And, there's a Delia. Delia doesn't do sympathy, doesn't do simpering fawning 'hope you feel better'. What the hell use would that be, anyways? Talk like that to someone ain't gonna get better, you're only gonna make 'em feel worse. Be gentle and sympathetic to someone as has always been strong and vibrant and fulla shit? Yeah, that's really gonna help.
So, there's Delia, lounging in the doorway, lazy smile hovering on her lips. Just the same old Delia as always.
Of course she hasn't. That'd be just plain dumb. There is a definite sadness in her eyes, though, even if she's not going to patronise Saffron. In that vein.
"I'm going to miss you."
No-one has ever accused Delia of being anything less than blunt. And it's not that she's insensitive, either. She doesn't like to be lied to or misled herself. Why should anyone else?
Okay, that? Makes her roll her eyes, using the movement to turn her face away. "Right name's-- Natalie. Anythin' else'd-- be a whole-- dif'frent woman."
"That's fine then," easily. "You say that's your name, that's your name."
She tugs gently on a lock of vibrant hair - maybe the only thing about the woman that still has any colour to it.
"I think I'll just remember Red. Who has the sharpest tongue and most evil wit of anyone I know." She grins. "Not to mention the fact that you're the best fuck I've had in years."
Delia pauses outside the door for a long moment, on hand on the wall, staring at nothing. Then, she brushes angry fingers across her eyes, shaking her head. Weakness. She's not supposed to care, dammit.
She stalks away, angrily. Time to find something to kill.
And, there's a Delia. Delia doesn't do sympathy, doesn't do simpering fawning 'hope you feel better'. What the hell use would that be, anyways? Talk like that to someone ain't gonna get better, you're only gonna make 'em feel worse. Be gentle and sympathetic to someone as has always been strong and vibrant and fulla shit? Yeah, that's really gonna help.
So, there's Delia, lounging in the doorway, lazy smile hovering on her lips. Just the same old Delia as always.
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The redhead is pale, thin, and angry. Not beautiful.
But she does glance over, blue eyes down Delia's form, and her smirk is just barely there.
"Wei, bao bei."
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"I'm going to miss you."
No-one has ever accused Delia of being anything less than blunt. And it's not that she's insensitive, either. She doesn't like to be lied to or misled herself. Why should anyone else?
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"You'll find-- a replace--ment bitch, you'll-- see."
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She walks in, and takes a seat, turning the chair around and resting her chin on the back.
"Maybe. She won't be you, though. Or he. Guys can be bitchy too."
She cocks her head sideways a little.
"You know, there's not reason not to tell me what your real name is, Red. I'd like to use the right name to remember you by."
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She hates these questions.
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She tugs gently on a lock of vibrant hair - maybe the only thing about the woman that still has any colour to it.
"I think I'll just remember Red. Who has the sharpest tongue and most evil wit of anyone I know." She grins. "Not to mention the fact that you're the best fuck I've had in years."
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Fond enough that she wants to say something else something...
"...Miss you-- Delia."
Totally unexpected.
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She looks away for a moment, swallows hard, before glancing back.
The finger wound around a lock of red hair slides over the other woman's cheek, gaunt and hollow.
"Good memories, Red."
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"Xiexie. Get-- outta here."
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She looks at her for a moment more, before leaning down, and kissing the cheek her fingers had stroked.
"Sleep well."
And leaves.
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She doesn't sleep - but she does lie there with her eyes closed for a long time.
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She stalks away, angrily. Time to find something to kill.
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