"I can't sit when your fatass is taking up the whole fuckin' couch," he said, standing over her with his hands on his hips. "Move, pretty please."
She was long used to his abusive language towards his friends. It was his own special way of showing affection.
Without a single second of hesitation, she reaches over and grabs the nearest object, a stack of papers. She then proceeds to whip him over the head. “Now I’m definitely spilling fingernail polish all over your damn couch. And on your big ass head.”
She smacks him once more before dumping the papers on the floor and scooting over. “There you go, fucker.”
"You're gonna clean that up, by the way," he said, sitting down in the free space and offering his hand. The stain on the tank top was from the last time he had painted his nails. He jerked in the wrong manner and had made her spill it on to the shirt, so he made sure to stay as still as he could.
“Make me.” She gives the bottle a proper shake before twisting off the cap and taking his hand. “Let’s not have a repeat of last time, ‘mkay? I don’t think your shirt can handle it.” Chattering away, her eyes remained glued to his nails and the task at hand. Stroke after stroke, the once clear surfaces become coated with even layers of shines purple. Watching it is almost mesmerizing.
He watched the TV as she painted. They were still on the topic of his alter ego, currently interviewing one of the heroes he had put in the hospital.
"Is there any weakness that people could exploit?" the reporter asked, then put the microphone to the bruised face resting on the white hospital pillow.
"He stayed away from the jewelry store," the man said in a gravelly voice. "All I could tell."
Glancing up, she takes a moment to listen to the interview. “Who wouldn’t stay away from the jewelry store with those high prices?” The fact that even the hero doesn’t have any ideas of a weakness is concerning. All she can do is joke about it. It’s not the most effective coping tactic but it’s the one she uses.
She sighs quietly before finishing with his nails. Twisting the cap back on, she sets the bottle aside.
“It’s a shame that Indigo has to hit his face. He used to be so good looking.”
He scrunched his face up, putting his hands palm-down on his legs to let the paint dry. "Eh. He wasn't, like, a chick magnet or anything."
Winston was beginning to feel awkward the more she spoke of his actions in a disapproving manner. It put it into the perspective of what other people thought of him.
She raises her brows at his statement. “Have you seen him? Those cobalt blue eyes……damn,” She whistles and leans back against the couch. “Though, his speech when he got the key to the city was annoying. Confidence is nice to have but he was just down right cocky.” It figures that he’s nice to look at but is a bit of an asshole.
"Very, very fucking t-" the sound of a scream from somewhere in the apartment building made hims jump in surprise. Then, the bang bang bang! of gunshots. Winston got to his feet, his nails completely forgotten.
"You…..stay right there," he said to Charlotte as he slowly walked towards the door.
Charlie’s body goes rigid the second she hears the gunshots. That can’t be good. “Winston! Don’t leave the apartment! We need to call the cops.” Is he fucking insane? Someone probably just got shot and he wants to wander out there? Dear lord, he’s going to be the death of her. She pulls out her phone, ignoring the pit in the bottom of her stomach. Something just feels off. It’s a weird things to think during a shooting but someone is just more wrong than usual.
"I'll be back," he said, putting his eye to the peephole for a moment before opening up the door. "But calling the police is a really fucking good idea."
He slipped out of the room and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door softly behind him. After about 5 minutes, there was the sound of more gunshots, this time seeming to be right next door, then the sound of a scream and a thump. The wall behind her head shook with violent force, as if a heavy object was thrown against it.
She can’t help but groan when he makes the dumbass decision to leave the safety of the apartment. Okay, first she’ll call the police and then she’ll go make sure that he doesn’t get himself killed. She dials the three numbers and talks quickly to the man who answers. A few minutes later, she hangs up.
Not even a second later, what sounds like a very heavy object is being thrown into the wall next to her. She flinches and hops off of the couch. “This is a stupid idea. This is a really fucking stupid idea,” She mutters to herself as she pokes her head out of the apartment door and looks around.
The apartment room that shared the wall with his apartment was kicked in, the door hanging from a single hinge on the top. Winston walked out of the door frame, gently moving the door out of his way. His hair had fallen over his face, the gel coming undone from the time he had left the room 'til then. He pushed his hair back into place and finally realized that Charlie had left the room and went wide eyed. "The fuck are you doing?"
Seeing the mess in front of her, her jaw drops and her eyes going huge. “What. The. Fuck.” Her voice goes up a good two octaves. The sight of Winston just calmly removing himself from the situation causes her brain to nearly snap in half. This is madness. Complete and utter pandemonium. “Did you…….what even…….the fuck?” She can’t even form a full sentence. This is just too damn much.
"Wait, you think I did that?" he asked, rolling his eyes.
Another figure walked out of the room, dressed in a red spandex suit and a Plague Doctor mask on.
"Has 911 been dialed yet?" the figure asked, sounding weird and robotic. Almost like he was scared of something.
“Of fucking course not!” Does she look stupid to him? No one without superhuman strength could do that type of damage.
She shifts her attention to the second person emerging from the mess of an apartment. That’s where this situation crosses a line. This is the stuff of nightmares.
“Oh, fuck no,” She mutters before turning and going right back into the apartment, closing the door behind her. The sound of wailing sirens can be heard in the distance so the creepy Plague Doctor man will get his answer.
Winston walked over to the Plague Doctor and ripped the mask off. Staring back at him was the terrified face of one of the shooters. His friend was laying dead in the room, his back broken from the collision from the wall.
"You say anything," he growled, picking the man up by his neck, "And I will find you."
He then tossed the man into the room again. The sound of broken glass and a small scream revealed that he had been thrown out of the window. He brushed his arms off and checked his nails. They were still drying, but looked fine. He walked back into his apartment with a small smile on his face.
Charlie gets back on the phone with the 911 operator and urges them to hurry the heck up. They seem to take her warning seriously and promise to dispatch some more cops. Well, today has been eventful and it’s not even noon yet.
Whirling around, she locks eyes with Winston when he renters the apartment. “Are you okay? What happened?” She may not be willing to deal with the creepy plague guy but she wants to be certain that everything is okay. The cops will be here soon but bad things can still happen in a short amount of time.
"Yeah, everything's fine. The Plague guy's a good guy, by the way." He walked over to the couch and sat down again, crossing his legs. "The guys were already dealt with when I got out there. He was just finishing things up."
“Yeah, no, I don’t care. There’s no way I’m going anywhere near someone who thinks a Plague Doctor getup is a suitable costume for a hero.” She shakes her head, completely disapproving.
“The cops will be here soon to deal with everything. They’ll probably want to take your statement.”
He let out a groan, staring up at the ceiling. "That's so much fucking work, though. Think we could leave before they get here?"
“And where exactly do you want to go? Now is prime traffic time thanks to Indigo. The roads are all sorts of crazy.” She snorts, knowing that they wouldn’t get too far.
"We can't just walk?" he asked, glancing over at her. His hazel eyes seemed to have a veil of frustration over them, but it wasn't from the police. He'd just killed a person barely a room away from his friend. And the problems he was causing for the whole city was being brought to attention by her.
Her responses consists of a heavy sighs and then a long period of silence. “Fine. We can walk somewhere.” Leaving her car in the bad part of the city isn’t the best idea but she doesn’t want Winston to get in a mood. She rolls off of the couch and grabs her keys, shoving them into her pocket. “The pet store has some rabbits, kittens, and puppies for adoption that I want to look at.” Rather than having animals brought in from breeders, this pet store invites animals rescues to occasionally come by with their adoptable pets.
He walked into his room and came out with sneakers on his feet and a leather jacket over his shoulders. He popped the collar of the jacket and studied his nails again. They were finally dry.
"You can borrow the nail polish if you want," he said, gesturing at where it was left on the ground.