Chameleon | ONC 2020

6: Sexy Mermaids

To her annoyance, she was looking forward to meeting up with Lilac. She didn't understand why she was looking forward to it, and didn't really understand why she was annoyed about it, either. Perhaps it was just relative, because Coran had been in a predictably foul mood all morning and hadn't been inclined to let her leave.

"What, right after getting chased halfway across London by a vampire we don't know?" he had demanded, sitting up in bed still shirtless. She had never got into bed the night before, falling asleep in the bathtub instead. It hadn't helped smooth things over. "Are you joking?"

She hadn't been able to help looking at his scars. They littered his whole torso, thick pink ridges down to small silver lines, which made his skin shine in the light. She used to think they were hot, but now they were just a symbol of the life he led – that they led, that she had got herself trapped in when she was young and naïve and thought dating a werewolf would be the answer to her problems.

It had never occurred to her that she'd still be stuck here, spinning her wheels, several years later.

"You dealt with it, didn't you?" she'd snapped back, too exhausted to be diplomatic. "What, am I on house arrest now?"

He'd scowled at her, but conceded with a huff, turning over to show her his broad back instead. "Just don't be out when it gets dark."

She checked the address on the paper in her hand for the hundredth time to distract herself from the simmering irritation she still felt. She wasn't sure anymore who she was more annoyed at; herself or Coran.

Sunlight glinted on the pavements ahead of her, and she squinted in the glare. The sky was washed pale yellow, picking the city out in spikes and angles. The commuters and early visitors she shared the pavements with were all silhouettes limned in bright light, always with somewhere to go. They had a purpose, unlike her.

Lilac waited for her by the studio entrance, an unassuming door directly off the street that led to a set of stairs. She was wearing a lacy cream summer dress and a beige jacket. Her pale hair fell in soft waves that framed her face, barely tamed by a narrow headband. She smiled as Chameleon approached, and it was hard not to scowl in return at how well-presented she was; Chameleon had spent all night in a bathtub and looked like it, too. Passers-by probably thought Lilac had taken on some kind of charity case.

"You look nice," Lilac said, surprising her.

Chameleon narrowed her eyes and reached up to try and smooth her hair down. She'd done her best to scrub the old mascara from her face in the bathroom mirror before she left, but she was a wreck and she knew it. She peered at Lilac's head, just in case, and still saw no sorrow cloud. It was the third time, and it was getting more than strange; was this woman never sad?

"You look...well," she said in return. Inside, she cringed.

"Thanks." If Lilac noticed her discomfort, she didn't show it. "How do you feel about going for coffee?" When Chameleon looked sharply at her, she clarified, "You said you wanted to talk?"

"I should probably say," Chameleon muttered, and then blinked, because Lilac was halfway across the road already, making a beeline for a coffee shop on the opposite side of the street. She hurried after her, earning a few horns, and caught up just as Lilac was about to step in the door. "I should say," she said, "I still can't afford to..."

"This isn't therapy," Lilac said, "It's just coffee."

Chameleon relaxed. It must have been visible, because Lilac smiled again, so brightly that Chameleon's heart skipped. She entered the aromatic warmth of the coffee shop, and Lilac led them to a corner table. Chameleon felt horribly out of place among the fake flowers and fancy cake displays, and tried to angle herself so that the waitress didn't see that her jeans had more holes than material left and that her shirt was one of Coran's old ones.