The worlds bitch

art

   Ficker was  "working" this mostly consisted of sitting around listing to music as she was much more loved than her partner, said partner  was probably not going to be happy with her plan when she got home. Honestly she didn't understand what he couldn't accept about it especially considering how many times it had had to happen. 

   Sighing she took of her headphones, at least she though as she gave the slushy machine a once over, there would be a grace period between when she got home and when Hundin finished up his job an hour or two later. Well it was hard to say if it could really be called home, she might have been the favored one but she had to live in the same sorry excuse for an apartment that he did. By the time she had hitched a taxi she was starting to perspire in the hot afternoon air. the closet wasn't too far away but she simply couldn't find it in herself to walk due to the heat.                                  

It would be fine, who needs to save up for a better home anyway?

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   When Hundin got home he was not happy, well he wasn't exactly a sunny person in general but the scowl on his face guaranteed that Ficker would either have to listen to a short but fiery rant or she would be completely ignored. Either way, him being pre-pissed did not bode well for her.

"Hey!" She decided it best to intercept him before he made it to his room, she could tell it was his intended course of action the moment they made eye contact, perk of being partners. The other thing she could tell, something that put her into a stormy mood herself was that his mood had to do with roses, fucking flowers, of course. Still . . .

"Look, I get it, but its still gonna have to happen though child" His eye's argued so hard she fucking wanted to scream at how unfair it was that he didn't even have to open his mouth to make a point.                                              

   He really wasn't that evil, so he decided to level the playing field a bit "And what, pray tell is the point? when a color haunts me then what is the point of trying to keep up a non existent strength?" 

   They way he stressed the word color seemed pointless, but then again if he was going to be dramatic she figured that simply letting him was the ideal                 "Would you prefer to be even weaker then? and what of the zombies?" 

   And she had won, and he hadn't even truly fought so with a loud sigh he allowed her to tare her bandage of.