notes: a wife-beater is a type of tank-top, stereo typically worn by alcoholic, abusive husbands in t.v shows and movies.
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when you woke up, your were clinging to your pillow like a vice. it was unusually warm in your house that morning, implying that it would be a hot day. as you crawled out of bed, the sun shone brightly onto the purple-colored tattoo on your forearm. it was as gorgeous as ever, the stylized 's' twinkling in the morning light. you pulled on a small tank top and some short shorts, with a black, over sized hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned all the way. as you walked out of the house to get some breakfast, you spotted one of the men from the coffee shop standing around, smoking.
"eyo!" he called, making you breathe out.
"hey." you mumbled as he walked toward you, smiling.
"wha'cha doin' out this early, dollface?" he flirted, grinning.
"i dunno, was planning on getting some breakfast maybe, getting a couple of things at the grocery store." you said, making him nod incoherently.
"yeah, uhm, the thing is-" the blue haired man leaned casually on your shoulder. "tha boss wants ta see ya at the h.q."
"really?" you asked casually, masking the excitement in your head.
"yeah, like right now." you were dragged away to a run-down, abandoned house that the man claimed was their h.q. as he opened the door, you could spot at least a dozen team skull members, both male and female, either talking or smoking or a combination of the two. you looked along the walls at the people, all around your age. upbeat party music was playing in the background, increasing the atmosphere of a college party.
"boss is right in there." the man directed you into a room with a purple-painted team skull logo, the exact same shade as your tattoo.
almost as if he sensed your presence outside, guzma called for you.
"she here yet?!" he called gruffly, making you smirk.
"yuh, boss, got 'er right here. you want me to send her in?" the blue-haired man asked politely, sure not to slight his boss.
"the hell would i bring her here for if i didn't wanna see her?" he yelled throatily, almost demanding to see you.
"okay then, i'll send 'er in." the man opened the door, mouthing 'good luck.' when you walked in, guzma was sitting casually on a throne. a fucking throne. it was a darker purple than the door's paint, with gold-painted arms wrests.
