ICU - (S&M Iron Works, New Orleans)

Looking bored was an art form. Katherine Bight was a master.

It began with clothes. The black leather jacket, with its’ studs and shoulder spikes, was a must for all occasions, as were her Docs. Today’s tee shirt was The Misfits, a giant, white skull that leered out between the open flaps of the jacket. Purple yoga pants clung to her like a second skin. They’d been worn more for comfort than style, seeing as today was also Laundry Day. Not a good choice, when she considered the perv who’d homed in on her ass awhile ago. But they matched her Skull Candy ear buds, so that was at least something. Hooray, color coordination…

She finished the look with a pair of circular steampunk shades, parked on the bridge of her nose beneath hair that was meticulously disheveled. A girl has to accessorize; that’s where Sophie came in, the perfect anti-ornament for her to lean against, the sole of one boot propped up on her front bumper.

She recognized Owen’s Volvo as it cruised down Mandeville. The windows were down…which seemed odd, as he read more like an “AC” kind of guy. Maybe that meant that it was broken? Or was he somebody who got off on the heat and humidity…like her? Daddy wanted to set her up with a new car for college, complete with Bluetooth, AC, a German make and the price tag to boot. He’d been horrified when Sophie rattled up in the driveway…even moreso when she started painting. The memory would raise a smile, but a smile would ruin the look.

The buds in her ears were loud enough to permit Owen a brief listen to the lyrics belted out by an angry sounding woman.

“You sold it,
I bought it.
You’re toxic and I like it,
You’re acting impressive
You tricked me and I fell.

But you’re empty,
I see it.
You hate me.
I feel it.
You’re lying
I hear it.
You need me and I know you know it.”

Though her expression was one of disinterest, as he crossed the street, Catbite regarded Owen carefully through her shades. The sunglasses he wore did little to conceal the hangdog face of a sleep deprived man. As he stepped up to Sophie and her human, Catbite popped the buds from her ears.

”So this is the place,” Owen said, taking in the stark green wall and metal shop door.

“S&M,” Kat replied. “It sucks you didn’t wear your leather. Could get freaky inside.”

“I’m starving.”

“Wanna get lucky?” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. There, on the corner, stood a street vendor and one of New Orleans’ ubiquitous ‘Lucky Dog’ carts. “See?” the punkette asked as she fell into step with Owen. “I’m a cheap date, too.”

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