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oil slick

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Allison was sitting on the ground, her goggles slung around her neck. She didn't look up when Vera slammed the trapdoor behind her and shimmed down the ladder. "What do you think, gunmetal and lavender or emerald and silver?"

"Hunh?" There was grease smeared along Vera's cheek, and she rubbed it with the back of her hand. "Oh," she said, a moment later, seeing the half-dozen pots of eyeshadow in front of her friend.

"Gotta look gorgeous for our girl when my break's over," Allison said, grinning as she always did when she spoke of the Wrangulator. Vera smiled back; they all loved her, but Allison had known her longest, had loved her when she was small and creaky, had been the one to bring most of them into the fold, introduce the wrangulator to them, teach them her ways.

As Vera sat down and opened the yogurt she had shoved in the pocket of her coat, she looked at the makeup Allison was studying. "Emerald and silver's a little too Slytherin," she said, thoughtfully. "Isn't that —" she waved the hand holding her licked-clean spoon. "God, I haven't been over there in a while. I should stop by, say hello. I don't even know who's working in that corner these days."

"Ah, fuck it," Allison said. "#99000 on the lids and in the crease, I'll throw a little sparkle all over it. Decisions are hard."

"That works," Vera agreed, and watched as Allison suited the action to the word. "How was the party?"

"I need coffee," Allison said, trying to hide a smile.

"Oh, come on," Vera protested.

"Over thataway," Allison said, pointing in no particular direction, but there was a smell of crushed grass and lubricating oil drifting down the tunnels. "You can check out the evidence."