"You took them from me."
Veronica sits, cross-legged and entirely unimpressed, on the bench that rests just in front of her locker. Her gaze is trained on the River Vixens logo sewn into her shirt, just removed, as she folds it up meticulously.
She refuses to be rushed.
Only when she finishes her task, placing the uniform into her bag to be ironed at home, does she give Cheryl the courtesy of a passing glance. The redhead is out of breath and blushing, angry as Veronica has ever seen her, her eyes blazing with what may as well be baseless frustration. After all, they live in a democracy, and it was supposedly Cheryl's own girls that voted her out. Veronica didn't take them; she merely gave them a slight push.
That's the thing about Veronica Lodge. If she wants something, she gets it, and people aren't allowed to get upset.
"Took what, Cheryl," she asks, cocking her head to one side. She's clothed only in ivory lace, her dress still hanging up in the small space before her, and she retrieves it casually without taking her eyes off her incensed counterpart. Her tone is entirely innocent, without a trace of anything suspicious, and she smirks internally with the knowledge that she's playing a perfect game. Standing up, she takes her dress, which looks like something Wednesday Addams might wear, off its hook. No-one else would be able to pull it off, but Veronica accessorizes with a string of pearls, a Prada handbag, and more confidence than most models.
"You know what," Cheryl hisses, crossing the room in three strides. Her kitten heels click against the tile in a way that resonates throughout the space, and she too draws the kind of attention with her presence that, between the two of them, seems to come with wealth. "My Vixens."
"Yours…?"
Veronica pulls the dress over her head, taking care not to tug her necklace too hard, and takes advantage of the small mirror in her locker to fix her hair. Today, she wears a blue pin-up style headscarf to complement a somewhat old fashioned hairstyle. Looking over her appearance, she finds her lips to be lacking, and fishes in her bag for the color she used. The conversation seems only to take a small part of her concentration, as is one of her specialties.
"As I recall, Cheryl… I had the popular vote."
Finding the lipstick, Veronica reapplies, taking as long as she can, and with a quick look behind her in the mirror she can tell Cheryl is steaming.
Of course, Veronica knows the redhead isn't exactly in the best state, mentally. But that doesn't mean she didn't win. She's a Lodge. It's not as if she's going to give something like this up because of outlying circumstances.
Daddy would never do that.
She slams the locker door shut, turning on her heel to lean back against it and crossing her arms. She arches a perfectly sculpted brow, her trademark smirk gracing her features, and for several seconds Cheryl Blossom loses the ability to speak.
God.
Infuriating, impeccable, poised. All synonyms for Veronica Lodge. Cheryl will never be able to outmatch her; she'll only be able to tie, and that is a fact she's well aware of. Her fists clench and unclench several times, and the energy between them seems to shift as she accepts temporary defeat. The betrayal didn't come from the raven-haired snake… not this time. It came from her Vixens, those she trusts beyond most others, and that hurts.
Veronica is but a figurehead in this situation. She orchestrated a revolt that's been brewing for a long time, like the Luke Skywalker to the Vixens' Rebel Alliance. Cheryl has no quarrel with her.
But it doesn't mean she isn't angry.
And Cheryl can be a bit… brash… when she's angry.
Moving closer still, she flicks her head, letting her hair fall to one side so it won't impede her view. She leans in, pressing the palm of one hand against the lockers just behind Veronica's head. They share breath, but it's clear the Latina isn't intimidated in the least, her expression betraying no emotion other than subtle amusement.
"Stay out of my way," Cheryl growls, annunciating each word with power and heat. The sentence has bite, but what she doesn't seem to realize is that even this gives her away. Veronica's eyes widen a fraction, some understanding held in their depths, and before Cheryl can ask what the hell she's seeing the brunette has begun to speak.
"I think you'd rather I stay in it… wouldn't you? You haven't had such a worthy opponent in years, I can tell. Someone with your wits… your beauty…"
Veronica lets a gentle laugh slip at the incredulity that dominates Cheryl's face, knowing deep down that she's right. She lets her gaze fall to the redhead's lips for just a moment, not long enough to mean much but definitely enough to confuse.
Whether it be with men or women, Veronica has always been more than able to use her… wiles… to her advantage in situations like this. She knows how to play a person, how to make them think the way she wants, and if she has to use more unconventional methods, she will.
Veronica Lodge will stop at nothing to get her way.
It's just how she works.
"What are you talking about, Ronnie?"
Cheryl's breathless, and Veronica pretends to ignore it for her sake, instead choosing to lean slightly forward and lowering her voice to a whisper.
"I'm talking about the way you look at me when you think I can't tell," she whispers, victory written all over her features.
For the second time in three minutes, Cheryl forgets how to speak.
A/N: Well hi! I'm new to this fandom (in terms of fanfiction, anyway), and I'm just popping in at the end here to say hello!
Feedback much appreciated. I don't know if I want to continue this or leave it up to the reader what happens next, but if there is enough support I will definitely write more! Preferably in a way that brings the rating up to 'M'. ;)
Hope you enjoyed! Xx