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“I am, aren't I?” Aree responded to Ursula's last spoken comment, a grin parting her lips as she crossed the street to greet her fellow Lieutenant at the door. A car honked impatiently as she strutted across the pavement, moving as though she owned the entire damn parking lot. The man behind the wheel received only a flippant middle finger and a cold glare in return for his troubles, and was forgotten the moment Aree's heel touched the other side of the crossing.

As far as battle wounds went, the teenager wasn't much better off than her red-headed companion. However, she looked more like a victim of a lynch mob than a battered housewife. A thin white bandage was wrapped tightly around her slender throat, the wound beneath not yet healed enough to allow her to cover it with a simple choker. Her limbs were still covered by various scrapes and bruises, bust most had faded to the point of being coverable by concealer.

However, such wounds would likely come as less of a surprise to Ursula than Aree's current attire. Whereas the senior Lieutenant had only ever seen her in the less than conservative Negaverse uniform, Aree now wore a simple, form fitting black sweater and a knee-length skirt trimmed in a shade of purple that complemented her hair. Her legs were left bare, strappy, low-heel sandals encasing her feet. It had been weeks since Tanzanite had slipped into the human skin of Aree Cadence, she intended to enjoy a brief reprieve from five-inch heels.

“You look stunning,” she said, embracing Ursula in the way women so often did, careful to avoid touching the bruises and contusions as best she could. Aree had never been much for touching.. or friendships.. or people, for that matter. However, she and Ursula shared far too many common interests – and enemies – for her to not make at least a decent attempt at bonding.

Who knew, maybe something would come of it.

Aree was more fond of pale, biting, psychotic red-heads, really. Lavender just wasn't her color. She touched the bandage at her neck with a faint smile. The evening that led up to her sudden (and inexplicably violent) interest in Obsidian was still somewhat perplexing, but she wasn't going to argue with what she considered to be a good thing. How being beaten within a few inches of your life twice in one day was a good thing, she couldn't explain.

It just was. This is the Negaverse. We don't have room for your logic here.

She waved one hand in a dismissive gesture, as though to suggest the Crystal Academy girls weren't even worth worrying about. And as far as Aree was concerned, they really weren't. She had spent years among them, watching their undeserved egos growing with each passing day. Watching as they waved their wealth and status, and wore arrogance as though it was the latest Fall fashion. It was only recently, only through Charonite, that she was able to be the one to drag them violently from their pedestals. Still, while she owed the man her unwavering loyalty, her interest in him stopped there.

“The ones that aren't fat are anorexic, short, or just plain ugly,” she said, lifting a hand to check that her long, dark bangs were still covering the large set of bruises that ran down the side of her face; Obsidian's handiwork. “No reason to fret,” she smiled, looping an arm through Ursula's, “We won't just find you a dress, Ursula, we will find you the dress. Whoever your going with, I plan on making sure he can't take his eyes off of you."

“Not the one I wanted,” she murmured, displeasure evident in her voice, “But I found a suitable replacement that will match the dress I have in mind.” She spoke of men as though they were accessories. Which, to Aree, they usually were. Pretty things to keep around for the sake of appearances, then to discard when they fell out of fashion or favor.

“Unfortunately the one I have my eye on,” Oh yes, have, “Won't be with me when I arrive at prom. However, I fully intend on him being with me when I leave. Which is why I agree that this trip must be successful.”

In truth, Aree didn't give a damn about prom. It was a social gathering for stupid, stupid teenagers. What she did care about was getting into a certain red-headed Lieutenant's head and staying there. Arm in arm, the pair strutted into the first of likely many stores, and Aree veered over to the block of racks that had been dedicated to Prom. Most were trashy, gaudy things. Bright pinks and vivid blues. Things utterly unworthy of either her or her companion.

Somewhere, though, between the trashy tafetta and the gaudy sequins, was the dress.

What the hell was this?

What the hell was this?!

“What the hell is this?” Aree said, holding up some frilly pink monstrosity. It was covered in a swirling pattern of hideous sequins, spiraling around in pink and purple accents. The front bore a large, frilly bow, and Aree promptly shoved it back into the rack as though it might burn her if she held onto it much longer. The dresses to either side were equally grotesque.

Aree had no interest in looking like a princess at her prom. When you wanted to get your best friend to finally realize that he belonged with you a la a Taylor Swift video, you dressed like a princess. When you wanted to catch the eye of a sadistic, murderous, arrogant Negaverse Lieutenant, you most certainly did not.

“There's a specialty shop a few stores up,” she said, disgust evident in her tone as she tossed one of the ugly thing over her shoulder, not bothering to hang it back up. “For the love of the Negaverse, let's get the hell out of here. I'm thinking red carpet, not Rainbow Brite.”

Oh, but how she loved that show as a kid.

“Christ, this thing is a tent,” she said of another, tossing it aside to the pair of rude Crystal twats. She knew the both of them, and disliked them equally. Forcing a sickly sweet smile, Aree crooked her fingers in a tiny wave, “That one might fit you.”

Without so much as another thought for the two, one of which seemed about to burst into tears, Aree followed on Ursula's heels. The mall was crowded, as usual, Aree did not sidestep as she walked alongside her companion, rounding the corner to the next store. As far as she was concerned, these people were something to be harvested, most of them unworthy of the oxygen they breathed in through those disgusting, vulgar pasty munchers they called mouth, much less her attention.

The next target was much more up the alley of the picky teenager, a specialty shop that traded exclusively in pricey but sophisticated gowns. Beyond the rows of designer dresses were cases of jewelry, racks of shoes, and handbags to match almost any style.

“Much better,” Aree murmured, waving off the attendant who attempted to greet her. She didn't need some fat, fussy old woman hovering around her.

“Excuse me, miss?” the attendant approached Aree, going so far as to rest a hand on her shoulder as she browsed the racks, “Is that your friend?”

Aree froze as soon as the woman's hand fell upon her shoulder, her entire body tensing at this abrupt violation of her personal space. It wasn't that Aree minded being touched so much as Aree minded being touched by someone she considered nothing more than a useless shell to house a star seed. She twisted her neck sideways with a blank expression, giving a very simple, flat, “Yes.”

“Well, could you kindly tell her that she can't just take whatever she wants off of the ma-”

“Let me stop you there,” Aree interrupted her, plucking the woman's hand from her shoulder and pushing it of to one side as though repulsed by it, “I feel that I should first tell you, to be fair, that if you touch me again I will snap that hand right off. Secondly, yes, she can. But please feel free to tell her otherwise yourself, but I would think twice about pissing her OH MY GOD IT'S AMAZING!”

Aree's little tirade was cut short as Ursula emerged from the dressing room, a vision of absolute beauty. “Audrey wished she could look that good, Ursula.”

Aree was not a 'bouncer'. She'd seen it done many times before, it movies and TV shows and in the halls of Crystal Academy when some girl had been assigned the role she wanted in the school ballet, but never had Aree felt inclined to link hands and jump up and down excitedly.

Thus, it was an interesting experience when she attempted to do so with Ursula. Certainly, she shared the woman's joy, but when you had a rack as large as Aree's, you just didn't feel inclined to jump around unless you were wearing a triple-support sports bra and had ducked taped the twins down. She stopped after only a few brief jumps- but not because she had tired of jumping. She stopped because there, at the register, was an old woman holding a dress.

And old woman holding her dress. She was telling the cashier something about her granddaughter and prom, but the words were a mere blur to Aree. The deep wine color, the elegantly embroidered flowers, the choker neck that was simply made for her. The attendant had just begun to ring the thing up when Aree walked up, snatched it from her hands, and abruptly marched off to the dressing room. There was plenty of annoyance and argument, but Aree was not one to pay attention to it. She slammed the dressing room door shut.

What emerged was nothing short of beautiful. The dress hugged her tall, slender form like a glove, the embroidery that snaked along the bodice connecting to the choker which covered the soon-to-be scar that ringed her neck. Much like Nea, the dress exposed an utterly absurd amount of bruises and scrapes, but those would be history by the time prom rolled around.

“Ursula,” she held out a hand, crooking her fingers to beckon her friend forward, “I believe we need to resume that jumping.”