New Moon Rising? #2

She got here with a loud knock, to the tune of some piece of classical music. When she got inside – in her civvies – she lit up a cigarette of her own design. She made it especially for her, so she could make them herself and wouldn’t have to keep stealing them. Her breath still smelled like the vodka.

We got to arguing almost immediately. I kept trying to get her to apologize, even though she was right about me not really wanting one. She ended up swallowing her pride and saying it just to shut me up. Works for me. I know she meant it, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

See, that’s the thing about people like us. When you’ve known people as long as we’ve known each other, you get to know what each other’s really feeling and how it’s not what their outside shows they’re feeling. Both of us feel stuff we don’t like showing. And both of us know damn well what those things are.

Then we got to talking about the drug trafficking stuff. She agreed that somebody was more than likely paying the police off to ignore the traces of fog (adding that it was probably my fault for putting it in the blog in the first place, you idiot – her words, not mine). I brushed off the insult. I’m used to it from her.

We’re going back out now to go by the police station lockup. We’re gonna try talking to Graphique, Silver Stiletto, and whatsername. Socialighter. We’re gonna separate them; I get Silver Stiletto and she gets Graphique. We decided that because she doesn’t want me beating Graphique up again – or the other way around, if Graphique is angry about me bruising that pretty, pretty face of hers. What little I could reach, anyway.

Hopefully, Silver Stiletto’s recovered from the concussion by now. And while I could care more about Socialighter, she doesn’t seem to be a major player in their gang. Just sort of a little tagalong, a sidekick. Of course, that means she’s probably the leader of the whole operation, and maybe even the leader of the drug trafficking ring.

But that’s just too paranoid, right?

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