From Anger to Absence
Connie burrows her face into her hands with a sigh.
“I swear, if I get one more person to panic just because I exist in the dark, I’m gonna lose it.” Connie groans.
She and Gigi sat next to each other on Gigi’s bed, with their legs (or Connie’s ghost-tail-thingy) hanging off the side.
Gigi sighs as well. “If it makes you feel any better, most toons are scared of a lot of things nowadays.” She pushes Connie with her shoulder, smirking. “You included, espíritu.”
Connie chuckles, pushing herself upright again. “Is that an insult?”
Gigi grins. “Only if you think you’re fearless and awesome and perfect…Oh wait.”
“Well when you say it like that it makes me sound egotistical.” Connie justifies. “It’s about the wording.”
The two chuckle at the joking remarks that they throw each other for a few minutes.
Connie waves to Gigi when she hovers into her room later that night.
She stares at the visor pinned to her wall, with a chunk taken out of it.
The same one she had when she turned twisted.
Some toons had questioned the point of keeping it, let alone displaying it like treasure.
But she stared at it daily, enough for it to be relevant to her. Reminiscing on the pain of twisting, watching others she knows and loves fall infected before her…It never exactly put her in a good mood.
Connie knew more than anyone else that she didn’t look too different from who she was as a twisted. The only thing that really changed were partially her eyes, and the bandaids and bruises scattered across her arms and tail that came from cramming inside of a space like an extraction machine with gears that were always turning.
The glare she gave her reflection in the mirror was piercing, her black hands digging into the desk with a harsh grip.
She could hear cracking, her claw-like hands burrowing deeper into into the desk. Cracks and splinters became more evident, until the door is kicked open.
Connie jolts, turning invisible by instinct.
Gigi had a spare key to Connie’s room, and vice versa.
Connie exhales, materializing at the recognizable face.
Gigi leans on the table for balance, looking at the cracks. “You gotta stop, like, breaking shit when you’re mad.”
“…Who said it was because I was mad?” Connie crosses her arms.
“See, it’s the English word…Inference, Mierda.” Gigi looks at the cracks again, then back at Connie. “I know you well enough to know how you handle yourself. Stop. Breaking. Shit.”
Connie sighs, looking back at the mirror. Gigi looks in it too, shifting closer to Connie.
The room is silent, in a more blissful way than it was before.
Connie looks at Gigi with low eyelids. “Why’d you come here in the first place?”
“Oh yeah!” Gigi seemed to remember something, looking back at Connie. “We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen Shelly.”
Connie’s expression changes, a look of concern and confusion on her face. “No…but who’s ‘we’?”
“Vee.” Gigi’s head tilted. “She seemed really urgent about finding her.” Gigi takes one look at Connie’s expression and decides to contextualize. “Tisha seemed to calm down, but Tisha and Shelly ended up arguing over something, and kinda…brawled a little bit. That’s what Vee said at least.”
Connie’s concern starts to overpower the confusion on her face. “What was it about?”
“I don’t remember what Vee told me.” Gigi shrugs. “Something with a ‘P’ I think.”
Connie sighs, hovering towards the door. “Let’s just…Let’s just look for Shelly real quick.”