DRUNK IN LEZBIHONEST
“First off, let’s not try to check on the guest list you know zilch ‘bout. The KKKartrasians aren’t even gonna be there, aka why I’m gracing a long time friend with my presence. I mean, Q, I still socialize with you even though you’re haggling with twenty tons of dead air up in your cranial. Second, the fact you’re so desperate you’re gonna go for a reach that’s throwing in my face you had to put in a good word for me for the sole fact it’s practically a white’s only kinda shen-dig is a low blow I wouldn’t even expect from you. You didn’t have to side step ‘round the fact I’m chillin’ in tan mom’s paradise of sun kissed skin all year ‘round, and my melanin is not one to mellow out even for the pointy top hats, and that makes them uncomfortable. It make’s them uncomfortable or whatevers else because it’s not the fact I’m not good enough, but the fact I am – in fact better then 99% of the wannabes showing up there – and I don’t freaking burn in the sun like toast left in the oven.” She sat back, watching and waiting. “We both know, everything they said, was a blaring, she’s not snow white so we’ll pass, brown doesn’t quite go with swatsztika’s on a Paris night.” She was trying to remain calm at that dig, but Santana hadn’t quite mastered keeping a cap on on her anger when she was met with a hard no in Elite society. But, with her slim arms crossed beneath her breast, and fingers digging into her skin, it was quite obvious she was triggered by her words. That a red hot heat of anger was pulsating through her tiny frame, and she was practically trembling within, head to toe. Full lips had crumbled into a pout that was rigged and oozing with spite.
Psycho – some thought that should be the real deal name for her ‘disorder’, and hearing it, she wanted to show how psycho she could be. Brown eyes once flickering with emotion stalled; a blank mask embodied the darkness. “I didn’t get ‘psycho’, and it wasn’t one, but it was more then a laundry list of GG’s lady boner, or run of the mill man boner, for you – quite literally out of nowhere. And me doing the clap back chronicles with double the clap, triple the hilariousness isn’t me going ‘psycho’ it’s doing a much needed call out on that crock of shit blog. Quite frankly, the only one who thinks I’ve gone ‘psycho’ about it is you and Mason – which is no surprise, ‘cos you two are the only ones who think during the tail end of our year in this place you’ve actually got a ripple of cellulite to stand on when it comes to my crown. The one I haven’t glued to my head, but that follows me ‘round like a lost pup. Making a joke, posting ‘why you always lyin’ gifs, and laughing – along with everyone – at how far GG has fallen isn’t grasping, or let alone being afraid. So, let’s make that clear, ‘cos in your need to try and de-throne me, or snuggle your insecurities with those tacky holiday lights that read, ‘Help! The lying song is my anthem ‘cos I’m always trying to lie on other people to mask my insecurities’, for the whole wide world to see is only a quick Google Map search under, ‘Desperate and Delusional’. You’re the only one who see’s me doing my usual, ‘tell it how it is’, as anything but the norm. And again, Mason, or shall I say GG, and you – which is a long running theme here – are the only ones stupid enough to claim I’ve fallen. I’ve got people parting like a drunk freshman for a senior dud every time I enter a place. I’m Queen to all, and it doesn’t surprise me not one tip has been sent in ‘bout this supposed ‘falling’ I’ve had from the top, or about how I’m ‘desperate’, or I’m ‘loosing’ my crown. The only peeps saying that is you and McCathCrap, and GG with one tacky post after another. Which is honestly having quite the shitty effect for you, ‘cos now everyone see’s how blaring and ugly your desperation for my crown is that you’ve got to send the weakest link in your one man fan club to try and destroy a legacy of mine that can’t be broken. Just because you’re desperation oozes into every sad reply to GG doesn’t mean mine are – in fact, I take pleasure in making fun of the dead beats, and GG is just that, a dead beat, and a joke.” She smiled, finally, her lips taking a break from the cold and strict twist of her lips together that it had been bounded in during Q’s whole outburst.
Santana had to shake her head and laugh at how far off the mark Quinn was when reading Santana’s actions. Because the fact of the matter is, she didn’t think – no, she knew her crown wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t afraid of GG, and knew her lousy attempts and jabs were just that, lousy. She saw It as more of a jester in her court. A mighty that had fallen to produce her courts favorite by the hour laugh-a-thons. So, to think GG had any effect on her top spot by some off key written post didn’t put fear in her, which is exactly why she enjoyed blasting GG for her Fox News bias for the girl standing in front of her. If anything, the only thing that truly irked Santana, was the bias she thought was so blatantly obvious.
“I have four minions, and Veronica was a means to entertainment, so if you must bag on my tight knit group, at least get something some what true about them – you’re starting to sound like GG herself.” Lips slunk into a sinister smile as she shook her head again, and laughed.
Upon her next round of claims, Santana had to pick her head up, and let the slightest amount of shock paint her face. “At least I do it to your face, and when it’s not, I do it in private! Can you say the same, ha?” Arms were crossed tight again, scoffs already going a mile a minute, until Quinn’s steady, then rapid tumble down hill.
The shatter in Quinn’s usual appearance was gaping, and Santana was faced with a familiar discomfort when people…hurt around her. It was because of her inability to understand how there minds wired in a factor to feel sadness, when she sought and felt anger in every crevice of her bean when sad things happened – or sometimes, she just felt nothing at all. But, instead of brushing it away or repelling it with an array of cackling and words blunt, and sharp with cruelty like her instinct told her too, she just stood there and listened. Because, for some reason, this touched upon a part of her conscious she wasn’t quite sure existed, or she had created on a desire to feel…normal. “You have a metabolism, everyone does. You might be feeling the repercussions of UES standard starving which causes it to slow at 5%, give or take. Not to mention, your muscle mass compared to your fat – which all women have, we are burdened with gaping twice our natural tight size to pop out a brat – also weighs in heavily on how fast it works. Just saying, you’re parents are wrong about your metabolism, and so are you.” She looked down, shrugging, as if her metabolism mumbo jumbo really did anything for the situation. Realizing that, her hands moved to one another like magnets, fingers wrapping together in a nervous tousle and hold as she thought about what to do next. She thought about her therapist words, and it was the root of her next actions.
Santana took the necessary steps forward and wrapped her tiny arms around Quinn for a tight embrace. One that started off considerably awkward, with her arms loose, so much so they were just sitting outwards a couple inches or so from Quinn’s body, until Santana envisioned the several movies she’s seen that relied on human contact for the plot, and it enabled her to move even closer. One hand snaked up her back so Santana’s fingers were cupping the back of her neck. They dragged across her skin in smooth soft touches. And the other arm captured her small waist into her tight embrace. “I think you’re good enough for the title, and beyond this title. It may not mean much, since we’re bickering and on the other sides of the tracks more times then not – but you’re the only women who could ever do what I do, you’re the only one who could rule other then I.”
Santana picked her face up from the crook of Quinn’s neck; the place it seemed to have settled into in the few silent moments of embrace. Her head turned as she guided her face away from the comfy place, twisting so her nose ever so slightly brushed across Quinn’s cheeks. “Sorry,” she mumbled, a jolt of uneasiness jumbling in the pit of her stomach. Santana’s eyes searched her’s, lips tipping into the slightest smirk as she silently aw’d at the sight of the usual unforgiving lights lighting up Quinn’s beautiful eyes. Santana was still close, face only inches from Quinn’s as she spoke. ”Because I’m scared if you do, you’ll reject it, or use it against me.” She stared into her eyes as the truth swept past her lips to live in that moment between them. Her grip had loosened onto her every so slightly, her fingers once across the back of her neck swept forward with her previous movements so her fingers rest lightly on her cheeks. Thumb stroking the soft skin, as she watched her, and searched her face for a reaction.
“You seriously think I care which bubble-headed socialites made the guest list and which didn’t? Come on, you should know me better than that by now”, she replied, her eyes rolling so far back they almost disappeared into their sockets. “No, no, you’ve got it wrong”, she said, her voice softening. “They said nothing of the sort- most of what they said was to do with how you were a ‘do-nothing socialite’. I mean, I can see how you might think that they would say...”she trailed off, feeling slightly guilty that she hadn’t explained herself, even though she’d been much too wound-up and upset to contemplate it. “They take girls from all over the world. I thought only to tell them about how you planned on winning a Nobel for your contributions to science. Nothing else”, she added, staring at the ground in shame and wishing it would swallow her whole. “I can see why you’d think otherwise, but please trust me on this...”
Her anger soon returned at the all-too-familiar sound of the other girl’s wildly inaccurate accusations. “No! It was an off-hand comment. Seriously? No one thinks I’m capable or worthy of being queen, and any time Gossip Girl- who, by the way, really isn’t worth yours, mine or anyone’s time- says as much, she’s probably doing so to mock me! And seriously, just stop. Making baseless accusations about who Gossip Girl may or may not be is seriously the least productive thing I can possibly think of, and it doesn’t put you in a good light, either. And I say this as someone who actually cares about you.”
“You know what? No. Who cares about your god damn minions? Not me, and I highly doubt for even a second that you do, either, so don’t dare try and defend them or their purpose to me. They’re irrelevant. And you can stop policing my behavior already, too. I was going to say something to the effect of ‘the alcohol made me do it!’ but you know what? I’m not going to, because I don’t need to defend what I do to you, or to anyone. And, as always, you have the upper hand here, so just please, at least let me live already! I’m done. I’m just...done” she trailed off, by now completely unable to conceal any emotion.
She listened intently to the other girl, though lost any cognitive ability to think straight upon hearing the words ‘pop out a brat ‘- it was a four-year wound which had never closed, and she was still particularly sensitive about that part of her life. “Maybe...” she whispered, barely audible and choked up as her words fought through tears, “...but it doesn’t change any-” her words faltered altogether as she became aware of the other girl’s arms wrapping round her, and after a tense few moments where she sort of hovered near her, pulling her closer. She gulped intently. “Y-you do?” she replied incredulously, barely registering the other girl’s words at first “You really believe that?” she added, shaking her head. That made one of them, at least.
“Don’t be”, she whispered, a few seconds off the beat, after registering the other girl’s mumbled apology. Her stomach turned and twisted as she registered the fact they were now making eye contact, and she glanced bashfully downwards for a split second, before gazing up again. Her cheeks were tear-stained and delicately flushed, though she was sure they had to be a vivid red, given how strangely hot she now felt. “I-I would never do that”, she whispered, wondering how she’d managed to get the words out in the first place. No one had ever held her before, not like this, and she was pretty sure she was feeling every emotion in existence at that one moment, if such a thing were even possible. “I couldn’t...”
