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“You said you’d do anything to help a friend,” Vriska argued pointedly, even though Feferi hadn’t even opened her mouth to refuse her yet. It had been what she was about to do, maybe, or maybe her mouth was opening merely to gape in shock at the sight before her. It all depended on what her vocal cords decided to do. “So unless you’re some kind of backstabbing liar, or some goody two shoes who favors the law over your childhood friends, you’d better actually help me instead of wimping out!”
Feferi darted her tongue out to wet her lips, swallowing roughly in the hopes that it would make it easier to speak. Definitely not addressing the not-so-veiled jab at Terezi. That wasn’t relevant enough to matter and would only send Vriska on a time-wasting spiral of anger and entitlement. Better to address the more pertinent concern. The man on the floor, some stranger in a flannel shirt and stained jeans, was still saturating Vriska’s throw rug with blood, the gash in his throat resembling a screaming mouth.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help, so just keep your pants on, bossy,” she replied with an aggrieved huff of her own, almost startled by the way her voice sounded so natural even as her eyes remained fixed on the corpse. “You just... have to give me a minute to take all this in. When you called me asking for an urgent favor, I don’t know what I was expecting, but...” Feferi trailed off, not bothering to finish her sentence. She’d torn her eyes away from the man’s awful throat in favor of looking up at Vriska instead, but the icy pools of blue staring back at her brooked no excuses.
“Buck up, princess! I don’t give a shit what you expected. We’re taking care of this while it’s still dark out, and you can have whatever delicate little feelings you wanna have later. Honestly, it’s barely even a secret that your mom orders hits on whoever she pleases, so you shouldn’t be such a squeamish baby about getting rid of one measly corpse.” With a sigh that fanned her bleach blonde bangs up into the air, Vriska rolled up her sleeves and pulled on a pair of bright blue latex gloves. Then she proffered the box to Feferi, clearly expecting her to do the same.
“I should’ve asked your sister instead,” Vriska continued when it took her a moment too long to comply. “But I shouldn’t have had to when you’re the one I’ve been playing with since preschool, isn’t that right? How many times have I proved my loyalty to your family?” Approximately none that Feferi could remember, but far be it from her to start an argument over a corpse. Better to focus on getting her own sleeves out of the way and pulling on the gloves.
If anything, she was the one who’d demonstrated her loyalty to her friends time and time again, trying to prove that she was better than her mother’s petty trickery and quid pro quo relationships. More loyal to Vriska than most, maybe, compelled by the way she always seemed to get up when life kicked her down, usually with more fight in her than before. She couldn’t say she hadn’t thought about it before, how it would feel to have her lips smeared with blue lipstick, her pillowcases with blue dye. Vriska in her bed, prosthesis off, soft and vulnerable for sleep.
And so she stood there and listened to Vriska describe how they’d go about disposing of evidence, how they’d roll the body up in the rug to keep the mess contained and bury it up in the woods behind Vriska’s property. She sounded convinced no one would look there, and that as long as they dug deep enough that animals wouldn’t be a problem, it would all be taken care of.
She didn’t mention, when she squatted to take up her side of the rug, that her mother would probably be willing to do all the fixing she needed anyway. She cared enough about Vriska not to want her too indebted. And, well, trying not to spill or step in any blood took enough focus that it was easier not to speak. Vriska led the way out the back door with their cargo, walking backwards across the porch and down the stairs with such easy confidence that Feferi had to wonder. Was she shaken enough not to consider the possibility that Feferi could make her fall? Or did she just know that Feferi liked her too much for that?
The walk was long and quiet, with only the hooting of owls and the rustling of the wind in the trees to break the silence. Without a coat, it was cold enough that Feferi nearly expected to see the clouds of her breath. It was still above freezing, though. They would be able to dig.
“Go back for the shovels,” Vriska ordered once they’d reached her chosen spot and set down the tightly rolled rug. By the moonlight, Feferi thought it might have been weeping blood into the dirt. “I’ll wait here. You’ll remember the way, won’t you?”
“Yeah, I’ll remember.” Of course she would. She’d played in these woods as a child, the span between the Serket and Zahhak estates. Noble children playing undignified pretend games, when they were still too young to be strong-armed into only playing politics. Feferi rocked back on her heels, considering, and that was enough time for Vriska to speak again. Not a rebuke, as she might have expected.
“You know, Peixes,” she said, dragging out the words nice and slow. “I do enjoy getting to be the one to ruin you. Corrupting the poor little princess... It wasn’t my main goal tonight, but it’s a very nice consolation prize for the inconvenience.” Vriska grinned at her, wicked, and Feferi had to look away from her silhouette and take a breath to force down the entirely inappropriate warmth curling in the pit of her stomach.
“Hurry along now, princess. Don’t even think about going home.”