Aranea's cousin had been the black sheep of the family when they were both teenagers, always in trouble, staying out late and sometimes not coming home at all, but that didn't stop Aranea from looking up to her. She was brash and rude, sure, downright unpleasant at times, but she never once apologised for who she was, and certainly didn't shy away from dating whoever she wanted to. Aranea hadn't actively followed Vriska Serket's lead in many regards, but she'd always had someone to talk to, someone to tell her that she shouldn't care what anyone else thought of her, duh.
Nowadays, Vriska Serket's softened up a little. She's as overbearing as ever on the surface, but she's really managed to pull herself together; she's gone from a sixteen year old perpetually cutting class to get high in the park, to an adult with – even Aranea has to admit it – a pretty damn cool job. She's been tied up at a gaming company for the last handful of years, always working on some aspect of her MMO, ever determined to be the best in the market.
Generally speaking, Vriska only ever makes the effort to initiate a visit when her life is either going incredibly well, or, in her own words, has gone to absolute shit. When she strolls into the library on a Wednesday afternoon, hands in the front pockets of her jeans, whistling to herself, Aranea's brimming with relief upon determining that it has to be the former.
A few months ago, Vriska came tearing in, shrieking something about broken windows and lost shoes after having had an argument with one of her friends. She'd managed to disturb every last person in the library, had scared away half of the queue at the front desk, and no amount of pointing at the Quiet, Please sign did anything to make her lower her voice.
“Heeeeeeeey, Serket,” Vriska says, leaning against the higher part of the counter, behind which Aranea's computer is hidden away. She flashes Aranea a grin as her elbows slide forward, propping her chin up on the back of her hands. “Got you something.”
Aranea smiles up at her, because it's always a delight to see Vriska when she's in one of her more generous moods, though she knows by now that Vriska's generosity often tends to be a guise for something more self-centred. Vriska reaches into her back pocket, pulls out something no more impressive than a tattered looking notepad, but it's enough to make Aranea's eyes light up.
Instinctively reaching for it, Aranea hovers an inch or two above the seat of her chair, and scowls when Vriska suddenly pulls it back, out of her reach. Aranea wonders how she manages to fall for this every single time, and then wonders if she really is so naïve as to believe that Vriska's ever going to grow tired of teasing her.
“Do you want my help or not?” Aranea eventually asks, arms folded across her chest so that she can't keep reaching for the notepad, like a cat being offered up a particularly choice piece of string.
“I don't need your help!” Vriska says, curling her lip with a derisive laugh, “I'm doing you the favour here, and don't forget it.”
Vriska drops the notepad down against the counter, and Aranea makes a mad dash to grab it, as if this is going to be her only window of opportunity. She flicks through the notepad, too many pages sliding out from under her thumb to actually read any of it, and then hurries to tuck it away in her bag, as if she's hoarding smuggled goods.
Which, technically speaking, she sort of is. Vriska's probably not supposed to leak any details about the upcoming expansion like this, but she always slips Aranea notes on the upcoming characters, their histories and the lore built up in the world around them, and once or twice, Vriska's even taken a few of her suggestions into consideration. Aranea's not much of a gamer, but the story behind FLARP has always appealed to her, and the waived subscription fees don't hurt, either.
“I guess you're going to let me know what you think whether I ask you to ramble on about it or not, so try and keep it under five hundred words, this time,” Vriska says, slumping back against the counter.
“You've given me an entire notepad full of world building and character analysis. You'll be lucky to get anything less than an essay, complete with citations,” Aranea tells her, shaking her head when Vriska only rolls her eye at her. “Not that I wish to imply that this was anything other than a spontaneous visit in order to bestow gifts upon me, but was there something you wanted?”
“Huh? What? No way! Jesus, can't I just drop by to see my little cousin without getting the third degree? Christ, you'd think I'd done something wrong. Why the hell are you so suspicious, anyway? You definitely don't get that from me.”
Vriska always becomes impressively defensive when she wants to talk about something, but doesn't know how to bring it up.
“Right,” Aranea says, once she's quite sure Vriska's done. She's about to say something else, about to point out that Vriska's looking strangely well put together today, kitted out in clothes that actually seem to fit, when the bell above the door rings, catching her attention. Aranea doesn't know whether to smile or sink below the desk, because there Meenah is, with either the best or worst timing in the world.
Meenah's got her work suit on, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a scruffy black tank top with a peeling Ramones decal, and Vriska doesn't turn to face her, because she has no reason to care about who's wandering in and out of the building.
“Serket,” Meenah calls out, gaining the attention of both of them. Vriska spins around, and though Aranea's left staring at her back, she knows she's scowling up a storm.
“Oh,” Aranea says dumbly, as if she wasn't aware that anyone could walk into a public library at any given moment. It isn't often that she's lost for words, but when she is, such instances tend to last no more than seven or eight seconds; getting to her feet, she swoops out an arm, trying to direct Meenah's line of sight over to Vriska. “This is my co—”
“Yeah, that's real swell,” Meenah huffs, knocking shoulders with Vriska as she leans against the counter. As if Vriska isn't there. Meenah goes on to say something about getting out of work early, but Aranea's too stunned to take it all in. She just looks over to Vriska, watching as she takes slow steps backwards.
She's got her gaze fixed on Aranea's, and she lifts a hand, pointing a finger directly between Aranea's eyes. That's never a good thing. The first time Vriska was ever moved to point at her like that was when Aranea was thirteen, had found a bottle of funny smelling water in Vriska's room, and decided to help her out by pouring it down the sink and replacing it with tap water. Half a litre of vodka wasted and a very sober Vriska Serket didn't make for the most forgiving combination.
We're going to have words, the gesture says.
adventurersGambit [AG] began pestering archivalGlossologist [AG]
AG: Who the fuck was that fishstick?
AG: Hello, Vriska. I'm doing perfectly fine. Thank you for asking.
AG: I take it you're referring to Meenah.
AG: If that's what the Ramones-reject wants to call herself, I guess!
AG: 8oy! What the hell was her deal, just 8arging in on us like that? That's what I'd like to know.
AG: You make it hard not to worry a8out who you choose to associ8 with sometimes, Aranea.
AG: I know it's difficult, 8eing a Serket and everything, 8ut sometimes you have to let these chumps know where they stand. There's only so much generosity you can offer! Grace them with your presence one or twice, and they'll latch onto you like a goddamn lamprey making out with a suction pad.
AG: Do you need me to deal with her for you????????
AG: Well, actually...
AG: Keep going........
AG: As kind as it is for you to offer to presuma8ly threaten and cajole a stranger, I won't 8e taking you up on this offer.
AG: They're not a stranger if I know their name. 8ut that's 8eside the point!
AG: Don't tell me you're that desper8 for friends, lol.
AG: Not quite, no. Somehow, I don't feel as if Meenah would 8e the first individual I sought out in an effort to ensnare more unsuspecting victims into my we8 of lukewarm friendship, far from the threads of mere acquaintanceship.
AG: Had you not done the admittedly smart thing and 8acked out, it would've 8ecome immedi8ly apparent to you that Meenah and I are entangled in something of a situ8ion at this point in time.
AG: A situ8tion of the romantic sort, I hasten to add.
AG: Y8ah, I got that, thank you miss 8ooky 8ooky 8ookworm!
AG: Hahahaha. What happened, did you lose a 8et and have to go out with her? Are you doing that retarded thing where you take waaaaaaaay too much pity on people and they take advantage of you in return?
AG: 8ecause I will kick her scrawny 8utt so fast and so hard that she
AG: I d8n't even know 8ut you've always had such shitty taste and now it's m8ssing with wh8t I'm trying to say!!!!!!!!
AG: I'd ask you to cease overreacting, 8ut I know a futile endeavour when I come across one. So I'll simply say that you have no right to judge Meenah, having 8arely glanced at her for more than 8 seconds.
AG: 8 seconds of my life that I'll never get 8ack again.
AG: So are you 8anging her yet????????
AG: Honestly, you aren't going to 8e a8le to shock me into putting an end to things with her. I can tell that you're only 8eing protective of me – needlessly so, might I add – 8ut I do think you ought to take it down a notch, or possi8ly 8.
AG: Despite her rough edges, Meenah is a lovely young woman, no matter how she might frustr8 me at times.
AG: She reminds me of someone else I know.
AG: What, an entire fleet of circus freaks?
AG: Oh man, calm your tits, Serket. I admit it!
AG: I'm playing with you.
AG: I am a 8it concerned, though! What kind of cousin would I 8e if I wasn't? That's right, the a8solute worst.
AG: And I have to uphold the Serket honour! Make sure that she's good enough to 8e considered the girlfriend of one.
AG: In that case, other than the woefully likely inevita8ility of you two 8eing at each other's throats, or, failing that, causing some sort of pu8lic property damage, I can't imagine why I wouldn't like for you to meet one another formally.
AG: Though we haven't quite 8roached topics such as "girlfriends," as of yet........
AG: And what a8out you, Vriska?
AG: What a8out me?
AG: Are you seeing anyone?
AG: Am I wh8t?
AG: Pssh, man, why are you asking something like that!
AG: Why, what did you h8ar? Who have you 8een talking to?
AG: On this su8ject? No one other than you. I know how much your privacy means to you, even if you aren't wont to extended the same 8asic courtesy to others. Consider this to 8e a hunch I have.
AG: Urgh, I h8 your hunches. H8 them!!!!!!!!
AG: Hush, you.
AG: The first thing that lead me towards this conclusion was the fact that you turned up today in a 8etter mood than you were the time 'pir8' 8ecame a playa8le class. Your work is often a cause of your el8ion, 8ut I'm aware of when all your major releases and the like are. Which counts those out of the question.
AG: Also, you'd never stop 8ragging a8out it, had something good happened.
AG: Do you remem8er the week you convinced your team to name the expansion pack "The Iron Treaties," and all so that you could a88revi8 it to "TITS"? 8ecause I certainly do. I never thought I'd hear the end of it!
AG: Secondly, you were dressed particularly well today. As if you were making the effort for some8ody.
AG: Am I wrong?
AG: ........ you read too many trashy detective novels.
AG: Ah! You aren't even denying it.
AG: What's her name?
AG: Hold on, I need to check that I'm spelling this right!
AG: It's, uh
AG: None Of Your Goddamn 8usiness!!!!!!!!
AG: I see. A 8it of a mouthful, 8ut I dou8t she choose that name for herself.
AG: Have you 8anged her yet?
AG: Who the fuck 8rought you up to talk like that? Urgh!
AG: That's it. I'm going! I'm 8asically gone. The only reason I'm still typing is so that you know how gone I really am. I'm not giving you any more fuel for you to twist my words with.
AG: I try talking to you a8out your o8vious woman pro8lems and this is the thanks I get?
AG: I don't 8elieve you, sometimes. >::::(
AG: I'm certain you have much more interesting pursuits to fill your time with than talking to me. Have a good evening, Vriska.
AG: I'll contact you l8r in order to arrange something.
AG: Yeah, right.
adventurersGambit [AG] ceased pestering archivalGlossologist [AG]
Vriska doesn't look up when Kanaya steps out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her waist and not much more, brown hair turned black where it's still wet enough to drip down the back of her neck.
“What is it?” Kanaya asks, making her way over to Vriska. Vriska's lying on her front, chin propped up on the backs of her hands, staring off the edge of the bed at a blank spot on the carpet when Kanaya rudely blocks her view. Kanaya rests her hands on the back of Vriska's head, barely overcoming the urge to neaten her hair out, and Vriska puts forth the monumental amount of energy it takes to push herself up enough to bump her nose against the edge of Kanaya's towel and bury her face against her stomach.
“Just thinking,” Vriska murmurs against her warm, slightly damp skin. Before Kanaya can ask her what about, Vriska decides to spill the beans of her own accord. There's no keeping anything to herself around Kanaya. Kanaya digs and she digs until Vriska finds herself blabbing, mostly out of frustration, and she can't stand the way she always feels better about having done so afterwards. “About my cousin. She has some dumb new girlfriend who I already can't stand, and now she wants me to go out with them! To get to know her better! Gross.”
Vriska's brought up Aranea once or twice before, enough times for Kanaya to know exactly who she's talking about, at least, but Kanaya only hums, brushing her fingers through Vriska's hair. The feel of Kanaya's fingertips against her scalp is enough to distract Vriska from the fact that Kanaya doesn't have an instant, fix-all solution to her problem.
Partly because Vriska doesn't know what the problem is, per se. Aranea's always been more than a cousin to her; she put up with having to share a bedroom with Vriska when she was kicked out of her own house at fifteen, and she was there day after day, keeping Vriska company in the hospital when she first lost her eye; but she's never felt compelled to meddle too much in her love life.
A few strong words here and there, maybe, and a firm warning that they'd better not fuck around behind her back, but that was it. Why wouldn't she do all of that, anyway? There aren't many people deserving of a Serket in the first place, and they should feel flattered to be threatened.
Vriska stops mid-thought, craning her neck to look up at Kanaya. Kanaya's smiling down at her, overwhelmingly patient; Vriska would've throttled herself to get a few words out, by now. With a sigh, she wraps both arms around Kanaya's waist, tugging her closer, and thinks that, then again, there are those who are too good for a Serket.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Kanaya asks, relenting under Vriska's wandering hands. She seats herself on the edge of the bed, knowing Vriska isn't about to let her go free any time soon, and when Vriska grunts, lightly knocking her forehead against her ribs, she rolls her eyes but lies down next to her anyway. “If you think it might make things less uncomfortable for you.”
Vriska, with one leg and both arms latched firmly around Kanaya, scoffs, and says, “Uh, no way. That would make it about eight times weirder! Besides...”
Vriska pauses. Distracts herself by loosening Kanaya's towel, freeing it from around her waist.
“What the hell would you come as?” Another pause. She eases Kanaya onto her back, and rolls atop her. “—I mean, to me.”
Kanaya's face crinkles as Vriska presses their foreheads together, though there's not much derision in the way that her lips tug upwards at the corners, despite her best effort to keep her expression neutral. Vriska's best chance of escaping this conversation depends on her ability to flee the scene, which is out of the question, because she has absolutely no idea where any of her clothes are. There's a black blur in the corner of the room that could be her shirt, but without her glasses on, there's no telling.
Burying her face in Kanaya's shoulder probably wouldn't help, either. That would only make Kanaya think that she has something to be embarrassed about, when of course she doesn't. She just worded her question badly, that's all, surely there's no crime in that.
Kanaya swoops in to save the moment by pushing Vriska off of her, and Vriska's so surprised by the suddenly movement that she ends up flat on her back without much more than a spluttered yelp.
“Do you really need to ask?” Kanaya murmurs, lips grazing across her collarbone.
Vriska looks away from Kanaya, exhaling heavily in lieu of answering, and pours her attention into brushing the drops of water from the back of Kanaya's neck. No, she doesn't have to ask; she doesn't, and yet she does so anyway.
Over the last fortnight, Vriska's been here, in Kanaya's apartment, six times. She's had Kanaya over to her place twice, and she's even stood by as patiently as she knows how while Kanaya attempted to rearrange her shoe collection (re: the mismatched pile of shoes kicked off her feet in the vague vicinity of her front door). Kanaya makes her breakfast in the morning, doesn't complain when Vriska finds more creative uses for the surfaces in her house, and Vriska is gracious enough to let Kanaya guide her fashion choices.
It's more of a real relationship than she's never known before.
“Hell no!” Vriska says, one hand beneath Kanaya's jaw, nudging her up in the hopes of luring her into a kiss. “Just making sure you knew where we stood, Fussyface.”
Meenah lives with her parents because what kind of sucker wants to be swindled into paying rent, anyway, but Aranea's certain it has a lot more to do with how huge their place is. Meenah's fond of doing what she wants, always gets her own way, and would never take well to being cramped in anywhere. Aranea's come worryingly close to getting lost in the corridors every time she's visited.
She's caught glimpses of Meenah's older sister a few times. She lives in her own place with her girlfriend about an hour's drive away, but she comes over every now and again, and though Aranea's done her best to introduce herself, Meenah has a horrible habit of grabbing her arm and yanking her away before she can even get the standard it's nice to meet you out of the way.
Meenah's room is decorated in deep blues and royal purples, and there's a fish tank the size of an upturned bed pressed to one wall. There are medals and trophies carelessly strewn in one corner, from Meenah's days of competitive swimming back in school, and every time Aranea asks too many questions about them, she's shrugged off. And not just about the accolades. More than a few inquiries into any one subject and Meenah becomes instantly dismissive, and grunts out the first vague thing that comes to mind.
She gets on well with her sister, she guesses. Her sister's girlfriend is an astrophysicist, or something. She supposes she's still pretty fuckin' good at swimming, or whatever.
That's why Aranea's learnt to cut to the chase. There's no point in beating around the bush with Meenah, because she clams up like nobody's business when she feels intruded upon, and it's best to catch her off-guard. Letting her know that something's coming is always a bad idea. She doesn't need the time to prepare her begrudging grumbles of answers.
They're lying on Meenah's bed, both wearing what they did to work, and Meenah's got her head rested both comfortably and pointedly against Aranea's chest. Arms wrapping tightly around Meenah's shoulders to prevent any sudden escape efforts, Aranea asks, plainly, “Are you my girlfriend?”
Meenah momentarily seems to stop breathing, as if absolute stillness on her part will cause Aranea to forget that she's there, and then becomes as limp as a jellyfish on a stick when the laughter hits her.
Finally retiring from her makeshift pillow, Meenah pushes herself up on both hands, flashes Aranea her best impression of a shark grinning, and says, “Heh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?”
Knowing that it was going to be nothing if not an uphill battle, Aranea folds her arms across her chest, and tries to drive Meenah to discomfort by boring holes into her skull with her unflinching glare. It doesn't work. Meenah classifies each instance of Aranea shutting up as a victory.
“Yes, actually. I would.”
Meenah makes a noise like air rushing from a balloon, and then slumps down onto one elbow, going in for a kiss. Aranea anticipates this being her next move, and Meenah earns herself a hand smushed against her face, while Aranea keeps her lips pursed together very, very tightly. Sneering a little, Meenah grabs Aranea's hand away to move in for another kiss, and when that ends up similarly thwarted, tries to take hold of Aranea's shoulders, as if keeping her steady is the answer.
Aranea grabs both of her wrists, and draws one knee up, in order to ensure that Meenah doesn't get too close.
“No kissing until you answer me.”
“Fine by me!” Meenah's smiling, though Aranea can tell that frustration's working its way in there, too. “Just means we get to the good part quicker.”
“None of that, either.”
“No buts! Off the top of my head, it's been four weeks and two days, give or take, since you first lured me onto the back of your motorcycle in a valiant – and might I add, successful – attempt to secure your mouth against my own. Since then, I've been more than patient with you. I've been generous, in certain regards. Very, very generous, and you can't deny appreciating all that I do to and for you. However, now that I've met both of your parents and heard rumours to the effect of you actually having an older sister, and now that you're about to meet the closet thing I have to a sister, I believe I'm owed an answer.”
Meenah grits her teeth together like each word that leaves Aranea's mouth is an extension of some vague torture she's being subjected to, and Aranea keeps her eyes on Meenah's. She can see the gears turning, can see the way Meenah mentally kicks herself, and would be lying if she later claims to have not smiled at least a little. She already has her answer, because Meenah will go to great lengths to deny almost anything, even if it's true, but she wants to hear her say it regardless of that.
“—fucking hell. When the hell did you get so cunning, Serket?” Aranea tightens her grasp on her wrists. “Alrightalrightalright. Fine. I am! You happy?”
“Very,” Aranea says, not letting go of Meenah's wrists, but leaning up for a kiss, anyway.
The scowl worn into Meenah's expression bubbles away as soon as their lips meet, and with a breathy laugh that might just be Meenah's way of sayin' that she's happy, too, she murmurs, “Maybe I'm only saying that to get into your pants.”
“Oh, no,” Aranea murmurs, both legs wrapping around Meenah's waist when Meenah's lips press to the underside of her jaw. “You have far too much pride for that, I'm afraid.”
The meeting goes well.
Aranea wisely chooses a public venue for the first proper encounter, and Vriska drives Kanaya down to the coast, drumming her hands in frustration against the steering wheel for the whole of the journey. Aranea's Vespa, and what she supposes is Meenah's bike, are already stowed safely in the car park by the time they arrive, and Vriska considers throwing herself into the sea to avoid this entirely.
Kanaya, with her hands on Vriska's shoulders, steers her towards the pier, where Meenah's showing no mercy to a claw game that she's determined to win Aranea a giant stuffed octopus from. Points for that, Vriska supposes, hands dug into the front pockets of her jeans. She lifts one hand to wave half-heartedly at the pair, and introduces Kanaya by means of nodding towards her and grumbling out “This is Fussyface.”
Kanaya, ever the lifesaver, does a better job of introducing herself, shakes Aranea's hand, and when Meenah narrows her eyes and holds out a fist, bumps her own against it. To Vriska's absolute horror, it suddenly dawns on her that once they start, Kanaya and Aranea are never going to stop talking, not even to come up for air, and she does her best to delay that eventuality.
She hooks an arm around Kanaya's, tugs her along the pier, complaining that she's starving, because driving always takes it out of her. Even though they were only in the car for forty-five minutes, a burst of standstill traffic included. They end up with a bundle of chips wrapped in paper each, and they stroll along the seafront, never once considering going down to the beach. The tide's currently in, and the sky's blotted various shades of grey against darker grey, and walking's the only thing stopping the wind from cutting right through them.
Vriska holds Kanaya's attention as best she can, occasionally glancing over to Aranea and Meenah to ensure that Meenah's not trying any funny stuff, but ultimately, Kanaya's interested in getting to know her cousin. Which would be great, under any other circumstances, because anyone involved with her who doesn't like Aranea can take a long walk off a short pier, but Vriska can only cringe as Kanaya drifts towards Aranea.
Aranea wonders out loud how such a nice girl ended up with her cousin, and then that's it; they're talking, and no mere mortal is going to be able to stop them. Meenah drags her feet, slowly widening the gap between herself and Aranea, because she has no interest in listening to their frantic ramblings, all too polite and biting at the same time.
And so Vriska ends up walking alongside Aranea. She finishes the last of her chips, runs a finger over the grease-stained paper and then licks the salt from it, before bundling it into a ball. She wastes a solid eight seconds looking around for a bin, and once she's finally rid herself of her rubbish, Meenah actually speaks up.
Vriska's been dreading it, but supposes that it's no worse than the silence, in the long run.
“What's your deal?” Meenah asks with something like a grunt. Vriska doubts she's enjoying this any more than she is.
Usually, Vriska would snap a retort along the lines of Why don't you ask your mother or My deal is fuck you, but she stares at Aranea and Kanaya's backs, inhales deeply to give herself strength, and knows that she has to at least make an effort for Aranea.
“I make video games,” Vriska says, shrugging. “Well, I don't make them. I write bits of them, and tell everyone else what parts look shitty. Basically, I'm the chump who has to stop everyone from embarrassing themselves.”
Vriska only adds in that last part because she's scraping the bottom of the barrel for something to say, and to her surprise, Meenah actually seems to take some interest in that. Vriska had expected her to write it off as being geeky, because it's not exactly thrashing a guitar without a pick and calling the resulting screech and whine of the strings music, and she can tell that Meenah wouldn't ever make the effort to feign interest. Especially not for the sake of being polite.
“Huh. Being related to that nerd – ” Meenah uses both hands to point to Aranea, just for clarification, “I figured you'd say something really fuckin' lame. But that ain't bad. What kind of games?”
Something about the way Meenah calls Aranea a nerd doesn't make Vriska want to punch her in the face.
“FLARP,” she says simply, because if people are into gaming, then they know what it is, no explanation needed. And if they don't, it's their loss.
“You're having me on,” Meenah says, like Vriska has any reason to lie. “No way you're involved in that! God, can't wait for the expansion. Gonna get me one of those trolls, was getting bored as shit playing as a human, seriously.”
Vriska bites on the inside of her mouth, trying not to smile. Sometimes, being met with disbelief is rewarding in and of itself.
“I came up with them,” Vriska says, openly bragging now. “Oh, and the expansion? I named that, too.”
Meenah slaps a hand against the side of her thigh and tilts her head back to splutter out a laugh, and says, “You came up with TITS?” holding up her hand to Vriska.
Vriska, having relaxed enough around Meenah to decide that okay, perhaps she isn't all that bad, even if she can't figure out why a nice girl like her cousin ended up with her, lifts a hand, effortlessly sliding into a high-five. Kanaya and Aranea both glance back at the sound of their palms coming together, smile when they realise Meenah and Vriska aren't slapping one another, and then turn back to their own conversation. They're probably talking about books or clothes or something. Who knows.
More to the point, who cares.
“This is boring as shit,” Vriska says, stopping on the spot, “Want to go hit up the arcades?”
With a quick glance at Aranea, Meenah grins, turning on her heels.
“Anyone asks, you twisted my arm real good.”
“Sure,” Vriska says, one hand slipping into her pocket, fingertips counting out a crumpled fiver and two-fifty in change. She's had a hell of a lot of good luck lately, and she sees no reason why that shouldn't carry over to the slot machines.