A Stray Woman
Explaining a Name
"So if we get separated I ask for a red-headed gringa?" Sands sat cross legged on his bed, Red was in front of the mirror, fussing with a scarf.
"I haven't got red hair" she said distantly.
"Then" Sands paused to lick, gluing a cigarette "why-the-fuck are you called Red?" Annoyed and grumpy, he put it away and begun to roll another one. Even if he couldn't actually smoke indoors, he sure as hell would busy himself with cigarettes.
Red obviously didn't give a fuck about him, obsessed with... "Did I just destroy myself? In you mind?" ...herself, exactly.
Sands put his new cigarette between his lips and pretended his inhale filled him with lovely poisonous gas. May the tyrannifuckical Nazi daughter burn. "Can't you dye it red?"
"Don't tempt me. It took me years to regain my natural color. You know, when you start t-"
"I'm not interested."
"Okay, okay." She sighted. "You don't need to describe me. Just ask for 'Red; the gringa' and everyone will know who you mean."
"Why don't you tell me what you look like?"
"I enjoy the power."
Sands tried to scorch her with a black glare. He really tried. To his amazement it seemed to work, because Red spoke and actually told him something. "Somehow, it's nice. The less you know... it's free. Appearance is so trapping." She made a conclusion, "It feels fresh being around you. I'm blank, and unknown and new."
It would be nice to stuff down all his cigarettes in her throat, lighted, and watch her choke to death.
Watch. Sands stabbed his unused cigarette till it broke. Red had turned transparent, was watching him, and he couldn't feel her. Only the time. It twisted and lingered and ate at him, till he had to speak. "I don't like unknown areas."
Red walked over to Sands bed and sat down beside him, leaning back against the wall, just as he did. Near but not close, nothing touched. "Of course you don't" she whispered, not comfortingly; she was bleak, talking to herself.
Sands was cold, and the silence started to twitch, creeping up along Red's back. "I have brown hair. My eyes are grey. Not ordinary." She shifted "More dark. Like oily, poisonous smoke. Eh..." This road was too steep; Red constantly fell back. "Yeah."
Sands took benefit. "Very interesting. Why are you called Red?"
A nice long fine murderous silence.
"It was my own doing, I guess. Not that I told people to call me Red, but... it was fitting. So, I responded to it." she searched for something to follow, but found herself in a dead-end, once again.
"Go on."
Red didn't feel comfortable. She suddenly moved off the bed, reacting with her spine. Sands arm flew after her, but not quick enough. His hand dropped, and then his head tilted back, face hard, blank, lean, merging with the black sunglasses.
With this healthy space between them, Red could finally find her bearings. "It's such a silly thing. I can't tell you in this strained- it's wrong atmosphere."
Sands was waiting.
"Fine." Red gritted. "I use red lipstick. All the time."
Sands just quirked an eyebrow, and Red burst out, laughing, easing.
"It's kinda morbid really, red is for dim lit nights" she pulled off her red lipstick's lid, applying while she spoke "not for bright broad daylight." She smacked, similing madly, "Lets go!"