Work Text:
The stench of the sewer still clings to them, a gross, damp cloak, as Jane and Roxy, with Reinaldo hiding in the messenger bag, burst onto a bustling Bronx street, disoriented and gasping for cleaner air. They glance back, paranoia spiking, expecting Max and that terrifying white Asian, Bennie, to appear.
Unbeknownst to them, Bennie, with cruel cunning, has already made his move, luring Trey into his trunk — a silent, menacing negotiation tactic. Jane and Roxy are too busy trying to figure out if the weird buzzing in their ears is still the sound of the sewer or just their own anxiety.
"Oh. My. God. Roxy, where are we even? This is not downtown," Jane wails, her usually neat blonde hair now a frizzy halo, plastered to her temples with sweat. She fumbles with her flip phone, but there’s no signal. "Are you even looking at these street names? This is, like, a whole different world."
Roxy shoves her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, her usually defiant gaze softening, just a fraction. "Chill, Janie. We're in the Bronx. Probably. And yeah, it’s different. Less… Wall Street, more… real." She spins around, taking in the vibrant storefronts, the blare of salsa music from a bodega. "But seriously, we need to get clean. I smell like… forgotten lunch meat."
Suddenly, a bright pink sign catches Roxy's eye: "Glamour Grrlz Salon." A lifeline. Jane balks, her nose scrunching. “A salon ? Roxy, I have a speech in like, an hour!”
But Roxy is already dragging her towards the door. Inside, the air is thick with the sweet, chemical scent of hairspray and ambition. A woman with an impressive beehive, the manager, beams at them. "Well, hello, ladies! You two look like you just came out of a street fight. Lucky for you, it's 'Two for One Transformation Tuesday'! Ready for a little oomph ?"
Jane stares at Roxy, who grins, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. It's a look Jane knows well. They are covered in grime, stressed out of their minds, and nowhere near where they need to be, but for a fleeting moment, as the salon music pulses, the thought of a makeover, together, feels like a ridiculous, perfect escape.