Liar
A Repo! the Genetic Opera fanfiction
By Andiroo
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His voice was deep and had the slightest huskiness, his eyes were Zydrate blue, and his hair was a plethora of colors all dreadlocked together from years of being left unkempt. Grease paint gave him a deathly pallor: a mockery of everything women sought in beauty: 'pale skin', marred theatrically with black smudges on his eyes and artfully applied to his lips. His clothes had been scavenged from the dead, and thus always held a little of that formaldehyde undertone, no matter how many times they were washed.
She was petite and pure and innocent, her brown eyes wide with fear, uncertainty, and a morbid fascination with the world outside of her iron bars. Collecting bugs that entered her prison cell, she killed them mercifully in killing jars with alcohol and cotton balls, pinning them spread-eagled to bits of cardboard her father produced for her. She likened the entire world outside to a nasty bug that she had yet to inspect, though she'd heard of it through the screens that blared night and day. When she met him on that fateful night, she hadn't expected to be so completely enthralled in his charisma that she'd faint from the excitement of GeneCops swarming the graveyard outside her mother's tomb. He escaped, and she was left with a burning desire to know more.
She sought him out several times during her trips into the Outside, and greedily demanded to know everything there was to know about life free of bondage. She was surprised to find that everyone was bound in some way, shape, form, or metaphor, yet her disappoint didn't quell her unending curiosity.
She found him again after the Opera, blood still drying on her deathly pale flesh. She didn't need to speak as he beckoned to her with one hand, the other preparing a fresh hit of Z for his client. The Scalpel Slut was bottle blond and twiggy, saline breasts beyond disproportionate for her boyish frame. She clung to him just as he beckoned to the other, his gun sparking at the emaciated angle of her neck, and she stumbled off.
"Kid," he began, and she silenced him with one finger.
"I'm not a kid anymore," she told him quietly, brushing the blood-soaked strands of her wig back over her shoulders. "Woman, then. I'm not a hero," he told her brusquely, eyebrows narrowed slightly as he continued to speak. "I'm not some guy with a heart of gold damaged beyond all hope of repair," he growled, holstering his gun while circling around her with a predatory gait. "I'm a spectacular cesspit of everything that's wrong with this society." Her back pressed against the harsh brick of the alley wall, rough red stone digging into the skin, drawing the tiniest amounts of blood.
"You're a liar," she said simply, and stood on her very tiptoes in order to press a kiss to his grimy cheek.