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From:

rathercommon

[ Ah. This time she holds out her hand, actively demanding the pipe. She doesn't speak until she's taken a heavy drag off it. Only then: ]

Like thinking that the system wasn't rigged. Taking a rich and powerful man to court and thinking that any good would come of it. Everyone told me I'd lose but I still tried, because I really thought that if I just cared enough, and was good enough, it'd all turn out. It didn't.

[ Handing the pipe back. ]

Your turn. Shitty thing when you were a teenager.

$nastygram: (C:\tty)$

From:

nastygram

I do not want to swap teenage stories, you cynical bitch.

[And she doesn't. The insult sounds a little fond. Darlene leans forward again, over her crossed legs, fingers fumbling for the lighter and the piece. It's a long reach.]

You haven't actual seen Heathers, right?

From:

rathercommon

[ What is happening. ]

No. I haven't. Is it good?

Edited Date: 2016-11-08 04:11 pm (UTC)

$nastygram: (C:\derf)$

From:

nastygram

So good. If it was actually a thing here I would rec it to you but at best they're going to have a shitty offbrand. "Pleathers".

Anyways-- [Another hit; Darlene frowns down at the piece and gets another in quick succession.] Basic premise is this girl and her boyfriend kill the head rich bitch of the school clique and fake it as a suicide. Then they kill some more kids.

Point being, the brutal murder of the popular and wealthy elite was a motif that really appealed to me in my childhood. I also liked horses, Ferris wheels, blanket forts, frozen yogurt, and the open fucking road.

[She bumps the bowl against her chest, a self-referential gesture.]

That's me.

From:

rathercommon

[ By some fucking miracle, Kitty manages to swallow her impulse to point out the plot of that as problematic. (Thank you, drugs, and your ability to make someone chill out just a little.) Instead, she engages with what matters a bit more. ]

Frozen yogurt's new for me. It's bloody good, though. The two outrages of my world - slavery and no frozen yogurt. [ She smiles quickly, then leans her head on the heel of her hand, asking - ]

Did you have a brother or sister?

$nastygram: (C:\aliceandbob)$

From:

nastygram

Have. Yeah. And he's great. [Fairly, she adds--] Kind of a dick sometimes, pretty messed up--aren't we all--but the greatest.

[Stupid proud smile, which she transforms quickly to a scowl before she leans forward to hand back the piece.]

This is pretty much smoked out but I think there's one last hit. I want Froyo now. What is this shit?

[The baked goods. Darlene peers down at them, dubiously.]

From:

rathercommon

Oh. Erm - shortbread -

[ She points to the cookies and the hipster-ass mason jar beside it. ]

And lemon curd. Dip the cookies in the lemon curd. It's nice, a bit sour. And those are salted caramel brownies. It's a good recipe. If you like chocolate. And something a bit salty.

[ She takes the last hit, then lets out a slow relaxed sort of breath. ]

$nastygram: (C:\crufty)$

From:

nastygram

Uh-huh.

[Incredulous, Darlene looks up at Kitty.]

And when you went to the nauseatingly charming bakery to pick this up, were there actual gingham curtains? Asking so I know if I'll have something to wipe up my vomit with if I ever end up there.

[She picks up a brownie anyways, an indelicate grab, and chomps down.]

From:

rathercommon

[ Kitty squints incredulously at Darlene - ]

I made them, didn't I. Why on earth would I buy them?

$nastygram: (C:\net.personality)$

From:

nastygram

Seriously.

[Flat stare from over the top of the brownie.]

Okay, then where are your hipster-ass hand sewn gingham curtains for me to barf on. Holy shit dude, are you for real? Don't you own a freaking car garage or something? Is this like, your way of screwing gender roles? Greaser chick and cooking grease shit?

From:

rathercommon

[ She wrinkles her nose. ]

It hasn't got anything to do with that. I'm just good at it. Sometimes it's nice to do something you're good at and that you know how to do.

[ She gestures at Darlene - ]

Good, yeah?

$nastygram: (C:\handwave)$

From:

nastygram

Um, I'm eating it, aren't I.

[Which is an aggressive yes. Darlene chomps down with another bite.]

Okay, but I straight up refuse to believe that you're single issue on this. Doing something just because you're into it? Not your scene.

From:

rathercommon

[ She gives a little huff. ]

I am a person. Sometimes I can do things just because I want to do things.

$nastygram: (C:\saga)$

From:

nastygram

Uh-huh. Like baking, and chilling out relaxing all cool, looking young and hot in some other world or reality or whatever? Cool.

[The extra emphasis on that last word sort of suggests the opposite, but there's probably no surprise there.]

I'm all for free effing will or whatever, but you would never catch my ass chained to a stove. Noooo thank you.

From:

rathercommon

Well. Then that means you end up spending far too bloody much when you want something sweet, doesn't it.

$nastygram: (C:\cuspy)$

From:

nastygram

Three words, bitch.

[She counts them off on her fingers.]

Little. Debbie. Treats.

[--But she also eats the rest of her brownie in one bite before she sinks back into the couch again.]

From:

rathercommon

Honestly. As if this isn't better than Debbie's Treats.

$nastygram: (C:\smop)$

From:

nastygram

[A beat, and then Darlene laughs.]

Oh my god, dude. Debbie isn't real.

From:

rathercommon

Oh.

[ She frowns, confused. With the slightly resigned uncertainty of someone who's quite used to not having pop culture references and jokes track for her: ]

Then...what's a little debbie treat? Is it some sort of metaphor?

$nastygram: (C:\trollometer)$

From:

nastygram

For what, snatch? No, it's actual snack cakes. Crappy little cakes pumped full of the worst stuff, emulsifiers and wax and oil, which they then make delicious through the power of science. I could straight up live on Cosmic Brownies alone. Those little pebbles on top are like actual crack.

[She goes for a second non-cosmic brownie.]

Are you gonna eat with me or what, I'm stating to feel weird about this.

From:

rathercommon

Hm? Oh, right. Yeah.

[ Kitty leans forward. Even high, she still eats a bit like a bird: tiny nibbles, no more than that. ]

I don't know. I've tried a few of those sorts of things - Billy always promises me they're just so good, like - oh - what are they called - lunch-ables? Something like that, the little pizzas you make on crackers. Or the little pizzas that come on bagels. I think it might be the sort of thing where you have to have grown up with 'em.

$nastygram: (C:\gilley)$

From:

nastygram

Pizza Bagels and Pizza Lunchables are two totally different things, newb.

[She sighs.]

I always wanted that shit, but she-devils do not do pricey junk food for their spawn, or whatever. Kiddie marketing is so fucked up. Get you when you're way too underdeveloped to get that they are owning your brain by associating cartoon pizzas with happiness and parties and everyone standing around in a backyard laughing their heads off.

From:

rathercommon

Well, of course.

[ Kitty leans forward again - not for a brownie this time, but with intense engagement. ]

It's bloody diabolical of them. Same reason that they want to target political education to the very young, isn't it. You don't know that you ought to question.

[ She sits back just a bit, then, though she's no less aggressive for the slight relaxation of her posture. ]

Except here, they don't want lockstep political conformity - they want lockstep commercial conformity. Everyone worshipping at the altar of capitalism.

$nastygram: (C:\ampoff)$

From:

nastygram

Yeah, and fuck capitalism.

[Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Darlene is limited in her movement. She thumps her fist against one of her knees for emphasis anyways.]

Fuck that invisible hand and all those shadowy assholes controlling our lives through bullshit branding and what basically amounts to friggin' mind control. Trying to own us every step of the way. They deserve everything they're gonna get.

From:

rathercommon

I don't know. People like that - they often don't get what they deserve. Rich arseholes, they always wriggle out from under the hand of justice. Or - well - often.