Should a Body Meet a Body (Elena/Serpy)

THE PRAWN JUMPED SLIGHTLYat the greeting, not expecting anyone to take notice of—or moreover address—her. The woman stood before her was unusual, to say the least—if the prawn had any right to call anyone “unusual”. Dark skinned with an explosion of white hair, dressed in an outfit that was half-flapper and half-goth. And her eyes seemed to shimmer—no, glow even. It might have been dark, but the prawn’s sensitive eyes saw the woman as clear as day.

The prawn gaped, her mouthparts slackening behind the surgical mask. She politely tilted the screen of her phone towards her chest, momentarily stunned for words. Remembering her manners, she dropped her gaze. But only briefly, until the woman finished her greeting. And then she was right back to staring again.

“¿Se habla español?” the prawn asked, bewildered.

God, she hadn’t heard Spanish since… well, since Tía Alma. It was something else that tugged at her heartstrings.

“I had an Auntie that knew Spanish,” she said distractedly, “I only know a little. Do you know English?”

The inquiry was uttered in English.

In comparison to the woman before her, Charlotte—in a hoodie, tank top, and cargo pants—all of this topped-off with a surgical mask. She wasn’t dirty, since the café had showers. But her voice was clearly female, however sultry, despite the androgynous attire.

The introduction of this unfamiliar woman was enough of a distraction to jar Charlotte from her welling tears—and all that was leading-up to those tears—so the teen found themselves a bit more willing to talk than usual. It helped that the Spanish snippet reminded her of Tía Alma, even if “langosa” was not a familiar word.

The woman’s response determining, Charlotte would either catapult into a response in English—or, if she didn’t speak English, Japanese—

“I’m not hurt,” the teen replied, “Or lost.”

She avoided the question of whether or not she was okay. Admitting you weren’t okay invited help, and Charlotte didn’t want to cause a stranger trouble.

“I had a room in there, but I was back late tonight,” she confessed, “It’s all filled-up, now, of course. So… I’m frustrated.”

Which, you know, was nothing to cry about. There were always more rooms at other locations. Unless you already had too much on your plate as it were. But, again, not trying to cause problems—

She mopped at her eyes, putting-on a more optimistic tone—her voice was still wet, betraying her—as she remarked, “It’s okay, though! I’ll find somewhere else. Tokyo’s big enough. No problem.”

ft. elena strike

quirk: d-rank durability, range, swimming; f-rank regeneration, eyesight, and dexterity

THE WOMAN STOOPED CLOSER, and the prawn followed her with her lavender gaze, still hugging her backpack to her chest. God, this lady was really pretty. Like, mesmerizingly pretty. A ripple ran over her bioluminescent pores, only momentarily visible—almost like a chill skittering through her. Charlotte politely averted her eyes.

“Only a few days,” the prawn answered sincerely, wrapping her arms around her legs, “Since Tuesday.” However long ago Tuesday was, “I’m just waiting for… some roommate drama to blow-over is all.”

She wasn’t lying, per se. Saito was a roommate, and his hospitalization was drama. But uh… terming it as “roommate drama” was just vague enough, and it made her seem older. College kids had roommates. Adults had roommates. And made decisions to do things like stay in internet café’s while drama settled. Right?

She hadn’t really considered long-term plans, though, and certainly not with the pragmatism that Elena had. Charlotte’s stomach knotted.

“Most people can’t even tell I’m a girl,” she insisted, “I’ll be fine. Really. And I’ve got… enough money.”

It was a sort of teenage foolhardiness—a teenage sense of being able to take-on the world without facing repercussions. And the money thing, well—that was an outright lie. Her money would really only carry her through two more days, tops, at the café. Maybe four if she was careful about how much she ate.

And she couldn’t call her parents. Then she’d have to come clean about anything.

The woman reached her own conclusions, rising to her full height once again. And Charlotte, as she listened to the woman’s proclamation, could feel her eyes welling with tears again.

As she had so many times in the past few days, she remembered Oakland—she remembered when Chief had first found her, and showed her kindness—before insisting that she had to pay him back for his kindness by committing petty crimes. And even if this woman reminded the prawn so profoundly of Tía Alma, she was scared that the woman would be more like Chief.

“I only have eight-thousand yen,” the prawn confessed, her voice small. How could you say what Charlotte wanted to say, without offending the person you were trying to say it to?

And though her tone seemed to be an outright refusal of the woman’s offer of kindness, she was hesitantly unfolding her legs and rising into a standing position, still hugging her backpack. The woman before her was taller than most humans—almost eye-level with Charlie, in heels.

“A-and I am… okay with tech, so if you need anything repaired, I’m your gal. B-but I have n-nothing else to offer.”

The urge to run was growing stronger, and her face felt impossibly hot. The pores that lined her body winked to life, pulsating with their fearful, rippling pattern. Her heart was still hammering pathetically in her chest. An irrational panic was clinching in her throat.

In any other context, the prawn could’ve recognized kindness for what it was, but since she was already panicked and on the run, she could only panic and run more.

“Nothing else at all.”

She kept her head tucked, glowing like a runaway Christmas decoration and progressively getting tearier.

ft. elena strike

quirk: d-rank durability, range, swimming; f-rank regeneration, eyesight, and dexterity

THE WOMAN TOUCHED CHARLIE'S ARM, and the prawn stiffened slightly, closing her eyes. It was a feathery touch, anyways, barely perceptible through the thick shell, but the woman inhaled, which prompted the prawn to open her eyes again. The woman showed-off a quirk of her own, her hair blooming into a brilliant blue flame. A quirker!

Her brows betrayed her surprise, leaping at the display. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished. Charlotte’s own pulsating light quelled itself as her heartbeat grew less frantic. The woman reached for arm again, and this time the teen didn’t wince away from her.

The prawn nodded as the woman insisted that they had to look-out for each other—the libre de peculiardades wouldn’t—now there was a term she was familiar with. Quirkless. She’d heard it all the time from Chief and Alma, both.

“Okay,” the teen agreed, inhaling sharply and trying to simmer.

She really was like Tía Alma. The woman dug around her clutch—procuring disposable tissues after a brief search. These were surrendered to Charlotte. The light-show finally fizzled out. The prawn tried to smile with still-tearful eyes.

“Thank you, tía.”

The phrase left her maxillipeds so easily, the prawn didn’t even catch it. She didn’t even leave space to feel embarrassed about it.

It was hard to hold phone and backpack and tissues all at once—so Charlotte wriggled back into her backpack, pocketed her cell phone, and clutched the Kleenexes as if they were a lifeline.

Soon they were arm-in-arm—and what an unusual sight they must have been! This fashionable, metropolitan woman in the company of such a strange, casually-dressed companion.

“Not yet,” the prawn replied, “I have some ramen, though. It’s fine.”

The instant kind, of course. Cheap as it was, that shit was filling. And it wasn’t, as the woman termed it, snack food. People could, and often did, subsist on ramen.

“My name’s Charlotte, by the way,” Charlotte offered. If she was going to crash at this woman’s house or… wherever… they should know each other’s name, “Everyone calls me Charlie though. What’s your name?”

While the teen spoke, clumsy hands picked at the package, trying to undo the sticker that held it closed. After a momentary struggle, Charlotte managed to unfasten the package of tissues.

ft. elena strike

quirk: d-rank durability, range, swimming; f-rank regeneration, eyesight, and dexterity

ooc notes: you are now officially the auntie of a wayward prawn. congratulations. <3

CHARLOTTE WAS SO PREOCCUPIED WITH the package of tissues that Charlotte missed the chord she’d struck altogether. A tissue was wrestled free of the other tissues that accompanied it, dabbling at her eyes as they walked. Thankfully there was no running nose to address, since she didn’t have a nose to speak of… but her throat still felt thick with emotion regardless.

Elena dismissed the prawn’s ramen as not real food, insisting that she’d make Charlie real food once they arrived at the house—Elena was on the nose with her assumption that Charlotte hadn’t been eating well. She’d scarcely eaten at all. With all the stress, Charlotte was nervous about making herself ill, and the only way to avoid that was not to eat. And when she did, she ate terribly.

“Correct~” the prawn confirmed, in Japanese now. She hadn’t been eating well, and she didn’t see any sense in lying to Elena about it.

The dark-skinned woman had pulled her phone out about a half-block back, and the prawn had politely kept her attention forward—she at least had enough manners not to read over other peoples’ shoulders. They paused, and Elena advised her newfound ward of the conversation that was taking place.

“O-oh, sure,” the prawn said agreeably. She turned her attention towards the window of a neighboring storefront, shut hours prior to their passing, once again making note of what an odd pair she and Elena were.

Charlotte wasn’t sure what to make of a “partner”. Was this a good thing, because Charlotte wouldn’t be in the company of just a strange woman that she’d just met? Or would it be bad because there were two of them, and one of her…? Could she take them?

No, it wasn’t good to think like that, Elena was being very kind—welcoming Charlotte into her home, offering to cook her food—

Better than being unpleasantly surprised, though.

With the correspondence handled, the phone was tucked away again, and again the two were strolling down the street. Elena filled the air with talk of this “mysterious partner”, and the prawn listened, trying to concoct a story for them, or a visage, all on her own.

“I really hope he doesn’t mind,” the prawn muttered, bowing her head. She felt rather like a stray cat, at this point—and stereotypically, girlfriends were always quick to take in strays, while boyfriends were quick to insist on throwing them out—at least in those trashy rom-com’s Hye had forced Charlie into watching. Charlie hoped this wasn’t a case like that, “I’d hate to be a bother.”

Maybe being a mutant would help appeal to The Boyfriend's better nature. Or maybe she’d humor Elena, and stay for dinner, but sneak-out before The Boyfriend got home. It was best not to push her luck.

“Yeah, America,” the prawn confirmed, “California, to be specific.”

Elena outlined her own journey here, from Spain, for work.

“My Japanese was horrible when I first got here, too,” the prawn sighed, “Been about a year. My speaking is getting better. But my writing and reading are still rough. Kanji is the devil.”

Charlotte had never been much of a liar. The closest she could manage to an outright lie was a vague truth. But even then, the façade would slip.

“We’re always reading and writing in school, though, so hopefully I’m not totally illiterate by the time I graduate.”

Again, no grade-level was mentioned. But Charlotte was a student, and one that hadn’t graduated. From high school? From college? It had yet to be revealed. Again, the prawn realized the slip-up belatedly, and dropped her gaze.

She’d really need to decide how old she was, and where she went to school. Charlotte had an inkling she’d be in a world of trouble if Elena figured-out that she was a teenager.

ft. elena strike

quirk: d-rank durability, range, swimming; f-rank regeneration, eyesight, and dexterity

ooc notes: you are now officially the auntie of a wayward prawn. congratulations. <3

THE PRAWN KEPT HER GAZE directed towards the sidewalk as Elena reassured her, explaining that her boyfriend was predominantly concerned about how their neighbors would regard them bringing a stranger over. She didn’t want to make trouble with the neighbors, either. Despite Elena’s reassurance that it would be “okay once Charlotte was there” and that “she personally didn’t care what the neighbors think”, Charlotte found herself sinking deeper and deeper into the mindset that she was imposing upon this couple by being there.

Stay for dinner, then get the fuck out. That’s what she was going to do.

Charlotte was so busy mentally rehearsing her script for bolting after dinner, she missed the remark that the Boyfriend was “actually a big softy under the scales”. As far as she was concerned, this guy was the one person Charlotte wanted to avoid.

Charlotte spent most of the remainder of the walk in relative silence, her measuring how many blocks they went and which way they turned, in anticipation of the walk back downtown. God, finding a place to sleep would be shit after dinner… ah well. At least she’d have some decent food in her belly, even if it was a frosty night outside.

It wasn’t until they reached the complex that the prawn remembered her voice.

“Wow, that high up?” the prawn remarked. She breathed an appreciative whistle. The apartment she’d lived-in in Oakland was a cinderblock thing, five stories and nestled amongst much taller buildings, so this—wow, this was already a huge step-up from what she was expecting.

The prawn would follow Elena through the doors, only leading the way into the foyer before assuming a place behind the woman. Charlotte didn’t know where she was going, and was growing increasingly more nervous with each step onward. It didn’t make sense for her to lead. Her stance was hunched, and she fiddled with her hands, her eyes darting around for any of “the neighbors” that might take issue with her being there. Elena spoke again.

“Okay,” the prawn said quietly. Don’t worry about not being dressed-up. She would try not to. Not that the prawn had nicer clothes to change into anyways.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid noiselessly open.

“Are you really sure that this is alright?” the prawn inquired again, for perhaps the thousandth time that night. She still stepped into the elevator, even if she was voicing her concerns. Charlotte pressed her back into the corner furthest from the buttons, her lavender gaze searching Elena for any sign of uncertainty.

The prawn’s heart was hammering, and it felt like it would climb out of her throat if she opened her mouth wide enough. In the sterile lights of the elevator, the wink of Charlotte’s bioluminescent pores was like glitter along her shell, barely perceptible. She was scared—undeniably scared. Being offered dinner and a place to stay, no strings attached, seemed too good to be true. Anyone who wasn’t a fool knew that when “things are too good to be true”, they often weren’t that good, or true.

ft. elena strike

quirk: d-rank durability, range, swimming; f-rank regeneration, eyesight, and dexterity

ooc notes: are you sure? really? really really?

"I... DON'T THINK SO..." the prawn murmured, effectively sidetracked by the possibility of ferrets, “I’ve never seen a ferret in real-life, just in pictures or videos.”

California was very strict about pets that were or were not allowed. No one was allowed to keep ferrets. What kind of noises did a ferret make, the prawn wondered? What would petting such a strangely-shaped creature be like?

The elevator coasted to a stop, the bell signaling their arrival at the appropriate floor. The prawn took her cue from Elena—the woman unfolded herself as if to disembark, but let the prawn step-out first. Charlotte did so, lingering just outside the door. She didn’t know where she was going, so it didn’t make sense to lead. The prawn’s eyes wandered ahead, however, and… where the heck were the other units? There was the elevator, the stairwell, and… literally one other door.

What the hell kind-of apartment was this?

The high-class kind.

The prawn’s eyes swung towards the number above the elevator, committing the floor number to memory, before tagging after Elena. She had lingered a touch too long, and had to jog to catch-up. The call of “Adelante!” spurred the reluctant teen into motion.

Elena unlocked the door to the apartment and strode in, removing her shoes and other accessories in the foyer. The prawn waited, eyes trained politely on the hall.

She wiped her feet on a doormat, but had no shoes to remove. No accessories to deposit. Just her. The prawn trailed the Latina woman hesitantly, her eye flitting over the apartment. Charlotte’s hand involuntarily clenched her backpack strap. It was a… very lovely place. Very metropolitan. Perhaps the nicest apartment Charlie had ever set foot in. The prawn was frozen in the entryway, unsure of where to go or where to sit. It was so clean… and Charlotte, having spent the better part of a week on the streets, wasn’t. She didn’t belong here.

Again, Elena’s voice jarred her from her thoughts.

The prawn did as she was bid to do, removing her backpack and tucking it in a corner where it wouldn’t obstruct the walkways. This, of course, gave her nothing to hold-on to though. So she fussed with the sleeve of her hoodie.

Then when Charlotte was given the option to shower, the prawn waivered. She’d feel bad sitting on a couch if she was grimy—but she didn’t want to shower in an unfamiliar house either. Her indecisiveness gave Elena the time to go to the linen closet and procure a towel. She returned to Charlotte and surrendered it.

Wow, this had to be the fluffiest towel the prawn had ever seen, too—she accepted it shyly, and held it up to her muzzle, inhaling the powdery, recently-washed scent.

Okay… maybe she could stand to take a shower now. Even if she was a surprise-guest in Elena's and the Mystery Boyfriend's apartment, the prawn could at least be a good-smelling surprise-guest.

“Thank you,” the prawn murmured after marginally lowering the towel. She had some clean clothes wedged into her backpack, Charlotte was pretty sure. A clean shirt, at the very least. That was what was important. No soaps, though. She’d have to borrow soap.

“That sounds… really lovely, th-thank you…” the prawn agreed, to the offer of croquettes. Hearty, homey-feeling food. More filling than anything she’d recently eaten, “Chicken or cheese would be wonderful.”

Charlotte knelt to rummage through her bag, finding the fresh shirt in question. She had some clean undergarments, too. Good.

“I… think I will take you up on that shower before… if that’s okay,” the prawn said, clasping the towel and fresh clothes to her chest, “Where’s the bathroom… please?”

This was all so much to take-in, and… if the boyfriend wasn’t actually alright with the prawn being there, Charlie wanted to shower first rather than risk overstaying her welcome after dinner.

She’d wait until Elena directed her, and then the prawn would pad quietly down the hall to the bathroom. The door would slide shut quietly behind her, with a gentle *click* of the lock.

Once in the bathroom, Charlotte would survey the room—again, very nice, in terms of apartments—before setting her fresh clothes, and her towel, on the counter. Cell phone was removed from her pocket, and added-to the counter pile. Surgical mask was peeled away from her muzzle, and added to the pile. The remainder of Charlotte’s clothes were discarded unceremoniously on the floor near the sink, leaving a very bare prawn standing in this immaculate tiled room. Charlotte caught her own reflection’s gaze in the mirror, and huffed.

What have I gotten myself into?

Charlotte padded towards the shower, opening the door into the stall. It was huge, as though two showers had melded to form one, ultimate shower. There was a tiled the bench—the thought of naked butts sitting on a tiled bench made the prawn stifle a laugh. That seemed unsanitary. There were a sundry of soap bottles along the bench, a clear “his” versus “hers” rift between the two collections. And then came the shower-head—nice and high, perfect for a tall person. Sweet.

It only took some momentary fussing with the shower-knob to get the water running and decently warm (which is to say, a few millimetres shy of scalding). And once the water was running, Charlotte would simply stand beneath the harsh stream of steaming water, tilting her head towards the ceiling.

A notification winked in the upper left corner of her phone—Charlotte eyed it, fighting the passing impulse to call her parents. But she’d be dead if anyone found-out about her off-campus escapade. She’d think about it. A shower and dinner would give her the clarity of mind to think about it. One step at a time. The prawn closed her eyes.

ft. elena strike

quirk: d-rank durability, range, swimming; f-rank regeneration, eyesight, and dexterity

ooc notes: shower thoughts with charlie #1: if a prawn breaks the rules, and no one's around to see it, are they still in trouble?