Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Texas has never really gotten video games. They’re fun enough, she guesses, she enjoys the party ones with the go-karts and the little teamwork minigames, but she doesn’t get why she keeps on ending up dating girls who really like them. Exusiai already shoots people and transports packages from point A to point B for a living; what’s the point of playing a game where you do the exact same thing but in the lovingly rendered killing fields of Columbia, instead?

Her rambling half-commentary – a mix of “Haha, get fucked!” and “Tex, over there? Yeah, that thing, that’s the control point! See, if I get on top of that, then…” – combines with occasional begging for more cans of cheap light beer from the fridge, and the momentary grabbing at Texas’ tights and burying her head into her shoulder when she’s died and has to wait to get back into the game; and honestly, it’s all part of her charm. Texas likes it, it puts her at ease.

…it’s just, when it’s their first day off after shooting up half of Lungmen last weekend, Texas might have wanted to do something else today than make an 11 a.m. beer run and then engage in more endless, mindless, violence. And that’s why after the third beer request, Exusiai barely even noticing for a couple of minutes that Texas hasn’t gone and gotten her one, the Lupo runs a hand up Exusiai’s thigh, groping at her through her basketball shorts.

“That ain’t my beer,” Exusiai tells her, renowned genius that she is.

“Mm.” She keeps on gaming, trying not to giggle too loudly as Texas starts to drape herself over her, nibbling at her ears and then starting to slide lower – a little too low, Texas finds herself starting to fall off the couch, but she can work with this; and from how Exusiai wordlessly spreads her legs, it seems she’s cool with it too.

--Texas is really, really tempted to pull that controller right out of her grip, but on the other hand, those little moments where Exusiai loses her focus on the game and shoots a quick little glance down at Texas, a smirk of Well, what’re you waiting for~?, those just about make it worth it. She pats along her thighs, leans in to kiss against Exusiai’s crotch and maybe pull down those shorts with her teeth, except—

“Ow.” Texas’ face hits… something.

There’s something hard there, a solid bulge in Exusiai’s shorts, and Texas’ immediate response is confusion. This switches to an attempt to figure out what it is with the least groping possible – is she wearing the strapon under her pants again? – and eventually loops back around to confusion when it’s clearly both too solid and too flat to be a silicone dick. She feels dumb, groping at Exusiai’s crotch as subtly as she can to figure out what the fuck is going on, and it’s only when she notices how heavy whatever’s down there is that—

“Have you got a Glock under your shorts.”

“Uhhhh, that’s a Beretta M9, babe. But yeah!” She looks so proud of herself, her halo is shining right now, and Texas isn’t sure what to say. She… strokes it, a little? She strokes the gun. It feels weird. She decides to stop stroking it for now.

“Why?”

“Self-defence – and I mean, walking around Lungmen with an ess-em-gee on your hip gets you those dirty looks even down southside. Plus it doesn’t go with every look. You know the jacket I got the other day?”

“The blue one?” Shiny, cropped; Texas had thought it looked kind of cheap until she saw the price tag.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t really go with the Vector, so I have to pack heat somewhere else. Plus, like, I dunno. There’s something kind of… reassuring, about the weight down there? Makes me feel secure.”

“Huh.” Texas isn’t sure what to do with this new knowledge, or how to match Exusiai’s confidence, so she gives the gun another furtive grope; and the way Exusiai reacts is – okay, definitely analogous with when she’s Wearing The Strap.

She shifts a little back on the couch, legs spreading further, and rolls her shoulders back – and Texas tugging at the gun earns a little purr, but when she starts running a hand up through the loose legs of the basketball shorts, she finds another layer of form-fitting fabric between her and Exusiai’s weapon. Her boyshorts.

“You keep your piece in your underwear? Doesn’t that feel weird?”

“Gotta do what you gotta do. Would’ve fallen out when I was walking around, otherwise.”

“Wait, how long have you had it there?”

“Since I got dressed this morning?”

“Are you telling me you walked to the supermarket and back with a pistol in your pants.” Even she doesn’t bring her swords with her on a beer and latiao run.

“…like I said, it feels reassuring! Comforting. Maybe even... healing?” The Sankta looks thoughtful, like the thesis statement behind the gun-packing’s nearly coming to her, and then lets out a low, hissing “Fffffuuuck.” when the familiar sound of her getting, uh, ‘murked’ comes from the TV. Now she’s distracted, Texas leans in a little closer—kisses what might be the head of the gun. That gets her. She finally looks down from the screen, the countdown until she’s back in the game rightfully forgotten with Texas between her legs.

“You should lick it. Or suck it, or something.”

“You’re into that, huh?”

“Maaaaybe? I’m guessing, here!” The Sankta shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant, but Texas can tell when she’s excited – she can’t borderline smell it like she can on some people, but what she and Exusiai have… she can see it in the angel’s eyes, she can see the way her shoulders tense up. Call it a tacit understanding. “I don’t let a lot of girls touch my gun, Tex. You’re special, y’know? You mean so much to me, that’s why…”

“Mm. I feel special.” Her cheek rests on Exusiai’s thigh, and she smiles right up at her. Exusiai is a weird, weird girl; and it’s not like Texas hasn’t come to realise that’s her type, but… it says something, that having Exusiai tell her she wouldn’t let just any woman fellate her piece feels important, somehow.

…fuck it, at least she’s happy.

 “Oh? Yeah?” Exusiai’s leg twitches a little, her thigh bouncing up into Texas’ face, and—when Texas grabs the gun again, giving it a squeeze, Exusiai finally throws her controller to the sofa and places her sweaty, trigger-locked hand over Texas’ ear, tapping her thumb against her piercings. God, she looks smug right now, chewing her lip as she waits for Texas’ next move, and Texas can’t let such great expectations down. She grabs the gun through the boyshorts, tracing the lines of the weapon – she’d been in fact kissing the grip earlier, apparently – and decides to push her palm down on it instead. It feels… warm, despite the cold steel it’s made of. Probably because it’s been in her shorts all day?

“I’m just glad you care about me more than your game.”

“Texas… c’mon, I’m not that cold? I work you over hard and I play hard, just not always in that order--” she starts, swagger falling off when Texas pokes between the trigger and the guard. “Hey, babe, careful, that’s a loaded gun you got there.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to pull your trigger?” It’s a shame Exusiai doesn’t have a tail, sometimes – but she doesn’t need one, because Texas can see it wagging anyway. She lifts herself up onto the sofa, straddling Exusiai’s still bouncing leg, and moves her hand to slide under the waistband of Exusiai’s pants. When she was younger – honestly, mostly until she met Exusiai and straight up asked about it – she had this weird idea that Sanktas literally had some kind of soul bond to their gun.  When they’d first met, Exu hadn’t actually convinced Texas otherwise, and the way she takes a deep breath when Texas runs a finger under the barrel has Texas thinking that she might have been right all long.

Exusiai’s arm rests on her shoulder, pulling Texas in closer for her warmth, to kiss her, and Texas gives in. She presses her lips to Exusiai’s ear, makes it clear what she wants Exusiai to do to her—every last frustration and dirty thought she felt watching her girlfriend boost up her kill/death ratio earlier – or vice versa, Texas isn’t picky, she just really wants to get that early afternoon day-off fuck.  Her hand rides back, her finger hangs off Exusiai’s trigger, and--

Click.

The bang is deafening, the flash mere feet from her face brings back memories of Siracusa, and the way the bullet slices through the air has her tail bristle.

“What the fuck!?” Texas almost yells, leaping back on pure instinct at the sound of a gunshot, and staring with considerable amounts of horror at the bullet wound that’s just been inflicted on the apartment floor. Gunsmoke is currently leaking out of the exit wound of Exusiai’s shorts.

If Exu says she’s ‘smoking hot’ after this, Texas will stub out a cigarette on her forehead.

“Ouch. Fuck. Recoil.” …a fair reaction, Texas guesses, that has to hurt, but are you serious— “Ohhhh, shit. I like these shorts.”

“Exusiai, I could have fucking shot myself.”

“I thought the safety was on! And I told you it was a loaded gun!” This earns her a glare, a ‘someone hid my Sora gravure photobooks again’ glare, and she knows Exusiai doesn’t have quite enough raw confidence to live through that. “My bad, okay?” She really does look more concerned about her shorts than the hole in the carpet or the fact that bullet literally whizzed about three inches away from Texas’ arm. It’s not like Texas isn’t used to the last thing – look, for a couple of years, that was every day of her life – but there’s a time and place for that. Not when you’re trying to get off with your girlfriend, that’s for sure. “Look, you dodged just fine. What’s the worst that could have happened?”

“…putting me aside, you could have shot yourself in the pussy?”

“Okay, sure, but man. That’d be a great story. Maybe Mostima’d actually reply to my texts if I talked about my literally blown out puss—hey, Tex?”

These days, Texas finds it more cute than annoying when she comes up in conversation; honestly, she finds it kind of cute. It’s nice thinking that there’s someone out there who actually gets Exusiai to shut up without sticking a finger in her mouth, and… she gets it. (But that’s a story for another time.)

But -- really? Really, Exusiai, do you have to bring her up after you’ve nearly accidentally shot your girlfriend mid-foreplay? She deserves to get pinned to the sofa, both layers of her shorts pulled down so that god-forsaken gun falls to the floor, and have an insistent thumb run across her lips—

“Seriously. My bad? I’m sorry, Tex—ah, uh—I’m shorry?” …she doesn’t have to look so smug when it comes to popping her girlfriend’s thumb into her mouth and taking a suck, especially if she wants her apology to be taken seriously. “Shooooorrryyyy. I’ll teh yu where I puh the Sora swimshuit boohk...” She pauses, her eyes go all doe-y, truly apologetic. Exusiai seems to be searching for the right word, and when she finds it-- “…daddy?”

…hey, if she really wants a ‘literally blown out puss’ (sic), Texas can think of a few ideas.

Chapter Text

Mostima likes Texas.

Not like-likes her, don’t be silly. She doesn’t fall for colleagues, only an idiot would do that, and she kind of has the feeling Texas isn’t willing to jump into a serious relationship anytime soon, either.

But she’s professional, funny in her own dry way, extremely discrete, and last but certainly not least: an excellent lay.

“Off to Leithanien, huh. The boss sure keeps you running around.”

“No better way to be, frankly. I’m surprised you like staying in Lungmen? I like city life, but not living in cities, so to speak.”

“...I’m comfortable here.”

They don’t talk too much about their pasts; Mostima will never say a word about her city of angels unless it’s on pain of death, and Texas only lets bits and pieces through here and there – Colombian accent, but snobby about Siracusan cuisine, always has some informed observation about the gang politics here. Seventy-thirty on her having mob ties herself. Frankly, Mostima doesn’t like to pry. If Texas was trying to actively get a read on her, that’d be a turnoff, and so she wouldn’t be lying next to her in bed with a Lupo tail occasionally flopping over onto her bare ass.

“Makes sense. Good food here, I definitely get it.”

“Mm.”

“And you’ve got a nice place to live!” Texas’ apartment is good, too – it’s a high-rise place, just a couple of stories below a true penthouse. Amazing city views, very central, a bath that doubles as a hot tub, handleless kitchen doors, the works; Emperor has connections, and his homies get to live that top-floor lifestyle.

“Sure, yeah. Could be cosier.” A fair point, but Mostima then has to wonder why Texas chose both to live here, and then sleep on a bed that looks like a white cube with an equally white sheet thrown on top of it. “...look, about half my pay goes to rent here, and I still get to live good. What are you spending all your money on.”

“Haha. Well... you’ve got to admit, my taste in jackets is pretty nice. And expensive, actually... you and me, we need to have a proper shopping day next time I’m in town.” That, rather than their usual pattern of seeing each other in the office, having drinks at some gay bar where it seems at least half the clientele know the Lupo’s name, and then her and Texas getting way too little sleep as they fight for supremacy atop the mattress. (A fun pattern! Don’t get her wrong.)

All this being said, Mostima’s noticed that Texas' tail is slapping her rear more insistently than usual, today.

“Something on your mind?”

“Uh?” Texas pauses, like she’s shocked that Mostima could tell. If Mostima had better control of her tail she’d wrap it around Texas’ to prove a point, but... well. Been a couple years and she’s still not totally good with it. “...yeah.”

“Want to vent?”

“It’s more of a question, I guess. Has to do with you, too.” She watches as Texas reaches around for her cigs and lighter, realises they’re still on the nightstand, and grumbles and leans over Mostima in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. “There’s this... new starter we’ve got? Not that new, she’s been here a few months now. A Sankta.”

...well, either Texas joins the dots quickly, or little Exusiai’s been asking after her. Maybe both? Probably latter.

“Aha?”

“Mhm. And there’s probably not that many other Sankta running around with horns and black halos and….” The lighter flashes to life, and Texas starts to puff. No ashtray on hand and with cinders staining the sheets a dirty grey, because she lives on the edge. “I mean. ‘Mostima.’ Not exactly Jane Doe, is it?”

...Mostima lets out a deep, deep sigh, and that’s only about… sixty percent performative. She rolls out of bed with enough speed that Texas pauses in confusion, before taking another drag on her cig anyway, and starts to figure out which pair of black booty shorts on the couch is hers, and which is Texas’. (Hers has more pockets.)

“Walk with me.”

They stop by a patisserie that Mostima’s seen on her food Obstagram; less because of a deep desire to go there and more because it’s only like a ten minute walk from Texas’ place and they need to eat something. It’s got this vaguely Colombian mid-1040s vibe to it, kitchy without being too overbearing… or maybe on reflection not overbearing enough.

She knows Texas likes sweets, too – not crazy about them, but any time they hit up a convenience store for drinks on their way back to her place, she normally sees Texas sneak a pack of Pocky or some kind of candy into their basket. Her picking out a thick slice of some intensely chocolatey chocolate cake just makes sense.

“Balanced breakfast, eh?”

“Sorry, wasn’t aware your almond croissant was the healthy option.”

“...touché.” Mostima maintains eye contact with Texas as she dips it into her coffee – today feels like that kind of Vouivre morning.

Small talk follows, most of it things she’s generally interested in, but it’s obvious that Texas has the mindset of a hunter wanting to strike, following the bloody trail of her curiosity until it’s time to truly go for the throat. It’s kind of nice, knowing that someone as surly(…? surly, or simply uncommunicative by nature.) as Texas affords her that treatment, but she really doesn’t have to be so sweet.

“So, about—”

“About Exusiai.”

Texas’ ear twitches. There’s a hint of conflict on her face, halfways between a pleased little puppy at getting her theory confirmed and a grumpy dog at getting the metaphorical ‘punchline’ snatched away from her.

“Mm.” It’s an elegant flick of the wrist, from Texas, her little cake-fork-knife thing slicing through the piled layers of brown. “You two know each other, then?”

“From a while back, yeah. Got to be… two, three years since I’ve seen her?” Of course, if she thinks hard enough she can narrow it down to the exact month, but— “What tipped you off?”

“Sanktas with ‘a dark halo and seriously bad vibes’,” she raises her fingers in vaguely apologetic air quotes, “aren’t that common.”

“Bad vibes? Me? That’s rude. Hope you told her off.”

“True. You do pay for dinner,” Texas mumbles through a mouthful of cake.

“Breakfast, too, if you’ll put in a good word for me?” Her phone’s buzzing, and Mostima excuses herself from the current discussion with a tilt of her head, noticing about… ah, four more unread messages from her erstwhile colleague!

[where the fucking shit are you.]

(Three similar messages follow.)

Mostima doesn’t bother replying, if she’s going to be that rude. She just sends her location pin, and prepares herself to be shouted at in, oh, say twenty or so minutes.

“Is that her?”

“She who must not be named, yep.”

The Lupo offers a brief, sympathetic nod and a deferential flattening of her ears as she sips her coffee, opening her mouth and then closing it with a surprisingly metered pause. Maybe she’s still waking up? Maybe that chocolate cake is just so good it’s distracting her… (The almond croissant is okay.)

“What’s… your deal?” Texas doesn’t go for sudden movements, in words or actions; Mostima can tell she’s still feeling the situation out. “Between you and Exusiai, specifically.” Oh, my, if she’s already laid a hand on little Exu, or knowing Exu, the other way around--

“Mm? Friend of the family, I guess. Me and her sister were pretty close, so, you know.”

“Her sister?’

--ooh.

“…not one to talk about her family these days? I don’t know, maybe she’s changed. Does she still try to down five drinks in a row and end up vomiting an hour later over the cou—"

“Yeah.”

“Ah. Now that’s what I call reassuring familiarity.”

…she has to pick her words carefully, Mostima realises. Perhaps it’s her fault for dipping on every single attempt Exusiai has made to get in contact, perhaps if she could put her old sister-in-arms out of her mind for ten whole minutes and just talk to Exusiai, then everyone involved (most importantly, herself) would get some closure? At least it’d mean that she wouldn’t have to figure out how to tiptoe around the whole Exusiai situation to someone who she knows can see through simple lies and platitudes. Incredible she hasn’t been called out already, really.

“Seems like she’s actively searching for you. You wrong her somehow?”

“Mm, not exactly?” As far as Texas needs to know. “Laterano’s a boring-ass place, she wanted out, and she probably needed an excuse or two to get herself to actually leave. Unfortunately, I might’ve wound up being one of those excuses, but…” The stare of the Lupo as she rambles on isn’t exactly piercing, but Mostima feels herself watched in a way she’s never really appreciated, so it’s probably best to cut herself off, here. “What about you and her?”

“She’s cool. Kind of pissed me off at first, but we worked it out. And she gives me space when I want it.”

“Ooh! That’s changed. Good for her!”

“Oh, the other thing that tipped me off. You two have similar taste in music.”

“…eh?” An astute comment, but Mostima fears the direction Texas is taking this in. Surely, surely she’s not going to compare the finest MCs coming out of Colombia with the cough syrup-addled, mealy-mouthed garbage that Exusiai used to be so fond of--

“Started to wonder if the hiphop thing was your influence.”

“No. No, it’s not. Unless she’s past the kohl and hoes stage of her development?”

“I don’t really listen to the lyrics that closely.”

“…well, firstly, you should, but also you can’t really compare that shit to stuff like Undying Skill---” Mostima, physically, bites down onto her blue tongue to stop herself from lecturing Texas on a subject that she knows she’s right about, because the one thing Exusiai would never, ever back down on was that the only true key part of musical composition was whether a song ‘bumped in the whip’, and she feels that long-silenced part of her that is both correct and depressingly uncool bubble to the surface.

“Passionate, too. Sure you aren’t her actual sister?”

“…Lord, no.” Mostima likes to think she hides her winces well.

“Hah. I don’t know, I just don’t really see you this excited—” Texas thinks a second, maybe even back to last night, turns the coffee cup around in her hands. “Well, not like this.”

“Promise you, it’s not you, it’s me…” And who’s Texas to speak here, anyway? She’s gifted (Mostima’s being honest here, it is a gift) with that permanent half-lidded judgemental gaze, a lethargy that somehow comes off as wildly arousing. “Besides, what does it take to get you to smile?”

“ …your fault if you don’t notice when I do.”

Texas’ left ear twitches, a little, and Mostima’s tail suddenly feels awfully, inexplicably stiff.

“…look, all this aside, going back to her. I’m going to ask a favour. Nothing too big, just something you’d probably end up having to do anyway? Just-- look after Exusiai a little, on my behalf.”

“I’m not gonna babysit her, if that’s what you’re asking.” She jabs her fork into what remains her cake just a little too violently. Kind of takes Mostima aback. (At least that makes it sound like they haven’t fucked! Yet!)

“Oh, nah. Not like that.” It’d be... sad, if Texas didn’t like the little angel. “It’s more that Exu likes, uh...” Hands waving in the air, she grasps for the words, literally. “Authority figures?”

Texas’ response is to point at herself, eyebrows furrowed, mild confusion clear on her face.

Mostima nods.

“Not really used to that.”

“Really? But you’re so tall, dark and handsome.” Texas looks up at her, and Mostima realises that maybe one third of that might be untrue. She stands by the other bits, though! “Mm… maybe you’ll be a good influence on her?”

“I gut people for a living.”

“Right, but you do it in a really… mm… you know, a good way. An honest day’s work. Violence as means to an end.” The end being a paycheck, but better that than angelic gun religio-fascism, Mostima reasons. “…don’t read too much into this, but I can’t think of anyone else who I’d rather trust with making sure she doesn’t go down a bad path.”

“Sure that trust isn’t misplaced?” Texas leans back a little, now, chewing on the last bit of the cake as she slings her arms over the back of the Colombian-style diner chair; it’s hard to parse if it’s relaxation or intimidation, but that’s not enough to get Mostima to back down either way. “I mean, what do you even know about me? What do I know about you? I think I’ve gotten more out of Exusiai bringing you up than I ever have with us actually talking.”

“That’s exactly why! Because you don’t ask.” She lets out a brief laugh, and Texas returns it, a tired chuckle as she throws her head back. “No, no, I mean—you don’t ask me about the horns or the Notarial black ops shit, and I don’t ask you about your time in the Siracusan killing fields.”

“…you don’t.” Ah, that pause tells her a lot – it might have even soured Texas’ mood a little, but that just makes Mostima continue on. (Maybe Exusiai is more sensitive than she is, now.)

“Nothing more beautiful than a tacit understanding. That’s what true trust is to me, I guess? You don’t need to know someone’s life story to know you’re aligned.“

“Guess I’m honoured you’d rely on me.”

“Oh, you’re very reliable. Girlfriend material!”

Texas almost coughs the last bit of chocolate cake out of her mouth.

“Mostima, did you bang your head that hard on the headboard last night—"

“Should’ve banged it harder,” a third voice cuts in.

An ever-so-familiar Liberi, the light of Mostima’s life, is all of a sudden there, and Mostima is impressed at the speed at which she found them. What’s less expected is that she looks at Mostima with her usual combination of scorn and deep-seated relief, and at Texas with…

Well, just the former, it seems like.

“You’re... Smasher?” Texas asks, nonplussed by the sudden intruder.

“Oh, no. No, that was her a few months back. Please, meet Nightrider.” Watching... Nightrider physically wince at the name leaving her mouth is, honestly, one of the few things in life that makes Mostima’s black little heart feel some warmth.

“Huh. That one’s pretty cool.”

The Liberi shoots Mostima a look, Mostima stares at Texas in incredulity, Texas nods at Nightrider like she’s affirming her, Nightrider opens her mouth to say something and ultimately thinks better of it, and it’s up to Mostima to talk. Typical.

“In any case, as much as we’d love to stick around and talk about her night riding activities, I think this means I might have to go.”

“Mm? You can finish your conversation. There’s no rush, Mostima, I just wish you wouldn’t refuse to pick up your phone for twelve hours straight.”

“I feel like you don’t know how rude it is to stop blowing a girl’s back out to just answer a work call, but then again, I guess that’s not really a situation you’re all too familiar wi—" Thankfully Texas isn’t at all bothered with this line of conversation, while Nightrider grabs at Mostima’s cup of coffee and downs the rest of it. “Hey. Hey…”

“I needed that,” is the Liberi’s only explanation, and Mostima really wishes the anger in her heart was more justified. “I assume you don’t want me actually sitting in on your post-fuck match commentary, so just let me know when and I’ll go order the taxi.”

“You can join us,” Texas replies, deadpan, shuffling her whole body across the seat like some kind of four-legged digitigrade crab. Ballsy!

“...offer’s there, I guess, but, yeah, I think we’re done. Right, Texas?” ...from Texas’ little-- pout, sort of, perhaps Mostima’s seeing what she wants to see here—in any case, from the expression on her face, Texas doesn’t seem to entirely agree. “When’s the boss expecting you, anyway?”

“It’s my day off.” She shrugs, words rising with the motion. “Jealous?”

“Idle hands make for immense sin, so I’d be better off without the temptation. You should show me around the city in daylight sometime, though!” She purposefully doesn’t look at Nightrider the whole time they talk, because that’s a big part of the fun for her. “Put the boutique date in the diary.”

“Should I call our taxi, then?” her companion asks, and Mostima--

“Sure!” –nods, and replies without looking at her.

“Get a move on, then.” She clicks her tongue, and Texas instinctively moves to take a tight grip of her coffee cup, clearly worried for the safety of her own drink. “And... ‘Texas’, try not to stick your snout into her business too much.”

“No, I... I really am not intending on doing that.”

“Let’s see if you’re as good on your word as you say, wolf.”

“I think you misunderstand. I do not give two fucks about whatever weird Laterano bullshit you guys are up to.”

“Hm. Glad to hear it.” Mostima finally turns her head, and despite everything, the Notarian looks smug at that exchange, like she’s somehow won.

Pho— Nightrider is so cute.

Mostima throws on her jacket, fishes around for a few more LMD than is strictly necessary to cover the meal and throws them to the table, with a vague (unreciprocated) wink in Texas’ direction.

“Bye for now. Oh, also on the list for next time, let’s hit up a gig, I’ll show you proper hip-hop? I’ll let you know when we’re in town—"

“We?” Nightrider snorts.

“Eh? C’mon, I didn’t want you to feel left out again. Besides, hotels around here, they charge a flat fee, so three people is better value for money.”

“Never been a fan of sharing with others, personally.” The Liberi wanders towards the counter to presumably pick up a coffee of her actual own, but just before Mostima can join her, Texas taps at the back of her hand.

“Hey. I can’t exactly promise I’ll be a good influence on Exusiai, but if there’s anything you need doing, just let me know.”

“…like I said, girlfriend material~”

“...you seriously need to learn to shut up.”

“People have been telling me that my whole life. Stay safe, okay?” With a little wave – for real, this time – Mostima walks off, like she always does, into what could be her very final battle, a pathetic struggle against an entire world that wants her dead no matter who she sides with, her only true ally inexplicably following her into the crossfire and standing by her side through it all.

And Texas is… Texas isn’t that ally. Mostima doesn’t think Texas deserves better than what she’s going through herself, exactly; moral relativity’s so warped her mind into some cyclical moebius strip of cause and effect that she no longer thinks anyone has any hope of a happy ending, or frankly has any right to one, except for maybe Exusiai. But Texas is too much a product of her world to be a sinner, and too aware of said world to claim innocence; she has her own struggles, and she should be allowed to face them without being swallowed up in something greater. Take a perch on a ring of hell less deep than the one she and Phoenix sit on, one where she can stop Exusiai from falling any deeper.

Mostima really, really did mean what she said, though.