Chipped Nail Polish (Season 1)

Chipped Nail Polish (Part 2)

*Chapter 2*

They don't talk for the next few days. Velvet continues to lay in her bunk, staring at the wall and only getting up for food or to shower. Veneer doesn't bother her.

He sits on his own bed, staring at the ceiling or picking at the chipped nail polish on his fingers. The green is practically gone, and it makes Veneer feel slightly unreal. Somehow, the cracked polish reminded him of everything he'd flushed down the drain.

It was the last thing he had of his short-lived fame, the last piece that connected him to what he could've had. He has no nail polish, though, so he can't fix them up- He can't fix this.

There's no fixing what has always been broken, he supposes.

He picks at his nails, stares at the ceiling, kicks his feet, folds his hands; picks at his nails again.

Velvet doesn't move.

Eventually, a guard comes up to their cell for lunch. Velvet reluctantly gets up; Veneer waits for her.

"I kind of miss being interviewed," he says aloud when they leave their cell, Velvet walking beside him with a slight glare on her face. She burns holes into the ground.

"It was really nice to be asked questions and have someone actually listening," he continues even when his sister doesn't respond. They receive their trays and sit at a table together.

"I wasn't really good at answering anything," he rambles as he stabs into his food, "but it was fun to be on TV! I bet a lot of people saw it."

"I bet a lot of people saw you confess our crimes, too," Velvet snipes. Veneer shrugs, watching as she stabs a piece of something off her plate.

"Fame is fame," he says. She rolls her eyes, shuffling away a bit.

"Anyway," Veneer begins again, "what was that interviewer's name? It was something odd."

He doesn't know what he's talking about, just spitballing at his point. He sticks his tongue out in concentration as he tries to remember, and Velvet watches with disinterest.

"Oh man, I don't know," he relents after a while, a wobbly smile on his lips as he stares at his sister, "but he was pretty alright."

Velvet raises an eyebrow, looking entirely bored with the conversation. Veneer grins and continues anyway, an aching hole in his chest. He wants her to talk to him.

"Mhm," he nods, "I thought his hair was pretty cool. Ombré? Very unique- and his hat was awesome."

Velvet hated his hat, Veneer was all too aware; she'd ranted about how ugly it was the second they entered their dressing room. He just wanted to rile her up and get a reaction of some sort.

Something, anything.

Instead, they sit in silence.

"I hope I get interviewed again," Veneer laments after a moment. Velvet, of course, doesn't answer.

She doesn't speak as they walk back to their cell; she doesn't speak when they're put back inside.

She slumps onto her bunk, shuffling into the corner of the room and silently staring at her usual wall. Veneer sits on the floor next to his bed.

He fiddles with his hands.

His thoughts are racing at a million miles per hour, and he's struggling to keep up with all of them. He gazes out of the cell, watching as two security guards talk to each other. He wonders what they're saying.

He stares at his hands, taking note of the green paint crumbling off his fingers. It reminds him of himself, in a weird way.

"My nail polish is almost completely gone," he tells his sister, even though she isn't listening, "it's been chipping for a while."