Chapter Eight:

Tangerine Nights

It was almost summer break and the heat collapsed underneath a sudden downpour that left world drowned in a silver haze. Azuru opened her umbrella as she walked home from Brightwater High, enjoying the pitter-patter of raindrops against asphalt. When it rained like this, she could feel her body strengthen, as if the water of the heavens could reinvigorate her soul. She took in her surroundings as she walked. The quiet, docile suburban vista was something she wasn't too keen on, as she'd gotten used to the raucous inner city life of Los Lados. Within a few blocks, she'd reached her home—a fairly large house on a hill, where the driveway was located at the foot of said hill. She blinked a bit as she saw her mother's car was in the driveway rather early.

Usually, her mom came home at 7, but it was 5:39 right now. Early day, she thought, closing the umbrella as she walked underneath the awning. She set it down and jostled with her keys, opening the door and kicking off her flats by the welcome mat. Azuru's ears listened around and she heard the light footsteps of her mom, bustling around in the kitchen, preparing an early dinner.

"Home, ma!" She called out, as she walked down the corridor and past the den into the kitchen. It was a spacious one, with many cabinets, a dishwasher, a high-tech microwave and a counter with a granite tabletop.

"How was your day?" She asked. Azuru's mom had gone by the name Amie and she was also of an Azumarill lineage. Her fair skin, dark hair and bright blue eyes made her distinct from Azuru, who took her tanned complexion more from her divorced father.

"It was alright," Azuru said, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of cucumber water, "Class then cheerleading practice, usual stuff."

"That's nice," Amie said, chopping up some onions distractedly. Azuru gulped down the cucumber water and shut the fridge door, glancing at her mother.

"What you cooking tonight?"

"Oh…uh, maybe some spaghetti and meat sauce," she said. Azuru raised an eyebrow, confused.

"Mom, we're herbivores," she said with a laugh, "We don't eat meat."

"Ah…I mean, impossible meat, you know, the one made from plant matter."

Azuru looked even more confused. Amie sounded…off, and she wasn't sure why.

"Mom? You…alright?"

Amie set down the knife and inhaled deeply, "I'm fine…why?"

Azuru stared at her for a moment, blinking a few times and then shrugged, taking another sip of the cucumber water.

"I don't know I—" she noticed shallow claw marks on the counter. She walked over to the marks, touching them. Neither she nor Amie had claws, just normal humanlike nails. She turned to her mother. Amie smiled at her.

"Is there a problem?"

Azuru stared and without a single word, took out her smartphone, trying to dial for police. Amie knocked it out of her hand and pushed her against the wall. When the smartphone hit the ground it cracked and shut off. Azuru's ears went flat against her head as she was pinned. Without hesitating, she clenched her hand into a fist and the sink exploded with a burst of water and she aimed it at the head of Amie. The force of the hydro pump blasted her off of Azuru and sent her skidding across the kitchen floor, soaking wet. Soon enough, the illusion faded, revealing Mr. Roak. Azuru ran for her phone, desperately trying to get it to turn on. But when that didn't work, she darted for lan-line, trying to dial through there. But there was no dial tone—the lines had been cut. She dropped the phone and began running towards the stairs, going to her room. There'd been a second lan line there, but Roak grabbed her by the tail and yanked her back. Azuru was not remotely fast and there was no way she'd outrun him. When he pulled her back she nearly tripped and cracked her head against the balustrade, but he caught her before her skull could connect. He then pinned her down again, this time to the floor.

"Get off me!" She screamed.

"Shut the fuck up or I'll get you killed," he threatened, "I know you talked to two of my students. Did you break into my house the other day?"

"What!" Azuru gasped, terrified, "No! I didn't!"

Roak got off of her, pulling her up and dragged her up the stairs into her room. He shoved her in and locked the door behind him. Azuru shrunk back into the corner, horrified but Roak did not let up.

"I didn't break in," she said, her tail between her legs as she whimpered, "I-I swear."

"But you talked to two students, yes? A girl of Jolteon lineage, another girl of Vaporeon lineage, also…yes?" He insisted.

"Y-yeah…t-they w-wanted to know some stuff—please…Kit…please just leave."

Roak stared at her. She was starting to cry and her hands were up defensively, covering her face in case he lashed out. Suddenly he felt sick, but he continued on despite the horrors that started to seize his heart.

"What did they want to know?" He snarled, each word having a pointed hiss at the end.

"….W-why I transferred…and….what happened…"

Roak paced menacingly around Azuru, like a predator toying with their prey, "And what the hell did you tell them?"

"T-the truth," Azuru meekly responded, still trembling. Roak was confused now and it showed in his face.

"Why didn't they go to the cops," Roak pondered out loud. But then it hit him. There was no way the police would have believed them without evidence. Besides, the cops in Los Lados were not known to be useful or helpful. The alienation from law enforcement was absolutely a problem, as cops would often harass people in Los Lados, or in worse case scenarios, fatally shoot them down. Regardless, evidence would be needed before heading to any law enforcement. And that's why they broke into my house. Shit.

"They're scared of cops," Azuru said.

"You…broke your agreement. You signed an NDA…you took the money…and then you went and told somebody?"

"They said you were involved in that girl's death!" Azuru shouted, "And I believe them…because you would do some shit like that!"

Roak grabbed her, covering her mouth, "Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up right now before I snap your neck."

Her screams and protests were muffled as he forced her quiet, but soon enough, she calmed down on her own. Roak let her go and pointed a sharp, red claw in her face.

"You tell anyone else…you tell anyone anything, I'll kill you, you dumb bitch."

Azuru stared at him, terrified and angry all at once, "Fuck you, ol' creep…you took advantage of me."

Roak folded his arms, "Stop playing. You were into it."

"You got me drunk!" Azuru snarled, revealing her cute little fangs, "You…hurt me!"

"Oh shut up," he barked, exasperated, grabbing her by the ears and yanking her head back, "What happened to the pics I had of you."

She began shaking again, "I-I tore them up. I-I didn't want them out there."

"And my flash drive?"

She shook her head as much as she could with him pulling on her rabbit-like ears, "I-I don't know! Ion know!"

He slammed her back against her wall, feeling a thrill rush through him as he easily overpowered her. She leaned back, her eyes hooded but her body had been shaking. He stared her down and she flinched when he got off of her.

"I won't tell anyone," she whispered, slumping on the floor, utterly defeated. Roak shot an ominous look at her.

"You better fucking not," he growled. With that he conjured another illusion, turning back into Amie and headed down the stairs, cheerful as if nothing happened and out the door, jumping into his glamoured SUV and pulling out of the driveway. When Azuru heard that he was gone, she broke down crying. She curled into a ball and wept until she couldn't weep anymore.

Strika checked his phone, sitting in a local restaurant he picked out, waiting patiently. The restaurant was famous for Kanto's finest "cuisine," but truthfully it was just greasy slop. Regardless, this was all he could afford and he felt bad for picking this…but it was better than having this fly ass woman come over to his place, where his mom was. Within the half an hour, Belilah entered the restaurant, dressed in a tight, black and white dress and rhinestone heels, her purse slung around her shoulder with her afro done up in a beautiful way. Her foundation was smooth and flawless, her dramatic smoky eye went well with the lash extensions and her lipstick was a bright, kissable red that went well on full lips. Strika swallowed hard—stunned at how fine she was. He got up, pulling out a chair for her and she smiled at him as she took a seat. He sat back down, feeling his heart race. Holy fuck she is fire, she is fine, she is bad! Goddamn! When she entered, almost every man turned their head to look at her, with some oogling her so hard they could've broken their neck for a longer look. Strika was trying his hardest not to blush or stare, but he couldn't help it. Belilah noticed his stunned look and smiled coyly to herself, opening the menu.

"Ah-ha…sorry for starin, it's just you…are beautiful," Strika said. Belilah smiled at him.

"Thank you," she said. Strika nodded and looked through the menu also, wondering if she was put off by this basic shit.

"They got some good din-sum here," Strika said, "Ion know about the wontons but I like the chicken and broccoli."

"The half a lobster and scallop dish with brown sauce sounds good," Belilah said, closing the menu.

"Yea…" Strika agreed, "I'ma get some teriyaki chicken."

When the waiter came to their table, they gave Belilah a once over, looking at her in fashionable approval and pulled out their pen and paper.

"Your orders?" They asked.

"I'ma get the teriyaki chicken," Strika said, "And she'll have the half a lobster, scallop dish with the brown sauce, my guy."

"Alright," the waiter wrote down their order, "Anything to drink?"

"Cranberry screwball," Belilah said.

"Soda," Strika answered, knowing the waiter would ask for I.D and he didn't want to embarrass himself like that. The waiter smiled and nodded, writing down their drink orders and then headed into the kitchen.

"Soda?" She teased, "Tryna stay sober tonight?"

"Y-Yeah, for you," Strika chuckled, smirking at her, "You too fine for me to be losing my senses."

Belilah giggled and Strika gave himself a mental pat on the back. She's laughing…that's good.

"So what you be doing, fam?" Belilah asked, touching up her lipstick. Strika sighed, dreading this question. He avoided it as much as he could when they were texting, but he decided to be upfront.

"Yeah…uh…I'ma senior."

"Oh? What college you go to?" Belilah asked, smiling.

"…I'ma senior in high school," Strika muttered, sighing. Belilah blinked at him, closing her compact mirror and putting away her lipstick.

"Wait…how old you is?"

"Just turned eighteen two months ago," Strika said, grinning shamefacedly. Belilah stared at him but then she sighed.

"Well…you legal, at least…so…I guess I can dig it."

"Yeah…well," Strika shrugged. Belilah gently touched his hand and Strika held it back. Be easy…don't scare her off.

"I like yo eyes," she said softly, looking at him with her deep brown ones, "They're like a neon sign."

Strika beamed, flattered, "Yeah, I like yo eyes too."

"I hope you like smoking up," she said, with a sly smile, "Got some haze back home…after we eat, wanna…"

Strika nodded. The waiter returned with their drinks—a Pepsi for Strika and the cranberry screwball for Belilah.

"Your food will be up soon," he said, heading back into the kitchen. Belilah sipped her screwball and hummed happily.

"This shit mad good," she said, "Try this…"

Strika took a sip of her drink using his own straw. He smacked his lips a few times and nodded. It did taste good and the buzz was almost instantaneous.

"See nigga, told you it's good," she said with a laugh, showing off pure white teeth. Strika drank his soda, smirking behind the can as he downed his beverage.

Within twenty minutes the food came and Belilah looked more than excited for this huge portion. She wasted no time digging in, gulping down food as if she was a black hole that couldn't be satiated. Strika ate, not as quickly, but he was impressed at how much Belilah could put down in such a short amount of time.

"Oh damn," he said, "You can eat, damn."

Belilah smiled at him between two mouthfuls of food. She gobbled up her food, blowing through her huge portion in less than five minutes. Strika finished his food in ten to fifteen, unable to clean the whole plate. Belilah instead, finished it for him. Goddamn, he thought, as she licked her fingers clean. The waiter returned with the check, placing it on Strika's side. He reached into his wallet and placed a fifty, telling the waiter to keep the change. Belilah gave him a quick smirk. He got up, helping her out of her seat and walked with her out the restaurant.

"So yea I told the nigga to fuck off but then he started beatin' my ass cuz I got caught off guard," Strika said, "Arty was doing this shit to bother me…her and stupid ass fake hood fuck nigga boyfriend."

"She sound like a whole ass piece of work," Belilah said, her arm wrapped around his as they walked to her place.

"I mean…to be fair, I was kinda wildin' too, but she really…you know, a boujie ass…bih, I can't deal with that."

"Yeah I feel you," Belilah said, "My ex was on some wild shit too."

Strika hummed a bit as she stroked his arm, "What he do?"

"Yeah he committed manslaughter," Belilah said casually, not noticing the perturbed look on Strika's face.

"…The…fu—"

"It ain't as bad at sounds," Belilah said, "Us Bewear types don't be knowin' our own strength sometimes. He got into a fight and punched out some nigga. But he hit too hard. The nigga's brain swelled up and he died from it."

"…Wow…" Strika muttered. They crossed the street at the signal, turning west at 20th Ave.

"Yeah…that's why I don't be scrappin no mo," she said, "A single one-hit knockout could kill someone, ya feel me?"

"Yeah…but shit, damn. Yo ex in jail right now?"

"Yep," Belilah said, shrugging, "He gon be in there for a while. Like…twenty years."

Strika sighed in relief. No angry exes to deal with, he thought as they got into a residential area. The street lights turned on as they did, the sun sinking below the horizon, casting a backlit ambience across the dusky sky.

"You nice as fuck, though," Belilah said, "Kinda tired of datin nigga's who just wanna fight all day, ya know? Like I get it, we're mons, it's in our nature to fight…but we don't gotta give into it, yea?"

"I mean…it ain't that bad, ya know."

Belilah let go his arm to reach into her bag, getting out her keys as they stopped in front of her small house, wedged between two other houses, "Our ancestors used to knock the fuck outta each other for the amusement of humans. They bred us to like doing that shit. A lot of mons just can't help fightin'…its cuz it's so deep in us, we can't shake it out. A lot of things we can't shake out. We may be evolved, but at the end of the day, we still just Pokemon."

"Can't change a Zebstrika's stripes," he reminded her, "That's fine. It is what it is."

"Nah…that just sounds like…hopeless bullshit my guy," she said, unlocking the door and walking in. Strika followed her, looking around at her place. It was homey—small, cozy…all the things that reminded him of his home. The lights were a dull orange and the floor was smooth sandalwood. There were carpet runners in the middle of the hallway that was connected to the kitchen. The living room was at the very end of the hallway and her bed was in the room adjacent to the den. Instead of a door though, she had bead curtains.

She burned some incense in her living room—which had a center table, a small rug, a comfortable couch and a flat screen mounted on the wall. The kitchen itself was rather small and she lacked a proper stove, and so she used a hot plate that was placed on the limestone countertop. She reached into a drawer, pulling out some pre-made blunts and handed one to Strika. She lit hers and his and got comfortable, lying down on the couch and taking a long puff of the orange haze. Strika went over, sitting next to her. She smiled at him again and took off his shirt, ready to kiss him but paused when she saw scars on his chest and torso.

"How'd you get these?"

Strika took a puff of the blunt, "Fighting," he said matter-of-factly. Belilah sighed, folding her arms.

"In them underground cage matches, yea?"

Strika looked at her and she looked back. He nodded, "Yea. In fact…I got a fight later tonight."

"Damn nigga, you really like that shit?"

"It's decent—I feel alive, and I win some fuckin' bread while I'm at it. To be honest I ain't doing much right now. Might as well make some use of it."

Belilah raised an eyebrow and sucked her teeth, "Nigga you better be winnin' them matches then. Ain't nobody cryin over a whack nigga who gets knocked out the ring."

"Well damn," Strika said, slightly amused, "I just started, give a man some time to get good, ya know what I'm sayin?"

Belilah smiled at him, leaning in to give him a kiss. He kissed back, eager to go further but she broke it, giving him a sly smile.

"I ain't no thot," she said, "Fuckin' on our first date?"

"Oh! I didn't mean like that—I just—"

She laughed again, touching his face, "Ay, don't worry. You seem nice…I ain't tryna rush too quick into some shit though…I wanna…actually get to know you some more."

Strika noted that she was grinning as she said this and with that, she scooted closer to him, giving him another deep, long kiss. He kissed back, tempering his urges and allowing himself to simply follow her lead. When she broke the kiss again, she took another puff of her haze and leaned back comfortably in her couch.

"You said you gotta fight tonight?"

"Yeah," Strika said, putting back on his shirt, "You wanna come see?"

She took another pull of her blunt, chuckling, "Hell. Fucking. Yea."

The trap music was exceedingly loud tonight, pounding through the walls and reverberating through the floor. Laquan was present today, drinking with Infra and Nines—something Strika was surprised at. Nines never hung around Infra, but for some reason she was here? Strika walked hand in hand with Belilah over to his schoolmates, greeting Laquan with a bro hug and Infra with a pound. He waved to Nines who markedly ignored him and went to sip her margarita without a word.

"Ayyyy…." Infra leaned back, taking a shot at the hookah, "Looking fly, Belilah."

"Thanks," she chirped, leaning against Strika.

"So," Laquan began, taking a shot of vodka, "Heard you fighting tonight."

"Yeah," Strika said, "In thirty."

"You know who you fighting?" Infra asked, putting an arm around Nines who looked uninterested in his sly come-ons.

"Yeah, someone named… Shelia."

Infra gave him a look and sighed, taking another puff of hookah, "Bruh…"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Shelia, my nigga? She'll break every bone in your body," Infra warned, "She's of a Scyther lineage. She don't fuckin' play."

Belilah gave a worried look but Strika shrugged, "Yeah, I'ma be alright man. What's up with this tho? Nines, didn't know you came here."

Nines gave him a curt look, "I'ma go where the fuck I want."

"Okay damn, shit," Strika said, taken back at her sharpness. Infra giggled a bit, rubbing Nines' arm.

"Lighten up bae—"

She slapped his hand away from her and got up, walking away from them. She looked great in her tight orange party dress, turning heads as she went towards the bar. She was uninterested in all the banter. Laquan gave Infra a look and he sucked his teeth.

"Ion know why she even ask to come along if she gonna act like a frigid bitch the entire night."

Nines had been downing shots for the hour. She looked upset and although Strika never really talked to her, he had been wondering about her for the longest time. She briefly messed with Naz and she dated Big Smoke before. But other than that, she seemed to be…unapproachable to most men. Maybe something's bothering her, Strika wondered, but he stuck with Belilah tonight.

"She only ever dated two niggas in Los Lados anyways. Most of her boyfriends be old niggas with cars," Infra said.

"That's just a fuckin rumor man," Laquan argued.

"Nah I saw the bitch get into an Escalade with a nigga who looked like he was thirty…so…"

Laquan scoffed, downing another shot.

"Laquan… didn't you wanna date Nines for the longest? Why you ain't asking her out."

"I did," Laquan said, "She said hell no."

"Hell no to you? Star basketball player, my guy? The fuck she thinking?"

"I mean…we made out," Laquan admitted, "But when I wanted to go further she said no. So yeah I just left it alone. If she not interested, she not interested."

"Mad girls be on yo dick tho, why the fuck she ain't interested!"

"Cuz maybe she not into fire types my g," Laquan replied, exasperated with the conversation, "What it matter, anyhow?"

"It matter cuz the bih is badder than a motherfucker but ain't never wanna step with real niggas. Hanging out with that pretty boy junior Naz and…"

"Big Smoke," Laquan reminded him, "Big 'You don't want no smoke' Smoke."

"Oh…" Infra cleared his throat, "Yeah, well…he kinda do got some drip..."

"Big Smoke a drug dealer anyways," Laquan said, then he looked at Strika, "He said he prolly gon' drop out soon."

Strika shrugged, his arm around Belilah, "It be like that sometimes." He looked at his smartphone and the headed to the basement, Belilah in hand. Infra and Laquan followed, wanting to be there to support him for his upcoming match. As they went into the lower floor, Nines had spent her night brushing off men who approached her and texting. She sighed, blinking back tears.

Nines: Just…please come thru. I'm sorry. Just come thru.

As she waited for a response, Strika was taking off his hoodie, shirt and shoes and prepping himself for the battle. The announcer pulled the mic closer to her mouth as the crowd began to gather around the ring, loud and bustling in anticipation.

"You got this nigga," Infra said, "Just…be careful tho."

"Yeah," Belilah urged, "Don't do no stupid shit."

"And hit with yo left," Laquan reminded him, "Yo left."

Strika nodded, hopping up and down and shadowboxing a bit, hyping himself up before the battle. When the lights were finally on, he made his way through the crowd, climbing into the ring. Shelia, his opponent, was already there, waiting. She was sipping on an energy drink, which she tossed over her shoulder when the match was starting. The announcer decided to liven up the atmosphere. She turned up the music and shouted into the microphone.

"One on one tonight, folks!" She yelled, "In the right, returning renegade, Striiiiiiiiikaaaaaaaa! Give it up for this kid, bruh. He ain't no quitter!"

The throng whooped and hollered, jumping up and down as if they were at a rock concert.

"And in the left—fan favorite and well known baddie who'll lay any motherfucker out—SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEELIAAAAAA!"

The crowd yelled louder for her as she took off her shirt. She was in a sports bra and was not shy about showing how damn busty she was. She was fair skinned with short green hair that was shaved down to a neat buzz cut. Her eyebrows were neatly arched and her pupils were dark. She was shorter than Strika and a lot thinner, with the exception of those huge calves she had, which matched her equally large chest. But the one thing Strika noticed, other than her body, were the scythe-like blades emerging from her forearm. She also materialized her insectoid wings, getting in her fighting stance. The announcer looked absolutely enthralled.

"Live and let die!" She yelled, "Ready!"

Strika inhaled deeply.

"Set!"

Shelia crouched down, readying her stance.

"Go!"

Strika was moving as soon as she yelled "go." He swung at her and Shelia side stepped, slapping the back of his head and twirling on her heel. She quickly kicked him and he stumbled, losing his footing, but he hastily recovered. He saw that she was dancing—a strange, frenetic dance—jerking about and hopping in circles. Sword's dance, he instantly realized. She danced for simply a few seconds and he could see the veins in her forearm start to pop out as she flexed. She ran towards him, roaring. She swung her arm, releasing a gust of pressurized wind that flung him back against the metal wire borders, leaving a wide gash on his stomach. Strika howled in pain and the crowd responded with a volley of cheers. She went to slash him again and he sped behind her, grabbing her by the waist and flipping her. When she fell on her stomach, she hovered back to her feet.

"Hit that bih with a left, nigga! A LEFT!" Laquan shouted.

He hit her with a left hook, sending her reeling and then he took in a deep breath. His icy blue eyes began to glow and the lights began flickering. Shelia steadied herself and rushed him. Before she could get contact, Strika let out an electrical discharge. She screamed when she was hit with it. The crowd could see her eyes go blank and her body go still for a split second before shaking violently. When the electricity fully passed through her, she fell, stiff-legged, on her back, clearly paralyzed. She twitched and moaned, trying to get back on her feet, to no avail. Strika grabbed her and threw her out the ring. She hit the tables in the back, banging her head against one of them and blacking out. The crowd stared, silent for a second, before erupting into cheers and applause. Strika was panting, drenched in sweat and bleeding from his stomach. He collapsed to his knees, coughing up a few droplets of blood. Belilah got into the ring and helped him up, getting him to his feet and dragged him to the back. Laquan and Infra followed him to the green-lit room, where Cory was there, filing their nails and smoking a cigarette. They looked up and saw Strika.

"Damn…already," they said, "Put him here." They cleared a metal table and Belilah placed him on it. Cory wasted no time. They poured disinfectant on the sliced open wound. Strika screamed and wailed as it burned and Belilah held him down as Cory cleaned out the wound. When they were done, they sprayed hyper potion on it to stimulate the regeneration process. After that, Cory patched him up, bandaging the wound and gave Strika an energy drink to chug down. The announcer opened the door to the green room.

"Ayo, Strika dude," she said, "Yo prize money out in front. Claim it when you ready."

With that she closed the door and left Cory to their work. Strika smiled weakly. The prize money was 2000. He needed that.

"Damn nigga did you see yourself?" Infra said, "You clocked that dyke bitch into next fucking week. I think she shit herself when you fried her motherfuckin brain, holy fuck, nigga!"

"Yea," Laquan said, "Good thing you hit her with a left like I told yo ass to."

"Yo you can swing bruh, I gotta give you that. Damn and when you use yo electric moves—the electricity is blue! How fuckin' cool is that, my guy. Damn yo, you good at this! You need to put the moves on some these other cats out here, tryna boss up in this scene."

Strika laughed a bit and the let out a low "ow," as he did.

"You fight mad good," Belilah said, excited, "Yo…for a high school kid, you can sure scrap, goddamn."

"Y-yeah…thanks," Strika said, lying his head back down, closing his eyes, replaying the match in his head.

"You deserve a drink, ima buy you a few," Infra said excitedly, hopping from side to side, "Ayo, Belilah you better love my mans after this, this nigga real."

"He really growing on me," she purred with a sultry tone, nuzzling him.

"Alright, alright, let the man rest," Cory said, "Go outside. When he's better, he'll meet up with you."

"Gotcha," Infra conceded, heading towards the push door that led into the alleyway that connected to the street, behind a neglected liquor store. He opened it, letting Laquan and Belilah out first. He left last, letting the door shut behind him as he hopped into the alley. He lit a cigarette as he did.

"That nigga gon' be a prodigy if he improves his technique," Infra mused.

"Can't knock that hustle," Laquan commended, leaning against the wall. Belilah lit her own cigarette and stood with the two until she sniffed something.

"What is it?" Infra asked.

Belilah turned around and saw Nines standing on the sidewalk leading to the nightclub. She was kissing someone. When Infra and Laquan turned around, they recognized who she was kissing. It was Uniqua.

"Holy shit…" Infra whispered, "She's—"

"Gay," Laquan finished for him, "Damn…that's why she ain't wanna fuck with no real niggas out here."

Belilah shrugged, "So what? She's gay."

"…I didn't expect her to be gay, much less be with Uniqua's serial killing-lookin ass." Nines' ears perked up and she turned around and saw Infra and Laquan staring. Uniqua looked at them, scoffing.

"Right," Uniqua muttered, her voice the usual dull monotone she spoke with, "Great, these limp dick motherfuckers are here. Whatever. Guess I'll go now."

Nines grabbed her hand and shook her head and hugged her tightly.

"Ion care," she said, "Let em look."

Uniqua hugged back, "You sure?"

"Yeah," Nines said, feeling encouraged, "I'm sure." When they broke the hug, Nines looked back over her shoulder and flipped them off with flick of her tongue. She put an arm around the shorter Uniqua and walked off with her, her beautiful nine tails whooshing side to side happily behind her.

Infra took a drag of his cigarette, watching her walk away, "Always the fine ones too. Damn."