Summary: Nicky returns from medical.
Author's Note: Here's a short one I finished today. Hope it satisfies. In the meantime, keep sending prompts if you have any.
"So, I said, you know, Jason don't try to steal the fuckin' limelight on my eggplant joke, when you've already fucked me over for three bumps. So I go, an I say, that cap you've got constantly moulded onto your head twenty-four fucking seven is, the reason Jade and Drew don't hang around with you anymore like I do, cause they're embarrassed about the fucking developing bald spot on your head that's starting to reflect moonlight when you finally do take that shit off!" Barbara breaks into hoarse laughter, as the two enter the populated social and designated eating area of D-Block on their return from medical.
"You know, you fucking make me spit my rubs, Nicky baby. You're like Bart Simpson without the skateboard and sling shot, but with a vagina." Her grin widens, baring those shiny egg-yolk tainted teeth Nicky finds herself staring at each time she involuntarily ears a chuckle from the latter.
"Uh…Sure." She smiles, thinly. Keeping a proud, small nod to herself in success from the rules of her strictly straight and narrow book. Nothing wrong with a little self-pride. The blonde looks Barb in the eye, firm and friendly when the elder takes her by the shoulders.
"You really cleared my head, you know. It's like…Now I'm actually at a realisation in here." She taps the side of her temple mindfully. "I've been so blinded by all the shit my cunt-of-a-sister, fucking Carol, and her cunt-block bitches have been smearing in my eyes, that I forgot that they've been calling the fucking shots for too long. You wiped the shit out of my eyes, Nicky." She offers a warm embrace that a wide-eyes Nicky begrudgingly finds herself in. The blonde smiles, appreciative and ajar awkward by their sudden developed, kindred friendship.
"Well, if it wasn't for your diabolical freak-out, and, uh, mild case of pteronarcophobia, I guess my association and self-made cure for some very few instances of hallucinations, trippy paranoia, anxiety from some very wild highs back in the day, wouldn't have come into play. See, I knew all those downward spirals of depression would've come into good use somehow, somewhere. I'm glad to see you back from the pit."
Close-by, sitting and toying around with a hairbrush, Annalisa peers in. Both ears and eyes disconnect to the ramble that Daddy and Daya juggle on but ingest the near conversation, that more or less emit a green glow from the sharpness of her jealous stare.
"Last time I go anywhere near that shit after some laced, attempted assassination from a psycho cunt." Barb ponders; arms folded and posture straight like sudden knowledge of which particular psycho finally managed to hit through the sober cells of realisation in her brain. She shakes her head, followed by an eye-roll, and what Nicky swears was a lip-read of the word "motherfuck."
In gesture of 'anyways', the queen-pin unfolders her arms, returning her focus to Nicky, now slightly urging to rest the pounding that rackets through her freshly bruised ribs.
"If you need me for anything. You know where to come." Barb says. Almost slyly, like a shop-keeper handing out candy to their favourite customer. Nicky responds with nothing short of a thankful smile and salute as they break apart.
With a lip-smack and sulky pout, Annalisa shifts round at her surrounded table. Leaning forward, she chunters a petty "look who's back," with a head nod in direction of Barbara's approach. "Holy shit." Daddy says, coolly. Lorna catches a glimpse of Nicky, dozily shuffling to her cell in tire. "Oh, my God!" She pipes. A combo of excite and end to whatever fear she silently condensed.
The blonde catches a familiar gleam approach her, before yanking her into a tight hug that her aching bones yearn release from. She winces and scrunches her eyes, only leaving a small sigh of appreciation to the expecting mother. "Alright, alright, kid, thanks, you know, nothing but the same to you too, but I'm kind of, uh…In some pain here." Lorna breaks the hug to observe Nicky's face and locates the clean, purple patch that's evolved around her left eye. "Oh, look what happened to you." She whines, pouting sadly and worrisome – one hand resting on growing hump in her womb. "Yeah, well…" Nicky mumbles, stretching her neck to a side to earn a small click, "can't say I'm unfamiliar to this kind of…Square-up, rib-kick from girls almost double my torso height, but um…It has been a while since private school." She comments, leaving a weak smile on her lips.
"Oh honey, what happened? I was worried about you." Lorna wonders, tracing her thumb on the outline of her bruise that Nicky instantly flinches away from. The blonde hesitates a little. "I was helping out a good fellow artificially inseminate herself in the library to achieve a much wanted, mini eyebrow of her own."
"You…" Lorna starts to repeat; her face visibly trying figure out the words that came out like a failed, crude joke. The latter continues on. "So, then, you know, a bunch of ninjas in blue found us and, um, decided the test the strength of my temple with a wide variety of hardbacks doubled up in one-kay, or more pages." She cracks a wide grin.
"See, I told you those cunt-blockers were no good-ers, Nicky. They're sneaky, and thieving, and use their good jobs to fuck with us –"
"Uh-huh"
"Does it hurt all over." Lorna softly asks, fiddling with the fingers on Nicky's left hand.
"Um, I'd say about a strong nine-point-seven rating out of ten, from my right hip upwards to the fog of depression in my head, but, you know…" Her shoulders rise and fall in exhale.
"Long as I get to see your precious sweet cheeks around here, it could always be worse." Lorna replies with grin and small tilt forward with her chin, that Nicky always sees as some weird method just to smell – see if she really exists there and then. She always found it cute in some ways. Everyway.
"They'd probably even take down a pregnant lady, if they could." The brunette pouts with a mellow, and unforgiving tone in her voice.
"Okay, well, first of all, no one's gonna do that, so chill. Secondly, you clearly don't need inseminating, so we wouldn't be –"
"Oh, my God!"
"What the hell?"
"It's happening again!" Lorna beams excitedly, hands pressed on her pushed out khaki.
"Lorna, you can't just randomly screech things out, come on, man, you're gonna get a shot!" The brunette hurriedly takes Nicky by the hand and presses it to a space above her belly-button. "You feel it?!" She asks, a smile splitting her face.
"Holy shit…That's…"
"His little foot!" She cries, like a happy child in the puppy section of the pet store. Despite the blotted pain of throbbing bruises pulsing around her face when she so much as twitches, the blonde fails to hold the leash on a gentle smile that manages to slip its way through.
"Little lasagne just found an obstacle course in there, huh?" Lorna giggles, feeling one kick, two kick…Maybe a third and a fourth, as does an overwhelmed Nicky, each time the foetus makes contact with her palm.
"Jesus, she's really throwing some punches in there. It's attack of the kitten. That's a life in there, kid."
"Oh, Nicky, I'm so happy." She announces, in that overly emotional whimper Nicky recognises all too well. "Know what? This calls for celebratory pit-stop. Hey, Deitland, uh, I'd like to make an order please, thank you." Deitland approaches and shrugs, picking up her clipboard to mark off a list of products. "I'd like two Vanilla Cokes and maybe one of those little Nestle Animals Bars, if you would, thank you."
"As much as I appreciate the…Celebratory effort…An Animal Bar? Like, a single one? 'Sides, I'm not really craving chocolate." The mother expresses almost gassy-like, as she rubs circles on her stomach.
"More like something icy, or canned corn, or pickles and salt."
"Man, you're so fucking weird."
"Oh please, you love it." Lorna side-eyes.
"Anyway, it's not for you, it's for the baby!" Nicky gestures, taking her products from Deitland and shifting to an empty table, groaning while she sits. Smiling, Lorna shakes her head. "Well, I suppose, Kitten thanks you anyway, it's only manners." She swiftly unwraps the foil, and begins chomping, muttering strings of dialogue with her mouth full. "Mmh…It's really good!" She emphasises, much with the blonde's bemusement. "You're welcome." She says, opening her bottle and receiving a small wave from Barbara by her cell. Lorna notices.
"Ah, look at you, warming up to the boss."
"Yeah, saw her in medical. Swapped some war stores. She's cool. Helping her stay sober." She takes a sip; waves back.
"N'aw, you help artificial in-sem-an-ate people, you buy snacks, you're staying sober…" Lorna takes her firmly by the hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And now I'm sat here. Two bottles of Vanilla Coke and an Animal Bar. Celebrating Kitten's little kicking."
The blonde smiles to herself. Out loud, it sounds sad. A cling on to those daft little moments that keep you occupied and focused on things that barely matter. Except they do. To her. And clearly to Lorna, as depicted by the soft glint in her eyes that prove she cherished the moment between them. It's funny, stupid – but worthwhile all the same. Even if her guts feel stretched and tangled from a series of fist-punches.
"You want me to ask Daddy for something for your bruises, she got all sorts of things."
"Well, I don't persist on being one of his little Oxy side-hoes, plus I'm not that naive, or desperate for now, so uh, nah, I'm good. Think I'll ride this one out. But thanks, kid." Lorna smugly smirks, placing her hand back to where a series of small punches begin to strike.
"Looks like little Kitten's got my back on that one too." Nicky observes, feeling like a proud dad.
Weird, she thinks.
