Punisher, JJ Maybank

001. Hurricane In High Heels

"Did you hear about the hurricane?" Rory whined, her head falling against the back of the couch in a drama-queen-ish fashion.

Elliot hummed, his fingers still playing at the keys. "Yeah, it's s'posed to be coming later today, right?"

"Yes." Rory made it clear in her tone that she was not happy about this, but Elliot didn't seem to notice.

"Sick waves, probably," he commented, flipping a page of his music book.

Rory rolled her eyes, clearly she wasn't going to get any sympathy from her brother, who was acting very Pogue-like (something she tried to ignore. He reminded her too much of another crazy surfer Pogue.)

"That's so dangerous, Eli. You'll probably like, die or something."

"Aw, c'mon!" Elliot stopped playing to turn to look aghast at his sister. He reached out and poked Rory in the side, fingers digging into her lilac top. "What ever happened to your sense of fun?"

Rory yelped ungracefully (very rare) and pushed at Elliot's hands, scooting away from him and flipping him off (not so rare).

Elliot laughed at his sister's familiar hand gesture, "Since when do you care about what I do anyway?"

Rory shrugged, but a smile reserved only for Elliot Lopez was gracing her lips. "Since never."

Rory's pocket buzzed and she poked her tongue out at Elliot before pulling her phone out. A message from Sarah.

Ugh, I know. Helping my dad out with storm stuff today, we can hang tomorrow? x

Rory smiled, Sarah Cameron was practically an angel on earth. She shot back a quick reply, ruffled Elliot's dark hair, then wandered into the kitchen. A minute later she was climbing back upstairs, a fresh bottle of apricot juice (she had an addiction, she knew, but at least it wasn't vodka) cradled in her dainty hands.

     There was nothing that made Rory Lopez happier than pretty things. She adored buying pretty things because they reminded her of her mother, who was always so pretty in Rory's eyes, despite having next to no money to her name and living in what was practically a shack. Rory loved how her mother would wear flowy dresses and bunches of flowers in her hair, because she looked so beautiful compared to the rickety floorboards and almost-empty cupboards, like an angel in a wasteland. And being beautiful was the one thing Rory could do to hold on to her mother, because there was too much Ross Lopez in her, too much need for approval from those above you and too much addiction to temporal things. Too much bottled-up rage and fear of disappointing them.

It was a few hours later that Rory was laying diva-style on her silk sheets, her body surrounded by cushions and clothes she'd tossed there and never put away. She held a circular gold-rimmed mirror in one hand, poised above her face and casting her reflection back at her. A tube of red lipstick was in the other hand and she was gliding the tip along her lips, her mouth coming to life with the colour.

Rory considered it something of a skill of hers, this ability to make herself up like a doll. It was an artistry, she thought, and it made Rory look older, prettier, more like herself than anyone knew. With a soft sigh Rory set the mirror down on her pillow, sitting up to store the lipstick tube carefully in her drawer (it was the only thing she ever bothered to put away in its proper place.)

Feeling boredom creep in — Elliot had gone out with his surfer friends, and both Sarah and Rue were hurricane-prepping — Rory headed out of her room in search of a distraction or drink or a damn cigarette. She was barely out the door when she ran right into her dad, his hands were full of folders and papers and his phone was shoved between his ear and shoulder.