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The scent of fresh plaster dust mingles with spilled turpentine as afternoon light slices through the dormitory’s grime-coated windows. Blair adjusts the knot of her Hermès scarf over oil-stained dungarees, wrinkling her nose at a cobweb dangling above Natalie’s head.
"This place is practically medieval," she sighs, perching delicately on a wooden chair salvaged from the Eastland attic. Its spindly legs creak under her weight.
Jo hoists a paint tray laden with thick burgundy pigment—Violant, Natalie named it, claiming it symbolized "necessary connections" from some obscure book. Jo’s smirk sharpens as she deliberately slides the tray onto Blair’s vacated seat.
"Make yourself useful, princess. Hold this."
Blair, distracted by Tootie’s recounting of Mrs. Garrett’s latest burnt casserole, sits back down. A wet, viscous chill seeps instantly through her designer jeans. She freezes, eyes wide. Violet paint blooms across her backside like a grotesque inkblot.
Jo’s laughter cracks the air—a sharp, unguarded bark. "Whoops! I'm sorry. Total accident, swear it!" She braces her hands on her knees, shoulders shaking.
Blair’s jaw tightens. "Sure you are," she hisses, snatching a paint roller. Before Jo can dodge, Blair drags the soaked roller from Jo’s forehead down to her chin. Violant streaks through her dark bangs, drips off her nose. Jo stands statue-still, stunned into silence, paint clinging to her eyelashes.
Blair tilts her head, saccharine-sweet. "Will you forgive me? It was such an accident."
Jo wipes her cheek, leaving a blue-purple smear. "No hard feelings," she grunts, thrusting out her paint-slicked hand.
Blair extends hers, primed for reconciliation—and Jo jerks sideways. Blair’s fingers close around the wet roller handle Jo shoved into her other palm. A guttural growl escapes Blair. Jo lunges, roller raised like a club. They collide—Blair’s silk scarf tangling in Jo’s grip, Jo’s boot skidding on a paint spill—and crash onto the drop cloth. Rollers violently smear violant in wild arcs across denim and skin as they wrestle, gasping curses between breaths, burgundy blooming across the dusty floorboards where their struggle paints a map of reluctant entanglement.