Chapter Text
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The heels of her silver sequin knee high boots hit the main floor heavily one step at a time, all eyes on her.
Purple and blue lights flood the club, her skin, reflecting off of her 99 cent cherry flavored lip gloss. She sways gracefully from side to side to the beat of the bass, grabbing the pole from high up to steady herself as she slides down ever so slowly as middle aged men of all kinds gawk at her, all on their toes to catch a glimpse of her cunt as she spreads her knees wide, hips rolling.
She licks her lips, eyes hooded, and holds the pole firmly as she slides back up with her back arched, spinning around.
Her eyes flicker to a familiar black haired girl to her right, moving in a similar fashion as she herself on the adjoining riser. The girl's skin shines pale and milky from the main light, her body shimmering with the cheap glitter that one of the other girls must have helped her slather herself up with, all across her chest and shoulders.
The girl moves in a suddenly slow, but deliberate manner, and Karen knows who she's preforming for, and it's not any of the greasy fucks that have stuffed themselves like fucking sardines in this place 'cause they're so hard up to see a barely legal girl prance around in her underwear- but then again, Karen's not complaining.
She's gotta make a fucking living somehow.
Their eyes lock, and Karen decides then that Mandy is too far up her own ass if she thinks that that wink and those hips are gonna be the source of any screw up on Karen's part. She rolls her eyes briefly, catching the glint of the glitter high on one of Mandy's cheek bones. She knows that shit's gonna give her one hell of a rash, but Karen will be there, spreading the Cortizone on thick and lending a fairly annoyed but endeared ear to the other girl as she bitches and moans.
She's careful to keep up the persona she puts on as soon as she steps on stage, the one that has men straining against their zippers. She's Bubblegum Pop, painfully seductive and unmerciful, dripping with sleaze. God knows she and Mandy need all the fucking tips they can get, so she keeps dancing, expertly collecting bills that get tossed her way till the end of her song.
She's always got Mandy in her line of sight though, making sure she's okay.
Karen wouldn't admit it, but she's got fuck all without the girl, so she keeps an eye on her, ready to whip out the butterfly knife stuffed snugly against the inside of her ankle in her boot in case the bonehead security that backs this poor excuse of a club aren't there fast enough to stop shit from going south if one of the customers gets smart.
Karen also knows Mandy would be mortally offended if she knew of her girlfriends paranoia, all,
"I can fuckin' take care of myself, alright? Just fuck off!"
Still, Karen keeps the part of her brain that isn't preoccupied with vying for all the attention and money she can get on Mandy's well being. Not like anyone else has offered to keep track of the 19 year old menace, so Karen supposes she'll happily oblige. She owes her anyway.
"Why's there never any fucking food in this shithole?" Mandy quips, hip cocked as she stands with her arm resting over the top of the grimy fridge door, glaring at the contents, or, lack thereof.
Karen burrows further into the blanket she's got wrapped around her, the scratchy fabric of the couch rubbing against the skin of her back uncomfortably, but she's too tired to move, or even think. They both had a long shift that night and had just gotten home not even an hour ago. She hears Mandy go back to tinkering in the kitchen. Cabinet doors are being slammed, drawers being shut with more force than necessary, the mismatched silver inside rattling.
She sighs and pulls the covers over her head. "Mandy?" she calls as loud as she can through the thick blanket.
From the sound of it, it seems Mandy hadn't heard her at all, 'cause she's still stomping around in there like a fucking rhino. Karen peeks her head out to see a more than frustrated Mandy Milkovich kick the side of a cabinet with her bare foot. The blonde winces and wills for the storm to pass. Mandy grabs her foot, falling back against the counter, face contorted in pain.
"See?! I just wanted to come home, get undressed, eat, fuck, then sleep, but no, God for-fucking-bid.."
She kicks again at the cabinet. Karen knows she's on a roll when the other girl starts gesturing wildly with her arms, motioning around their piece of shit kitchen.
"We both work fucking non-stop, but still, here we are, never anything in the fridge with barely enough to go in for rent! We've got fuck all! we came to New York to get away from all that kind of shit, that kind of life. Jesus, it's been two years!"
Karen just keeps her mouth shut, waiting for Mandy to run out of gas.
"But I guess it's just with us 'till the goddamn grave, right?" Mandy's face is red, breath coming out in short puffs. "South Side forever?"
Karen tries to stay silent for a little longer, but caves after a few seconds, reaching her arms out like a kid toward Mandy, making grabby hands. "Could you just shut up and cuddle me? I'm fuckin' freezing over here." She doesn't mean to sound so pathetic, but Mandy's eyes soften and she uncrosses her arms, so Karen counts it as a win.
The side of Mandy's mouth curls up after a beat. "Fuckin' New York winters, huh?"
Karen giggles lightly.
"Yeah," she hums as Mandy squeezes between her and the back of the couch, face buried in the blonde girls neck and tossing the blanket around 'till it's draped over the both of them. "Fuckin' New York winters.."
Karen sighs comfortably, then, after a few minutes, stretches out so she's pressed more firmly against the other girl, fingers brushing along Mandy's arm.
"So," She whispers against Mandy's cheek.
"You still up for that fuck?"
Mandy cracks an eye open, a smirk already forming on her face.
"Hell yeah."