fandomhigh | BWI Airport, Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning

So everyone else had, like, dramatic backstories and reasons to show up here and stuff. Which was fine, you know, if you were emotionally in the zone enough to go to those kinda lengths. Denise had just been, you know, chilling with her dad last night watching some hockey guys really pound in on each other - no, seriously, really get into it. One of them broke a rib or something, which was kinda cool.

Then she'd been dropped off at the airport, gotten a ticket stuffed into her hands, and that was that. No reason to get all dramatic and touchy-feely about it.

And now it was Saturday morning and she was on the airport. Sitting around. Chugging water and listening to her discman while watching the kids down the hall, trying to figure out how they were gonna croak. Sure, there was some kind of shuttle supposed to show up, but it wasn't there yet. A girl had to keep herself busy.

She figured the dweebs starting to mill around the terminal were probably classmates or something. Lame.

[[ ~~wait for the~~ ocd up! ]]

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Denise watched the chick who was watching her. And sitting down. Or something. Was she supposed to make, like, small talk or something?

Okay. She was supposed to give 'social' a try.

"Hey," she said, giving her a friendly nod back. "Hangovers really suck."

Mission accomplished.

Rosalind raised one eyebrow coolly at the girl. Almost amused, really, though that was a distant thing.

"Speaking from experience?" she inquired.

Because the girl couldn't possibly be insinuating that Rosalind had a hangover. Right? Right? She resisted the urge to get up and go and see in a bathroom if she looked that bad. Ugh.

"I've known a few who would agree."

"No, I'm asking because you look like you got hit by a truck," said Denise, matter-of-factly. "Hey, did you sprain something in your back? Because I hear that really sucks."

She was doing so well at this female bonding shit.

That earned the other girl a nice long look of 'are you serious?' while she considered if it was worth it to answer honestly or not.

She couldn't afford to alienate people right away. This was supposed to be a safe place.

"No hangover," Rosalind replied, weighing her words. "I was in an accident a while back and just got released from the hospital yesterday." It was both a lie and not.

With an added bit of 'and you care why?' in her tone. Both a question and... disdain.

Oh, great, disdain. Welcome to the State of Not Caring.

Look, if you were going to look for someone's feelings to bruise, you'd have better luck finding someone who had any, mmkay?

"Sucks," Denise said, unabashedly, "Did you get any cool scars? Maybe something gross?"

...

"Isn't that none of your business?" Rosalind asked, sounding a bit--bemused, almost. But also a little irritated. She was tired.

A pause. Was she supposed to answer the question? It was a ridiculous question. Rosalind let the pause grow. Mmmm not answering.

Denise shrugged. "You should've just said someone jammed a stick up your ass," she said, conversationally. "See? We're sharing."

"And someone removed your brain to mouth filter," Rosalind murmured, turning the pamphlet over in her hands. "You have no sense of decorum."

"Decorum's for pussies," said Denise, the great philosopher. "Who the fuck cares?"

"Quite a few people," she said, with a put-upon sigh. Rosalind's filter wasn't the best either. "Any potential employers, for one."

"Oh, yeah," Denise drawled, "That's just what I want. To work for a bunch of old geezers I have to smile and do a song and dance for because they'll piss themselves if they as much as smell a strong woman."

"I missed the memorandum where being strong meant being rude and impossible."

Sigh. Suddenly she missed Elena who, at least, had the excuse of being a child for this sort of behaviour.

BWI Airport, Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning

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