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❛ and i'm so sick of seventeen / where's my fucking teenage dream? ❜
——BRUTAL//OLIVIA RODRIGO
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"LOOK AT THIS."
Barging into Ventress's quarters, Sonder huffed; paper clutched in her bloodied fist, with her sprained wrist firm at her side. Not waiting for the apprentice to demand anything, she hushed her, "Despite still being very pissed off at you, as my only friend, I must show you this. But, don't talk to me."
Scoffing, Ventress rolled her eyes, "Vellech, where have you been? And, your wrist is still—"
"I said, don't talk to me!" Glaring pointedly at the apprentice, before she unravelled the poster, brushing at the dried blood coating both her hands and cast, "Now, look at this."
Sighing, Ventress pushed herself up from her bed, walking over to the assassin, her arms crossed as she reached her, "What is it?"
"This," Grinning, she held out the poster, displaying it to the apprentice, "Means I'm famous."
"It means you're wanted."
"Yes," Sonder's eyes rolled, "Glad you can read, Ventress. But, I'm also famous!"
"Because, you're wanted," Staring deadpan at the grinning assassin.
"Exactly."
Brows raised at the teen, Ventress studied the poster, her friend's face splashed across the front, "10,000 Republic credits, Vellech." She whistled, "Someone clearly wants you."
"That's all?" Flipping the poster back to her, Sonder gawked, "I'm worth more than that!"
