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𝕬very stood at the corner of a garage door when 𝕮edric and the rest of The Hell's Angels showed up. 𝕮edric passed by her, looking her up and down. Given the two's tumultuous relationship, especially considering his connection to 𝕮allista, she can't help but look at him with sympathetic contempt. They share a quiet understanding, but often they forget it in favor of supporting their respective leather-clad siblings. Still, 𝕬very couldn't help but be intrigued by the unannounced visit. Saving 𝕮edric, the most evasive man she's ever met, for last, she moves amongst the crowd, spotting girls here and there and offering a calm smile, though she has absolutely no clue why anyone from The Angels is here. 𝕻eace at any cost, she reminds herself.
Floating and caught on the dance floor, 𝕬very finds herself with a beer shoved into her hand by one of the grannie Pixies that come to knit and feel alive. She makes conversation with them, plastering the look of ultimate apathy. Afraid of people noticing how much of a sham this act is, she shifts from foot to foot, downing the beer in less than ten minutes. Already, another one finds itself into her ring-studded hand, and she's swaying, subconsciously, to the blaring tunes drifting throughout the clubhouse. Sidling up next to her, a boy in a Hell's Angels cut over his denim jacket and white shirt with the Nirvana smiley-face sends her a smile with glowing teeth. He mouths a long-neck, too, and he gives her a silly little dance once he notices that 𝕬very is studying. Rolling her eyes, all she can think of is how silly he appears. She pops the first genuine smirk since the Angels showed up.
Finally, sensing she's loosening up to him, he pops over. "𝕽hett. Ya know, son of that dude who you've been glaring at since we got here?" His hand sits extended in the air for the entirety of the quip... and then it still sits there.
Cocking her hip out, 𝕬very eyes the kid. "Uh-huh. The illustrious Acardi son. What brings you around here?"
"Heard there was a party with pretty Pixie girls."
Bullets shoot from her eyes. 𝕾o we have a bullshitter on our hands. "Uh-huh." She sets her beer down on the nearby table and sets her hair and shoulders back. "How about you tell me why you're here and I'll consider not kicking your ass for bringing your intolerant, misogynist grandpappy Angels here."
Leaning into her, he folds his arms over his chest, but the smirk remains on his face. "Well, as lovely as that sounds, we should probably clarify a few things. One, you, as the Pixies goddess or whatever you call each others' leaders-"
"I'm the president same as your dad, dickweed." She doesn't hold back the bite, her mood switching from playful to angry.
"Anyways, yes... you need to understand that I have no control over my father."
"Still on you for coming. Responsibility, boyo."
He coughs, looking slightly sheepish and uncomfortable. "Yeah. Sure. Right." He claps his hands, trying to recall his train of thought. "Two, you need to get that we wouldn't ruin such a fine festival for the Amazons without having the Skulls involved and you know that."
Her ears perked up at the mention of The Sacred Skulls. She felt a tremor of pain from the memory of 𝕮allista and the hundreds of other countless victims of the Skulls. Her tone gets softer, and she whispers so the surrounding Pixies can't hear them. "What about them?" She leans over, smelling his cologne and feeling the heat wave off of him.
"That's a story for once the others here leave." He, too, whispers and becomes more free-flowing. Their stances are ready for battle against each other. Instead, their bodies are comforted by the shared enemy and fear. They aren't alone with this feeling.
"I see," is all she can say.
The music becomes more relevant to the ears again, and 𝕬very wishes that time would fly by. 𝕻arties are only enjoyable when you're not pretending that the world is potentially suffocating on you, settling you in a layer like you're a victim in Pompeii. 𝕾ame amount of secrecy.
𝕽hett picks up on this spiral thinking, and he offers her to dance. "If the world is ending, might as well dance!"
She smiles, welcoming this ability to joke through the anxiety of ever having to deal with the Skulls. Grabbing onto his hand, they two move next to each other since neither can really dance with only one beer in them.
As time passes, 𝕬very looks around the clubhouse for her fellow Pixies, hoping to find a familiar face to game-plan with. Or just someone comforting. Someone who gets what all this means.
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