Chaos: A Valkpart Fanfiction

Chaos

Music blared, vibrating the very air with its intensity, synthetic notes blending into wild and obscene melodies. Purple neon flashed in time with the beat, accented by a dull pulsing green that lit the space between the spasms of lavender. It illuminated countless faces, their features blurred by the disorienting light. People were crammed together, fighting for space, dancing, shouting...

Ramya hated it. She sat in a booth, alone, empty bottle in hand. The dark glass was slick with condensation, droplets running down to her palm. Swirling the bottle tensely, her eyes scanned the crowded, searching for a familiar face. Not that there would be many. All the same, she wrapped her arms around herself, waiting. She stretched her legs across the seats, a tactic she had to scheme up to keep people from plopping down to chat her up. She was a Legend, after all. Ramya Parekh, Rampart, the best damn mechanic to live. Of course, people recognized her. If they were a fan, she would smile and nod, unable to hear anything said over the obnoxious music. Worst case, some guy with some liquid courage swooped in to shoot his shot. Only to be nailed midsentence through their slick introduction with a sharp, "Not on your bloody life, mate."

She had to hand it to them though. They were persistent but she appreciated how they shrugged and ducked back into the crowd.

Tugging at the collar of her jumpsuit, Ramya sighed, the exhalation lost in the din of the bar she had been dragged to. Of course, it had been Witt's idea. He ate places like this up, reveling in the adoring crowds. He was Mirage, after all, the handsome poster boy of the Apex Games. She didn't blame him for wanting to come, he clicked with this scene. Even from where she sat she could see him standing on the bar, one of his duplicates chanting him on with a crowd of onlookers as he downed an entire bottle of some drink.

Watching Elliot guzzle the booze down, Ramya observed as he stood triumphantly, waving his hands in the air! He shouted something along the lines of "bamBOOZEled" (the pun always made her roll her eyes), and his gathering went nuts. Casually tossing the bottle out into the crowd, a hand reached out and caught it, no doubt a newfound prize of an adoring fan.

Huffing a half chuckle through her nose, Ramya shook her head. Fiddling with her gold nose ring, she reclined and considered her options. Elliot was fine, in the caring hands of his groupies. He would come stumbling back to her shop in the morning, smeared lips stick across his bearded face, begging her to let him sleep off the night on her couch. She would remind him that he has his own house, and the couch in her shop was a piece of crap, the green cushions stained and flattened. But she would always let him in, covering him with the threadbare blanket she kept around. Elliot didn't seem to trust anyone else to watch over him, and he had admitted as much after a few too many one night over a year ago. So, she let him stay, his drunken snores accompanied by her drilling or hammering or welding.

She wouldn't be missed if she left.

Making to leave, she caught a flash of red and white as a newcomer slid into the seat next to her. Since Ramya had pulled her legs in to walk away, the stranger had a chance to invite themselves into the booth.

It took Ramya a moment to realize it was a woman, her brown eyes staring straight at her, brimming with bravado and a sly hint of mischief. Her white hair changed with the flicker of the lights, giving a hazy reflection. She was gorgeous, that much Ramya admitted to herself; lean and slim, the large jacket unable to hide that fact. Pale skin shone, unmarked and smooth. Her lips curled in a way that made her eyes thin to a playful promise of trouble.

There was something familiar about her, but Ramya couldn't quite place it.

"This seat taken?" she asked, her voice nearly lost over the bustle of the bar. She fumbled with the pockets of the heavy red jacket she wore, pulling a fresh bottle from it along with an opener.