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"So what about you?" Vriska says as you start sectioning out her hair for the second braid.
"Water boat me?" you ask. You're not sure where the change of subject is coming from but you're suspicious on principle.
She shrugs. "She's my dancestor, but she's your... I don't even know. Aren't you fucked up about this too?"
You do not want to talk about Aranea, your... you don't know either. Your shellfish traitor. "You angling for my diamond, Serket?"
"As if," Vriska says, way too fast. Hah. Called it. "It's such a bullshit quadrant. Why would I want to get stuck dealing with some loser's problems all the time? Laaaaaaaame." You growl a little, low and rattly, leaning in a little closer to the back of her neck. "Oh, come on! I didn't mean it like that."
"You betta not," you say, mollified. "I got no time for any suckerfish sticking an oar in my business." You relax and go back to braiding. Her hair's got a different texture from yours, smoother when it's not all tangled up, and it feels neat in your fingers.
Only Vriska's gotta keep muddying the water for some reason. "Funny, though, cause it looked a lot like that was what you and fakey Mindfang had going on."
Your fist clenches and you yank, hard, without thinking twice about it. "Shella imperchinent, Serk—"
Vriska's elbow gets you right under the sternum and you lose your grip completely. You're so stunned for a second you just sit there—other trolls don't start shit with you!—and Vriska tackles you before you've got your breath back. "What's your deal, Peixes?" she demands. For all that she's three sweeps younger than you, she's a wiry coil of muscle as she grapples for your hands. "You want me to spill all my stupid feelings for you, but you won't talk about yours?"
She gets a grip on your wrists, her hands thin and hard, and you could probably buck her off but instead you just grin. "What's the matter, Serket? Can't fish 'em out of my pan?"
Her grip tightens enough that it might bruise, and okay, now that she's not thinking straight would be a perfect time to throw her off—and she kisses you, hard and mean, a bright hot fuck you of a kiss. Your nerves light up and you bite her, because shell yes, you'll take this over a stupid talk about your feelings any day.
"You're so—obnoxious," Vriska says, nipping at your lips between words. "Think you can just—run the show—however you like."
"Yeah, reminds me of someone else around here," you say, and shove a thigh up between hers. She grinds down against you and you smirk, because she might have a good grip on you but she's also squirming in your lap. She goes in for another kiss and you take that chance to roll both of you over.
Vriska lets go of your wrists and gets one hand wrapped in your braids and the other going up your shirt, clawing at your gills when you bring your weight down on her. Shit stings like a beach and you squirm, grabbing at her wrist this time, biting that spot under her jaw where you've got fins and she doesn't. Her skin tastes so good, and there's this fresh spike of heat in her scent when you get your fangs in her, and you just feel so—yes, yes, this. If Aranea had ever known how to shake you up like this—
"Fuck you, you think about me right now," Vriska says, grabbing you by the horn and giving you a shake. Your pan jangles with the combination of how glubbing dare you? and come on, gimme all you got, and you can see it in her face, she's thinking just the same thing.
You kiss her, arm around her waist to hold her flush up against you, and is this flush? You don't think so, don't know what the hell it is, just that it feels good and you want her focus, her attention, as bad as she wants yours. Screw all the stupid bullshit you have waiting for you—the plans, the armies, the fucking showdown out there. You tangle your fingers in the unbraided half of Vriska's hair and hang on tight.
"Wow!" says an entirely too cheerful, girlish voice from somewhere up above you. "That is the most full-contact braiding session I've ever seen!"
Vriska jerks up, glaring, teeth bared. "Nobody asked for your opinion!"
Damara's crazy little dancestor—Megidos, man, they're just trouble—grins down at you, hovering near one of the windows with her pixie wings fluttering behind her. "I was thinking maybe I should pop some grubcorn, as long as there's a show."
Vriska launches herself up after Megido so hard you lose your balance and fall off the bed. "When I kill you this time, it's going to stick!" she howls. Megido laughs, and waves to you as she flits back out the window.
You can't help yourself.You're laughing too. Shit is plain forked, right, falling apart all over the place, and here you are rolling around with someone who's just as bad out of her depth as you are, and you know? It's nice. Everything's crazy and a mess but you're having fun.
"What?" Vriska demands, looking back at you. She's pulled up short at the window, still scowling. It's cute.
"You're cute," you say, pulling yourself to your feet, and Vriska blushes. You hold out a hand. "Come back here. We can always ambush her when she gets back, and then we'll have the grubcorn, right?"
"Oh, like that's a brilliant plan," Vriska says, but she takes your hand and lets you pull her close again.
You can't see your way clear through the rest of this mess at all, but you've got a good thing going in this little spot of muddy water right here.