Rick looked at you when he returned from the run into town, he and Daryl had happened upon an old CVS and were stealing the drugs left behind. However his eye was caught by a few bottles of nail polish, mint green, navy blue and sparkly black. He snatched them up and put them into his coat pocket along with a small bottle of remover before leaving, as Daryl grabbed the soda for Denise.
“Hey babe.” He smiled as you greeted him at the door, laundry basket in hand as you headed towards the room you shared
“Hey, how was the run?” You asked as you turned to go up the stairs.
“Easy, Daryl is taking the drugs and soda to Denise now.”
“Well that’s good, I know how badly she wanted that.” You had disappeared from his view, causing him to follow you up the stairs, watching as you started to fold your clothes.
“I gotcha something, figured you might like it.” He leaned against the door as you turned around, a smile covering your face.
“Rick. You didn’t have to get me shit.” He reached in his pocket and exposed the contents, your eyes widening as you looked.
“I know you went to school for this kind of stuff, figured you might like these.” He smiled as you picked them out of his callused hand.
“I love it.” you leaned forward and kissed him, before pulling back and saying, “Now you fold these, while I put these to use.” And with that you left Rick at the bed, as you retreated to the bathroom.
Looking up fortune teller pictures on Pinterest and they are all so fucking racist. I’m making a new fortune teller stereotype: it’ll involve lace, gilt, glitter, rococo reds and pinks, starshine and fathomless black. Creatures with long, tar-coloured nails and eyes like sinkholes, dressed in rotting antique silk and candlelight. Curly-haired girls in cheap satin dressing gowns and splendid cat-eyed masks. Boys with low-slung jeans and their hoodie pockets full of runes. Scrying mirrors sharing space with vases full of Hakuhodo makeup brushes and Diptyque candles; tarot cards on cigarette-burnt card tables beside bottles of cheap bourbon and sparkly blue nail polish. No more racist images, no more tacky, sensationalist, sexist, damaging clichés.
‘DARREN?’ Chris shouts on the end of the phone, hoping to
communicate his anger to the dorky haired man who was currently out shopping.
Chris is on the verge of sending an incoherent stream of swear words down the
line, but just manages to control himself. He has a very important question to
‘Where is the nail varnish remover?’
On the other end of the line, Darren gives a small giggle, a
failed attempt to cover up his laughter. Chris is having none of it.
‘I mean it. Where is it?’
‘We don’t have any?’ Darren is reconsidering his laughter
now. Chris sounds pissed.
‘We don’t have any?’
‘Ad would you care to explain how I woke up this morning with
blue sparkly nail polish on?’ Chris says as sweetly as possible, cursing under
‘I,’ Darren pauses, biting on his fist to restrain his
giggles. ‘I wanted us to be matching.’
‘You wanted. Us. To be. Matching.’ Chris says, pursing his
lips. ‘I suppose you want me to don a dress and heels as well now?’
Darren shrugs, glad for the safety of the mile between him
and Chris. He would not like to have to look Chris in the eyes right now.
‘Well I mean, if you’re suggesting it then I’m open to anything.’
‘Darren,’ Chris growls. ‘I you don’t return home with nail
varnish remover you will regret it. And if you ever, ever, paint my nails in my sleep
again, there will be…’ Chris fails to think of a suitable punishment. ‘There
will be consequences.’
‘You gonna spank me? Cause that’s not exactly a punishment, Chris.’