and sees the pair and, immediately, she’s slamming her fist into the corner of the assailant’s head, tossing her body into his to throw him off of whoever he’s layin’ it down on. Her mama’s boyfriend used to beat her; the beatings on her started after she bit his ankle while he hurt her mama (her mama did nothing when he burned those mean cigars into her skin). There’s a struggle, a hoarse, maniacal laugh spills from Tulip’s lips as bloody drool seeps onto the fucker’s face. It’s enough to freak him out into splitting, Tulip wishing she could’ve had a proper row with him, but she’s worried about the mass of cheap fabric at her feet.
“C’mon, let’s get you up, there, partner,” she reaches down, gingerly wraps a hand around a white, white wrist, sees his face. He’s beautiful, even amid the bloody nose, the busted, painted lips, the smudged eyeliner that looks as though it’s not been washed off for days, it takes her aback, Tulip blinking dopeishly, “We got matching looks,” she dumbly states, what a stupid thing to say, too, friggin’ weirdo.
