Friends With Benefits [[South]]

Under normal circumstances, Dahlia Vea would have been luxuriating in the sweet-smelling air that the Spring evening wrapped around her as her sandal-clad feet scuffed purposefully against the pavement. This was her favorite time of year, when the flowers bloomed in vibrant blossoms and everything smelled of cut grass and sunshine fresh starts. The weather had been beauteous over the past week, allowing the raven-haired girl to pack up her winter clothes and begin donning her beloved pastel sundresses, much like the low-cut mint green cotton creation she was wearing at the moment. But despite the glorious warmth that still hung in the dusky air, Dahlia was shivering violently. It's not that she was cold other than the frigid sensation of cold sweat breaking out along the back of her neck. Withdrawal, Dahlia decided, was not a pleasant thing.

Gray-blue eyes with pupils that were far too dilated to be normal darted around nervously as the eighteen year old dodged into a shoddy-looking alley a few blocks away from the square. Several yards away a single light cast a flickering yellowish circle though the velvety darkness, illuminating a shabby door that Dahlia knew opened to the interior of an even shabbier bar. She'd been coming here to pick up her stash for a few months now, always at odd times when she hadn't been able to sneak anything out of the experimental drugs her father brought home from work. Laying a smooth olive-skinned hand against the roughness of the door, Dahlia pushed it open and quickly ducked inside, stormy gaze scanning the old place's dank interior for a familiar head of tousled blonde hair. Trent had to be here. He was always here in the evenings, and if she didn't get something soon...

"Evenin', Doll!" the round-faced bartender nodded to her jovially, plunking a couple of bottles on the abused wooden surface of a bar that was God-knows how old. Most of the usual crowd was here tonight, low-grade lab workers and layabouts who had grown so used to the young Italian's presence that almost all of them called her by her nickname (she'd rather be called Dahlia but reasoning with a room full of drunks constantly making passes at her proved to be nigh unto impossible). A few booze-soaked greetings and muted waves flew across the room in her direction, but she was too preoccupied to acknowledge them.

"Hey, Bruce," she smiled shakily at the older man behind the bar, still craning her neck around to search the dark corners of the room. "Have you seen Trent tonight?"

Trent Matthews was nowhere in sight. Dahlia's grayish eyes looked about frantically for the chiseled features that belonged to her dealer (and occasional fuck buddy, but who really cared about technicalities?), the tremors that shook her form growing worse every second she sought him out with no reward. Why wasn't he here? This was his typical haunt, a place he could be counted on to inhabit whenever Dahlia needed to go out and actually buy stuff. The dark-haired girl felt the beginnings of panic begin to shoot through her veins alongside the painful longing that came from three days without a hit of heroin. If she couldn't get anything tonight, what would she do? The old bartender seemed to understand her distress, nodding at an empty seat as he wiped off a glass with a cloth that was so stained that Dahlia wondered how much cleaning it was really accomplishing. "Haven't seen 'im yet, but I'm sure he'll pop in after bit. Sit down an' wait on 'im, have a drink."

The girl nodded, folding her curvy frame into the barstool next to the dark-haired blur that inhabited her peripheral vision. Pink-painted nails tapped out an impatient beat against the bar's dented wooden surface, tanned legs sending an immaculately-pedicured foot swishing through the air in the same frantic pace as green-shadow-black-mascara eyes blinked uneasily. Dahlia sighed, bringing her hand up and running fingers absently through her raven hair, sending deep black tendrils spiraling over an olive-toned shoulder. "All right, then. Long Island iced tea, please, and don't skimp on the vodka. I definitely need it."

A minute later a tall glass of tan liquid was put in front of her. Nodding her thanks, Dahlia closed delicate fingers around the cool surface and took a long sip. The alcohol was cheap and tasted awful, but the immediate buzz from the high concentration was enough to momentarily calm the shakes and lull her into a more relaxed state. "You know, I may just head off down the alley and look for someone else. My business obviously isn't of very great value to Trent seeing as he didn't even bother to show up for a sale."

"Don't you dare," Bruce grumbled, glaring disapprovingly and back to wiping off the same old glass. "Ya shouldn't be messin' with that stuff in the first place, but at least in 'ere there's folks to keep an eye on ya. Pretty thing like you wouldn't last too long out on the streets."

Rolling her eyes, Dahlia took another deep gulp of her drink, pink-painted lips pulling themselves into a grimace at the fire that shot down her throat as she swallowed. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. But thanks for the concern."

The alcohol just wasn't cutting it. Looking around to make sure no one was watching too closely, Dahlia's hand snaked quietly into her purse and withdrew a small orange bottle filled with thin strips of paper. LSD wouldn't make her withdrawal symptoms disappear permanently, but it would sure as hell help. Placing one of the blotters delicately on her tongue, she quickly shoved the container back into her bag. The world exploded into brilliant color with an almost staggering force, the high buoyed by her already solid buzz from the drink. Now this was something Dahlia could deal with, if only the damn tremors would stop. Eyes fixed on the door with an almost desperate longing, she continued to wait.

Dahlia's focus was fixed so exclusively on the tragically closed door that she jumped a little when the snarling baritone voice directed itself at her from behind. "Y'know, if y'come here to a bar, y'don't eat paper, sweetheart. And y'can tone it down a bit. S'like you're screeching like a dying bitch being roasted over a fire. Though now that I think about it.... I s'pose you'd taste wonderful after being roasted over an open fire."

Choosing to ignore the part about being roasted over an open fire (because that was really just too creepy to deal with right now), Dahlia whipped her head around to view the voice's source. He was tall, extraordinarily so in comparison to her five-foot-five frame, and she could tell even though he was sitting down that he'd probably have at least a foot on her if they were both standing. Blackish-brown, bloodshot eyes that indicated more than a few too many drinks glowered at her from behind a curtain of mussed, dark hair that looked like it had seen far better days. Dahlia couldn't quite tell in the dim light of the bar's interior, but he seemed to be around her age, an odd occurrence in a facility that was usually packed to bursting with middle-aged men and cheap hookers.

Usually the LSD would have made her docile enough to ignore the jab, but this wasn't the high-quality lab stuff she usually nicked from her father's projects that he brought home on occasion. It was a cheap, back-alley version of the drug that she'd snagged from Trent in exchange for an under-the-table favor in this very bar a week or so back, but it was better than nothing. Through the colorful haze in her mind, Dahlia's temper sparked and fanned into a steadily growing flame.

She smiled at him angelically even though grey-blue eyes were shooting rays of pure poison in his direction. Dahlia Vea's irritation was the stuff of legend among the kids at school. Verbal smackdowns that could reduce the brawniest senior boy to a puddle of tears in less than a minute (she had timed herself once just for the hell of it) were her specialty, all of it delivered through smiling lips and a sweet, innocent voice. She wasn't at her peak tonight, she knew well enough that she wouldn't be able to completely tear the obnoxious dark-haired boy apart, but maybe she could at least respond acidly enough to get him to buzz off.

"Y'know, most girls don't take kindly to being called 'sweetheart' by random guys in bars, honey," she said sweetly, throwing in a few bats of her eyelashes for effect. "And furthermore, I'm not being any louder than anyone else in here. Increased sensitivity to sound is a symptom of being too damn drunk, so maybe you should have thought about your undesired exposure to my dulcet tones before you got completely hammered." An offhanded shrug, followed by an even wider smile.

"As for the paper," Dahlia continued, snatching the bottle from her purse and plunking it down on the bar next to him. Hell, everyone in here knew about her habits, it wasn't a big secret. "Don't knock it till you try it. It's a hell of a ride on top of alcohol. Anyway, as soon as the person I'm meeting decides to show up, I'll be out of that adorably messy hair of yours. In short, I'm going to be here for a while. Shut up and deal with it."

Her serene grin morphing into an acerbic smirk, Dahlia brought her drink back to her lips and shot the boy a sidelong glance to gauge his reaction. Actually, he wasn't that bad looking (he probably would have been cuter sober, but she knew all too well that she wasn't looking her best in the middle of withdrawal symptoms), dark and mysterious where she was normally known to gravitate towards bright, sunny types like Trent. But hell, she was drunk and high and honestly would gravitate towards just about anything right now, so she set her glass down delicately and turned back towards him with another dazzling smile.

"You know, I'm not usually so mean. I'm just having a bad night," she sighed dreamily, propping her elbow on the bar's rough surface and resting her chin in an olive-skinned hand. Leaning forward at this angle made the view down her dress a little more accessible than was morally acceptable, but that was just how Dahlia operated. "I'm just kind of cranky because the guy I'm meeting is kind of my... dealer," her voice lowered to a coy whisper on the last word even though every person in the place knew the things that went on between Trent and herself, eyes flicking around as if to make sure no one had heard. "And well... I'm not feeling too great right now because I'm out of stuff and that makes me just a little bitchy. Sorry about all that. I'm Dahlia, by the way. Dahlia Vea."

She cringed inwardly at the realization she'd let her last name slip out. With her luck this guy probably knew Nikko and would run off and tell him that his little sister was picking up random guys in downtown bars. Covering her divulgement less than flawlessly, she grabbed her glass and downed the rest of the Long Island iced tea in a single gulp, the burn in her throat now more satisfying than discomforting. The glass hit the bar a little harder than she meant it to upon its descent, making Dahlia realize that she was well past halfway drunk on top of the fading colors that heralded her descent from the LSD high. "Another one, please, Bruce. Trent's obviously not showing, so I may as well get smashed while I'm here."

Another full glass appeared within a few seconds, and the raven-haired girl took a sip that was honestly more of a gulp. Smiling widely as she sat her drink down, Dahlia turned back to her new companion. "So, cutie, you got a name?"

The alcohol was making her considerably braver than she would have been under normal circumstances, especially given the fact that she'd been insulting the boy not five minutes before. Shrugging inwardly, Dahlia continued sipping gradually at her drink, enjoying the buzz that was slowly settling into a pleasant fog over her consciousness. Hell, why not? Just because Trent wasn't showing up didn't mean she couldn't get any fun out of this evening. They were both here and both well on their way to being so drunk that neither of them would probably remember anything tomorrow.

Just the way she liked it. No strings. No complications. "Hey, I really do feel bad about snapping at you like that. Any way I can make it up to you, hm?"

She really wasn't paying too much attention to the grumbling babble next to her at this point. Dahlia was more fixated on getting her drink back, truth be told, pouting pitifully as he held it out of her grasp with a wicked grin. " I don’t suppose you’d be up for help-me-forget-things sex, would you?"

Bubbling soprano laughter pushed past Dahlia's lips even as her glazed-over eyes narrowed after another failed attempt to reclaim her beverage. "Tell you what, handsome. Right now it's a distinctive maybe, but gimme my drink back and you've got yourself a deal."

The door creaked open behind her, making Dahlia turn her head slightly before giving a heavy sigh of relief. So he'd finally shown up. Trent's head of tousled blonde hair poked in through the doorframe cautiously as he ducked into the bar, catching Dahlia's eye and giving her a wide grin. He'd never been the type of guy you'd peg for a drug dealer with his boy-next-door looks and easygoing attitude, but the way he carefully sat down next to Dahlia at the bar and subtly tugged at the sleeve of his jacket to reveal a small plastic bag full of powder hidden in the fabric showed that he'd had more than his share of experience after spending his twenty-one years living on the wrong side of the tracks. "Hey, Doll. Sorry it took so long, some unexpected business came up."

"Unexpected business, my ass," she growled through a beaming smile, leaning over and grabbing his forearm as if he'd just told a funny joke. None but the most practiced of eyes could have seen her surreptitiously slip a few tightly-folded bills up his jacket sleeve, delicately palming her prize before slipping it gently into her purse. "You forgot, Trent. Don't try to bullshit a professional bullshitter. You won't win."

"Okay, so I forgot," the older boy shrugged, reaching down and entwining his fingers with Dahlia's. "Doesn't mean the whole night's gone to waste. I mean, you got what you came for, even if it was a little late. And maybe we could -"

"I've got plans," Dahlia cut him off mid-sentence, yanking her hand away. The withdrawal and lack of alcohol entering her system was starting to make her snappish on top of the fact that she'd been pissed at Trent from the get-go for not showing up on time. "Sorry, sweetness. You snooze you lose."

She swiveled the barstool around and turned her back to him, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. There was grumbling from behind her, followed by the unmistakable sound of him getting up and shuffling off elsewhere. Rolling her eyes, Dahlia pressed a few tanned fingers delicately against her temple as her gaze flicked over to her new companion. "Sorry about that, he's a complete moron. One of those big loveable lug types. Anyway, as I was saying..."

Her other hand darted forward, snatching the still half-full glass from under Whatshisname's not-so-watchful gaze. Smiling dazzlingly, Dahlia winked at the taller boy, draining the rest of the glass before he found some other way to grab it from her. The empty tumbler slammed back against the wood with a hollow thud that got lost somewhere on its journey through the ebony-haired girl's muffled consciousness. The room spun a little bit, the loud ruckus of the bar somehow quieter than she was used to as a giddy feeling bubbled up in her stomach.

"So, 'm completely wasted now," Dahlia giggled, swaying a bit on her barstool. "An' my dis-distinc... distinctive maybe's become a hell yes."

Running fingers arbitrarily through now-mussed dark strands, her angelic features contorted into an expression of confusion. "Ah, damn, what was I gonna... Oh! Oh," Dahlia trailed off, chuckling heartily at her own stupidity. "My place isn't exactly an option. Not unless y' wanna meet my parents, that is. Hope you're okay with that."

She laughed a bit more (no one had ever contested the statement that she was a happy drunk), getting unsteadily to her feet and brushing the wrinkles haphazardly out of the skirt of her cotton sundress. "How 'bout it, handsome? We gettin' outta here or not?""

"Lead the way," Dahlia giggled, walking out the door after him somewhat unsteadily as the rapidly-ingested dose of alcohol went straight to her head. The alley had grown significantly darker in the passing hours, the moon's position indication that it had to be nearing midnight. Her mind was sluggish but ran through a garbled check of her situation nonetheless. Parents'll be asleep... Nikko might be out running around with Gianna, need to look out for them... Other than that I should be fine.

"Hey, wait up!" she exclaimed irritably, having to jog to keep up with his long-legged gait (God, how tall was he?). "Short legs, heels, and severe in-ineb... inebriation; I'm a lil' slower than you, handsome."

If he slowed up she didn't notice, quickening her pace until she drew level with him, slightly breathless from her short run. Dahlia had to tilt her head back in order to even make eye contact (she swore she wasn't petite, he was just freakishly gigantic), glaring petulantly into flinty orbs that glimmered at her through the dim half-light of the flickering street lamps. "I didn' know our agreement involved me runnin' a damn marathon t'keep up with you."

Despite her irritation she couldn't help but to take in the glimmering spray of stars that made their appearance in a velvety sky. Spring nights had always been her favorite, calling up memories of flashlight tag and popsicles and backyard camp-outs with her big brother. Smiling mildly, Dahlia shot a sidelong glance at her companion (she'd forgotten his name already. Ian? Isaac?). "S'pretty, isn't it? The weather. Y'can't see the stars half as well from my place."

The words didn't have any significance, really, they were just white noise to keep an awkward silence from occurring. Talking had always been something Dahlia was good at, making people pay attention to her, and her talents seemed to remain despite her typical eloquence being dampened by drunkenness. "Pffffft, if my parents knew I was out runnin' around with some guy I met in a bar. But they don't know much. Sometimes I think they gotta know, y'know? S'a lil' obvious when I come stumblin' in at all hours of the day an' night. So maybe they do know. Maybe they know an' they just don't care."

Over the course of her slurred soliloquy, Dahlia's normal bravado had diminished, her tanned arms wrapping themselves around her midsection like she was trying to herself together. Or at least hold what's left of me together...

"My family's a lil' weird," she added with a humorless laugh, fixing her eyes on the cracked pavement. "I guess we look normal. Proud parents, overprotective big brother, an' me, the bratty baby with a diva complex. But we don't work, y'know? It's like we don't connect. Like we're just a bunch of people who live in the same house instead of an actual family.

"Hah, look at me, ramblin' like an idiot," she giggled, snapping away from her pensive moment and tossing her hair in the picture of flirtatious indifference. "Are we there yet?"

Dahlia's statement was rewarded with a sudden cease in motion in front ofa smallish dwelling that made a stark contrast to the Victorian-style hulk of a house that her parents had built with the fortune from their pharmaceutical development empire. But hell, a house is a house, and as long as there's a bed in there... She walked up the the front door, turning around and grinning devilishly at the taller boy. Although her actions were a bit slower than usual she was quick enough to stand on her tiptoes, lop an arm around his neck, and press her lips firmly to his.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?"

Ugh... my head...

Dahlia's eyes slitted open slightly only to be brutally accosted by sunlight streaming into them. She gave an audible hiss, slamming glitter-dusted lids down over the overly-sensetive grayblue orbs. Jesus, that's bright... Wait a minute. My room's on the western side of the house, the sun shouldn't be in my window.

Eyes still closed against the glaring light, Dahlia began to explore her location using her other senses. Okay. This can't be my room, because my room smells like perfume and this place definitely smells like guy. My head's killing me and everything seems fuzzy. Hangover. Everything hurts. I need a hit. This can't be my bed because my mattress is softer and the sheets are better and why the hell am I not wearing pajamas?!

Her eyes snapped open immediately despite the fact that the action sent agony coursing through her head. Yeah. Definitely not my room... but where the hell am I? Dahlia looked around the room, trying to piece her scattered thoughts together. What happened last night? Did I... her stream of consciousness was interrupted by the sight of the dark-haired form lying a few inches away from her. Yup. I did.

"Dammit, not again," she groaned, her voice all rough and cracked from its first usage of the morning. Dahlia would be the first to acknowledge that she sounded (and probably looked) like hell, but rather than getting up and making herself presentable she slumped back onto the pillow with an exhasperated huff of air. "I really need to quit drinking. Really."

Try as she might, her mind would not give her the memories of the previous evening. She cold remember walking to the bar to go meet Trent, she vaguely recalled something about a cute but incredibly obnoxious guy sitting next to her, and the final piece of the puzzle she could pull out of her head was leaving with someone although she wasn't quite sure who. Cursing in a quiet mumble, she rolled out of bed, trying to ignore the violent spinning of the room. It didn't take her long to find her clothes, which she yanked on without much ceremony, fully intending to leave before Whatshisface woke up and left her stranded in a whole hot mess of awkward.

Unfortunately, her plans went out the window as soon as she passed a mirror, stopping and doing a double-take before letting out an infuriated shriek that most likely woke up the whole neighborhood. Eyes wide with horror, Dahlia's gaze remained fixed on her reflection. Dark, purplish splotches traveled in a very clear trail down the column of her neck, eventually disappearing beneath the fabric of her dress. She gently brought her fingers up to examine one of the marks, finding that they ached like a horrid bruise when touched. Dahlia was experienced enough to know her affliction - hickeys. Extremely bad ones, and a lot of them.

"Oh my God, I can see the damn bite marks!" she screeched, stomping back over to the bed and chucking a pillow none-too-gently at its occupant. "Explaining this to my parents is going to be a real trip. Thanks. Thanks a whole hell of a lot."

She snatched her purse from the nightstand with a growl, stalking back over to the mirror again to examine the damage. "How drunk was I? It looks like I've been attacked by a fucking animal."

((Short and terrible, and took far too long to get done. My apologies. D:))