Pitch Perfect One-Shots

Chapter CLXXVII - Bechloe: Why Do You Care?

Idea by SharpwinLover

A hot, red light illuminates a pale face with a head of chocolate-brown hair and stormy-blue eyes to pair. Kicking the mud from the grooves in her boots, Beca Mitchell rests upon a cold, brick wall as the blanket of the night surrounds her. It's cold, damp, and dangerous but it's all Beca knows. It's all she's ever really known. It's all she feels comfortable with. No light. Only darkness. If there is any light, it soon fades after its time is up, just like the cigarette between the brunette's perky, red lips. She knows it's not good for her. She knows it'll catch up to her but she doesn't care. She needs to feel something. She hasn't felt anything in a long time. She's too young to be living such a hard life. Eighteen years old and living with her uncle in a dingy apartment, Beca lays her head to rest in the place she calls home with the people she calls her family in the same street - young, angry, and lost with nothing to lose.

When the light does shine, Beca squints but she knows who approaches her. From the distance, the car door opens, and out walks a redheaded beauty by the name of Chloe Beale. Detective Chloe Beale to be precise. Radiant as always in jeans, boots, sweater, and overcoat - a classic look for a classic job in the harsh and unforgiving streets of Chicago.

"That'll be the death of you, you know?" Chloe speaks blandly but the humor is there.

"Yeah, and for me, that'll be the most peaceful way."

Chloe tuts. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?"

The twenty-four-year-old slaps the cigarette from her fingers. "That."

"Oh, you do love to test me, Detective," she teases.

Chloe purses her lips and snatches Beca's hand, examining her paint-stained skin.

"I thought we had a deal," she states, her tone cold.

Beca shrugs. "Gotta mark my territory somehow."

"Territory? What are you, a dog?"

Beca laughs.

"Seriously, Beca. You can't keep graffitiing the city."

"It's my TAG!"

"It's UGLY and we have to keep these streets clean in more ways than one and again, I thought we had a deal."

Beca sighs. "What am I supposed to do? Let those other assholes just take my place? At least my tag is decent."

"Beca, your tags look just the same as anybody else's. Your paintings, however, aren't."

"Paintings," Beca snorts. "They're just just stupid drawings."

"It's ART, Beca. You've got talent and you know that. You could do something with it!"

"I'm not talking about this anymore."

Bending over, Beca grabs her backpack but the redhead seizes it before it has a chance to rest on Beca's back.

"Hey!" Beca attempts to retrieve it but Chloe pushes her away and pulls the zip.

She sighs in disappointment. "Beca,"

"What?"

"Don't "what" me! There are five cans of spray paint in here and they're ALL RED! How much tagging have you done tonight?"

"Who cares?"

"I care!" She snaps. "I care, Beca! We had a deal that if I gave you spray paint, you would do your artwork, NOT tag! And here I find you tagging with the cans I got you! Do you know how bad that makes me look?"