i didn't ask for any of this

of course vinyl's got to go to kitchen duty because they only caught the end of the fight where she was winning, and totally missed the bit where some random kid started insulting her and got aggressive when she insulted them back and told them to buzz off. like, where did they think she got her bloody nose and black eye from? magic?

and it's not like she can afford makeup to cover up the battle scars because she never even volunteers to work the library or shop so she can get money. so she's stuck with kitchen duty because nobody ever believes her when she says it really wasn't her fault, really.

so there she is, black eye and swollen nose in her full glory. and she's stuck with the hideous yellow rubber gloves. but, hey, at least they keep the lava they use to wash the dishes off of her hands. (lava. lava. they are truly insane here, vinyl swears on her insignificant life).

she throws a scowl in the direction of the boy, saying, "some jackass thought it would be alright to hurl insults and got mad when i tried to shut him up." she's still bitter about it, has been chain smoking all day in an attempt to calm her nerves. she wants nothing more than to pull out a smoke, but she can't because she has to wash dishes with lava.

she tries not to wash too furiously, prays she doesn't end up a burn to add to her injuries. she's got enough scars at it is, plenty of them are burns. she doesn't need to add more to her collection, she's quite content as it is.

honestly, vinyl has been trying to be better, kinder, nicer. she has. it's not her fault someone else decided it would be fun to mess with her, and it's not like she could just let them get away with it. and she's no snitch, either. vinyl is not a snitch and never will be a snitch.

"not even," vinyl growls out through clenched teeth. "he got off free. you know, who cares that i've got actual proof on my damn face, it's me so i must have started it."

she's fuming, honestly, hasn't calmed down since she had first received her sentence. she knows she should be grateful it was just a week of kitchen duty; she's had far worse before. they could have made her leave. she could have been out on the streets again, away from her brother and without a home and struggling to find food. anything is better than that. kitchen duty is better than that, even if she does have to wash dishes with lava.

but, dammit, she just wishes that the jackass had to do dishes with lava, too.

"i'm not sleeping with you," vinyl replies, rapid fire, voice cold and closed off. it's too familiar, too much like new york and new orleans and chicago and seattle. it's too damn familiar, reminds her of never ending hunger and being so cold she felt numb, of soul crushing loneliness and being used.

she focuses her attention on scrubbing the plates, tries her hardest not to look at him, tries her hardest to settle her slightly shaking hands and slow the beating of her heart.

she's never found the thought of it appealing, never found herself wanting to sleep with anyone, except for innocent naps with her younger brother back before she lost him. she's just - she's never wanted it, and her professions before camp didn't help one bit.

she needs to stop her hands from shaking, needs to calm down. she's dealing with lava, and she doesn't need any more scars to add to her collection.

"fine," vinyl says, voice shaking and hands trembling. "but only 'cause i'm out." it's true, she finished chain smoking her last pack right before she had to come in.

"and if you even think of pulling anything, i swear i will chop your d!ck off," she adds as she finishes up the last of her dishes. gods, she needs to calm down, she's being irrational. nobody else is afraid of having sex. nobody else doesn't want it. once vinyl gets past being crazy, she'll be fine. she will.

vinyl casts the boy - lou, she corrects herself - a look. not a look, a look, you know, one that says, 'i highly doubt you mean that from experience,' or something along the lines of that. she knows his kind because he's her kind - it takes one to know one and all that. the kind who provide for themselves, the kind who don't trust anyone because they know better than that.

but she doesn't comment on it, just peels off her drakon hide, lava-proof gloves with mildly shaking hands, takes a deep breath. "vinyl," she says. "i'm vinyl." there's no need for last names, godly parents, or pleasantries; she's sure lou knows that from how he just dropped his first name, too.

she ignores his hand, just takes a deep, shuddering breath and turns on her heel to walk to the door, out of the overheated kitchen. the cool, fresh air feels like liberation on vinyl's skin, but it's nothing compared to being free of the harpies gaze. they're just - they're weird, alright, weird and a bit creepy and so, so strange that vinyl hadn't known what to do with them, just tried to ignore them. they just kept watching, though. it wasn't quite terrifying, just unnerving. she hadn't known what to do with it.

"give me a cig," she says, sticking one hand out to lou and sticking the other in her pocket to pull out her lighter, fingers still shaking. "gods, just give me a f*cking cig."