Universally speaking, I win in the long run.

[Brody Rogers]

Brody wasn't sure which she was more excited about, really; seeing the movie, or showing off her totally awesome wound.

Both of them sounded pretty exciting, and since she and Lucy didn't have much else to do on a Monday night [which they had thankfully received off from work due to the holiday], that was the plan. The entire day had been surprisingly thrilling as far as Thanksgivings in the Rogers family went. Her family showed up, her family ate, her family left. Or so it normally would have gone. She had thrown a bit of a problem into the equation this year, managing to slice her hand open before they even got to slice the bird, but a little excitement was the spice of life. By the time she and her father had returned from the hospital, the entire family was gone already, and mom and February had been doing the supper dishes.

It had been while pushing her cold dinner around her plate using a fork and her one good hand, that Brody decided she didn't much feel like spending the rest of the night inside. It was only just after seven o'clock, after all. She was more or less bursting at the seams to gloat about how she had managed to damage herself in the name of music, and plus there were a couple of films playing at the theatre that she was dying to see, and that she knew Lucy wanted to get into as well. As long as they got to go out, she decided she'd let her best friend do the choosing. No matter the movie, this freshly hurt hand was still awesome.

Once she had written a quick entry in her journal, and changed her clothes [her current shirt had still been stained with a splash of dry blood; probably ruined although Brody would never toss it out] into something more presentable, she grabbed her car keys from their usual spot, hanging in the kitchen, and shouted a mumbled explanation to her parents. Something that sounded a bit like 'Goingtolucyshomelater', or something close to it. She pulled out her cell phone on the way out of the front door, slamming it behind her, and sending a text message with her good hand as she attempted to unlock the driver's side door of her tiny car with the bad one, wincing as she worked the door handle open to climb in.

The text was sent Lucy's way, simply reading:

'I have the most awesome thing to show you, you're gunna flip. I'll bring coffee, be there in five. Wait for me, gorgeous. xo'

[Lucy Hartigan]

Lucy sat impatiently at the Title Screen, waiting for her friend Brody to show. She kept obsessively checking the time on her cellphone; she was definitely really early, but it was necessary. Fuck, had she been bored. Thanksgiving was exactly the same every year at the Hartigan household. First there was turkey dinner with the fam, complete with really stale-tasting pumpkin pie. Afterwards, they'd clean up, and the 'kids' (was a sixteen year old really still a child?) would go to their grandparents for even more turkey. Lucy had originally been sleepy from all the poultry, but now it was after 8 and she was raring to do something, anything, that involved something other than an overcooked bird and her family.

As soon as she'd gotten a text from Brody wondering if she wanted to catch a show, Lucy was pulling on her beat-up denim jacket and asking to borrow the car. After a quick explanation as to why she wanted it, she was behind the wheel, stereo on full blas t(blaring Fall Out Boy, simply because people gave her dirty looks when she listened to it which she found funny), and hightailing it to the Title Screen Theatre.

The parking lot was packed, and after ten minutes of driving around she was still more than half an hour early. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she sat right on the floor in front of the lobby windows and waited for her friend. She'd shoot a filthy look at anyone who stared; she was comfortable, for fuck's sakes.

After checking her phone for what seemed like the 50th time, she was about to chuck it back in her purse when it rang out with Don't Stop Believeing, by Journey. I hope that bitch is on her way, she thought, flipping open her phone.

Her lips curled into a smile when she read what she'd been sent. Awesome, she thought. With Brody, it could be anything.

[Brody Rogers]

Trying to drive with her hand wrapped up in a bandage, and more or less unbendable, had made itself a bit more difficult than Brody had predicted. It was too sore to grip the steering wheel tightly, and so she had mostly drove with her good hand holding on, her bad one hovering, and her knees lending a hand on the turns. If the four-oh could see me now, she thought idly, a little smile quirking up the corners of her lips as she reached over with her injured hand and turned the radio up.

It took her ten minutes to actually get to Seneca Falls cafe. The place was packed, with it's usual crowd, listening to that twit Jude Wainwright wailing like a cat being beaten with a baby, and it took another five minutes in line, followed by a five minutes wait for her drinks, one of which was completely wrong and had to be returned and remade. By the time she was back in the car [with minimal struggling to open the door with the now self proclaimed 'gimp hand'], nearly a half of an hour had passed. She still had time to spare though, luckily, and when she arrived at the Title Screen, she was quite pleased that she had managed to make it at all, let alone without spilling their coffee all over her passenger seat, or splitting her stitches open or something equally painful.

Hopping out of the rusty little number that she called her own, the girl hip checked her door in order to close it up, balancing the tray of drinks in her good hand as she did so. She didn't bother to lock up; if someone wanted to steal this car, that was their mistake. The thing was hardly running, a long time hand-me down from her older brother Stanley. When he had bought it, probably in the very late 80s, it might have ran nicely. Might have. Any of that elegance was now past tense.

Walking at a brisk pace through the parking lot, Brody shifted her purse on her shoulder, feeling it slipping down as she walked. The clock in the car [which was exactly five hours incorrect; neither she nor Lucy had ever been able to figure out how to fix it] had implied she had twenty minutes to spare, but knowing Lucy, and knowing how Lucy's family holidays went, she had probably already been waiting ages. Brody would have felt bad, if it weren't so genuinely amusing. Seeing the other girl seated outside, just a few paces away from the line of people heading inside, Brody grinned widely and picked up her pace a bit in order to reach her quicker.

"Hey skank, what's shakin' with your bad self?"

[Lucy Hartigan]

Lucy scowled, "Took you long enough. Didja get lost or something?" she asked, as she scrambled to her feet. She took notice of the bandage on Brody's hand. "What the fuck did you do to yourself?" she asked, eyeing the bloodstained cloth. "Is this what you had to show me?" Leave it to Brody to slice up her hand... it was probably turkey related, too. "You weren't giving much thanks when that happened, I bet," she said, smirking. "Seriously though," she said, "are you ok?"

[Brody Rogers]

"Brody Rogers does not get lost, I know my way around this town like the back of my.. I dunno, really well, okay?" Brody replied coolly, with a grin as her friend stood up and moved closer. She lifted Lucy's drink out of the tray, and held it out to her, giving a little shrug of her shoulders and a wider grin as the other girl noticed her hand. "Oh, this is it. This is definitely it, wait until you see my awesome stitches. All four of them, man, it looks nasty as hell," Brody said, laughing just a bit, as she took her own coffee next, and pulled open the top, taking a drink before continuing. "I was thanking, a little. I got to spend the afternoon in the emergency room, instead of with my ridiculously large and decidedly loud family."

She trailed off a bit, taking another sip. "I snapped a guitar string. My uncle Joss asked me to play 'Space Oddity' by David Bowie? And I guess Hal didn't like the idea of playing Bowie, because before I even started getting into it, the string just goes awol, sliced me up like, worse than that poor bird. I got blood all over my shirt, and the carpet, and my grandmother. You know, my grandmother Rogers? The one who's always calling me a no-good beatnik? And always asks me if I'm pregnant yet when she sees me? Yeah, her. I thought she was going to shit a second turkey," the light-haired girl explained enthusiastically, obviously very pleased with herself, and her story. Lucy's concern was touching though, as fleeting as it was. Good friend, that girl.

"I'm fine, though, really. It hurts, and it looks gross, but I'm kind of fond of it. Doctor says it'll leave a totally bitching scar.. well, he didn't call it bitching, but I think it's going to be bitching."

[Lucy Hartigan]

Luce was momentarily distracted by the beverage she was being presented with. "Thanks!" she said brightly, taking the cup and blowing slightly over the opening to cool it down. "And shit, music is a dangerous endeavor. That's why I act," she said. "Worst that can happen is 'breaking a leg', and thus far the old addage hasn't proved true, thankfully," she said, as they headed towards the line. "You're a trouper though, I'd be on fucking bedrest for like a week if that had happened to me. However, blood on your grandmother? That's going to be a good story to tell."

She gingerly lifted Brody's injured hand with her free one, examining it. "Bitchin' scar is right. I wish your doctor had said so, though. Would've added to the effect. What do you want to see?"

[Brody Rogers]

"Hey, I act. I'm a fine actress, you know it to be true.. music is just my ticket, right? Brody Rogers, one woman show, ever amazing and glorious," she replied softly, her tone over dramatic and over done, as it tended to be when she rambled about her 'music career'. Or herself in general. "It is way dangerous though, I agree. I've always managed to avoid actually getting cut, though it's fairly common.. I just wasn't as lucky this time. Well, I was lucky in my eyes, not so much in the eyes of general society," she mused, following Lucy toward the line, and continuing to sip at her drink as she did so. "I don't think mom would let me go on bed rest. God forbid I miss classes, right? Plus I think she's kinda pissed about the grandma bit, actually, though I didn't really get an actual bitching for it, just a dirty look. I think she believes I've suffered enough, traumatic bodily harm and all of that."

Allowing Lucy to lift her hand, Brody grinned once again as her friend looked over the injury. "Doctors around here are too lame to say that, unfortunately. But you just wait until you see it up close, I'll unwrap it when we're inside, you're totally gunna gag," she teased her, before pausing to consider the question that she was asked. "Actually, I have no idea, I was hoping you'd pick. I'm leaning toward horror movie, given my current circumstance, but that is my only input."

[Lucy Hartigan]

"Sweet. I can definitely do a horror movie. How about Quarantine? I heard it was shit, but I could definitely live with some zombies and viruses and junk right now. It'll add to how epic your hand is,"she said, as they inched along in line. It wasn't starting for another half hour, but better early than late, Lucy supposed.

The two girls reached the box office counter. "Two for Quarantine," Lucy said maintaining eye contact with the cashier. There was no way she was letting them hit her for ID. She was really good at passing for eighteen when she had to. "9 oclock show. I've got this, you got me coffee and destroyed your hand, so it's the least I can do," she said, giving a tiny, mock bow to her friend. Luckily, the cashier didn't even ask how old she was. As it was, saying "Eighteen," usually got her in without being ID'd.

[Brody Rogers]

"Yeah, I heard it was shit, too. My brother said it was, in fact, I think he saw it on the night it came out. But frankly, I've always enjoyed shitty movies, just a little. Plus I'm always down with zombies, viruses, and general apocalypse. The gimp hand, it approves," Brody replied absently, lifting her injured hand in a little bit of a wave to accent the last bit of her statement. She didn't mind being early, really. She and Lucy were very good at keep each other amused for boring periods of time; they had to do it at work, and school, all of the time.

She kept quiet as Lucy spoke to the cashier, getting their tickets. They looked old enough to pass for eighteen, were rarely asked for ID, but it had happened on occasion. Hell, she had turned seventeen just a month ago, didn't that count for something? Not so much in the eyes of Title Screen theatre. She was really hoping tonight wouldn't be one of those unlucky nights, and was quite thrilled when it wasn't. Accepting the ticket from her friend, she smirked widely as they walked toward the concessions stand, and Lucy gave her the mock bow. "You're such a doll, honestly, what would I do without you?"

Pausing for a moment, she glanced up toward the brightly lit menu, and the line up of people backed up ahead of them. "Now, do you got popcorn too, or am I going to have to chip?"

[Lucy Hartigan]

"We got paid three days ago, I think I can manage it," she said, making a face. "And I don't know what you'd do without me, seeing as with me you still manage to split your hand open. I'd hate to see your life without me in it," she said teasingly. "I'm getting the big popcorn thing... with the two drinks. And I'm fucking drowning it in every kind of seasoning they have, so you're going to have to suck that up." This line seemed to move even more slowly than the ticket line, if it were possible.

"I find it criminal that tomorrow involves both school and work," she said, as she rummaged through her purse for her wallet. "And I have to hear you bitch about that Wainwright kid. Through both of those wonderful events," she joked. "Why do you hate him so much anyway? I don't think we've ever established this."

[Brody Rogers]

"And I intend to sit on every penny of that pay. Because now I need to go and buy a new string for Hal, and I might as well pick up a whole set, before one of the other ones snaps and cuts off the remainder of my hand, and I never play guitar again. That would be the tragedy of the century, just so we're clear. You'd weep for days, I know it," she explained, making a face of her own. "You're right though, off the topic of how amazing my guitar is. I don't know what I'd do without you either. You feed me, you put up with my injuries, and you watch movies with me. I can't see any more of a perfect friend for me, really. My platonic better half, the platonic love of my life, my beloved Lucy in my sky with diamonds~"

She proclaimed it in that same over dramatic tone, a bit louder than she needed to, perhaps just to get the attention of the few people standing around them in the slow moving line. She switched her coffee into her band hand, and held her good hand over her chest, near her heart. "Oh, be still," she teased, another wide grin breaking out onto her face. However, the subject of Jude Wainwright immediately soured her grin, upturning it into a scowl within just a matter of seconds as she watched Lucy digging into her purse. "Do we have to talk about Asswright? Don't I have enough pain and suffering on my plate for today?"

[Lucy Hartigan]

Lucy had to laugh at Brody's little proclamation. "Yes, we'll be in a loveless marriage someday, you and I," she said, shaking her head. "And I brought him up because he seems to be your favorite topic of conversation. I know it's not some kind of weird crush, seeing as the kid seems gay as the day as long and I'm sure you've got a pretty steady gaydar. So what is it? Do you hate his tunes, is that it?" They had reached the front of the line.

"Yeah, a number eight. And I want ketchup, dill pickle, white cheddar and barbecue on it. It's good," she insisted, when she saw the face the kid behind the counter made. "It'll put some hair on your chest. Which you might want some day seeing as you look about twelve years old," she said brightly. "And I'll be having a root beer. She's having whatever she wants."

[Brody Rogers]

Brody had been more than fit to protest the idea of having Jude Wainwright as a favorite of any sort, her face screwed up into a look of rage, but when Lucy had managed to rip on the boy behind the counter, it caught her off guard, and within just a few seconds, she found herself laughing instead, giving the other girl a playful shove with her good hand. "God, you're a fucking bitch," she said simply, before turning to regard the kid in question. "Make that two root beers, I guess. I'll make it easy for you. I'm the nice one, y'see, good cop and bad cop? Luce is the bad cop, and I'm the sweetheart," she explained to him, though he mostly just looked confused, a little frightened, before he moved away to begin getting their order together.

Returning her attention to the argument they had been having, Brody settled her face back into it's pout again, as she gave her head a light shake. "He's not my favorite. And I do not have a crush on him, that's gross to even suggest; do you really think my taste is that fucking atrocious? I mean, I know I've dated some nasty dudes, but he's like.. well, gay as spring time, as we've already established. And he's also a jerk," she explained, trailing off for a moment, before going on.

"It's not even just his tunes, it's his whole attitude, his stage presence. Him and his whole band, they think they're so awesome, because they play Seneca Falls just about every night, and every single weekend. And they're basically a glorified cover band, in my eyes. I don't think they're worth the paper they scribble up their dumb songs on. I mean, really, I like Ophelia. I do. She's an amazing guitarist, and she's funny as hell, but her brother is a major d-bag. But don't tell her I said that, she'd flip. I don't think she realizes how much I can't stand him."

[Lucy Hartigan]

"I think the fact that they're at the cafe almost every night is a huge strike against 'em right there, personally," the brunette said, as she counted out her money. "'Cause really, if they're stuck in Parkdale like that, they clearly aren't going anywhere. So I wouldn't put too much thought into it. Or any thought at all." When the boy behind the counter returned with their food, she smiled as big as she could and said, "There's nothing 'good-cop' about her, and I have her number if you'd like to see for yourself first hand," she offered, managing to keep a straight face. The boy paled. "Or not, if you don't think you're man enough for all this," she said, doing her best Vanna White impression as she indicated Brody.

"He's going to have nightmares about us tonight, I can just tell," she said gleefully after she'd paid for the food. "But back on topic, I really wouldn't let it eat at you like this."

[Brody Rogers]

This realization seemed to cheer Brody up a bit, her frown turning into a smile once more; her mood this evening seemed to be flip flopping even more than usual, but that was usually how things went. Lucy made a very good point. They could have Parkdale all they wanted, and all their Parkdale fans, Brody was looking for bigger and better things; who cared what a bunch of small town hicks thought of her? And whether or not they came and watched her playing every night? Not a huge deal. "You're right, for once," she finally said, after realizing she had been in her own little world of silence for far too long. Looking up at the boy returning with their food, she broken into giggles once more at her friend continued to tease him. She just couldn't keep a straight face, unlike Lucy, especially at the poor boy's reaction. She had been sipping her coffee, and almost snorted it through her nose, at the Vanna White impression. She gave Lucy another light shove, as she struggled to swallow the liquid without making a mess.

As they walked away from the line up with their refreshments, Brody was still choking a bit, but feeling in much better spirits now. She reached over and took her root beer, holding it very gingerly in her bad hand. It felt surprisingly nice, the cold cup against the sore appendage. "I guess nightmares is better than wet dreams, isn't it? Us in skimpy police uniforms, 'Cherry Pie' by Warrant playing in the background, spraying each other with hoses full of root beer.. it would have to be in slow motion, of course. And with constantly erect nipples. We could do it, you know, people on the internet would love it," she explained, before pausing a bit at the next statement. "Okay, fine, I won't. Like you said, they're not such hot shit anyway."