mercedes can't catch a break!

Mercedes didn’t often set this kind of time aside for herself. Most of the time, she was just too busy— that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, not by a long shot— but it meant that, between hopping from club to club, and managing her time for that accordingly, she didn’t have much in the way of even a minute to just sit down and enjoy a moment to herself.

Granted, these moments weren’t all that— she wasn’t much an introvert, had spent far too many years of her childhood by herself to enjoy that sort of private, self-reflective company anymore. So if she did have the time to do this kind of thing, it’d be with a good friend. 

Nathaniel, to Mercedes’ relief, seemed more than happy to come over to her place for the night; they practically spent every waking hour of theirs together, anyway. But Nathaniel’s presence, unlike the grating, hazy environment of the party scene, brought with it a sort of homeliness. Calmness, in a strange, laughing at shitty movies kind of way. It was something she’d never get sick of— being his friend. 

Despite their antics, he was really one of the only people Mercedes could begin to consider close to her— past their party-hard façades and high-octane lifestyles, he’d never looked at her like she was anything more than his best friend. The same couldn’t be said for any of the languid-moving partygoers she’d had the repeated displeasure of interacting with daily.

The two of them lay sprawled out on the floor, an array of nail polish bottles and tissues littered around them. A tacky, stupid rug that one of them had bought (put to it, she earnestly couldn’t remember which one of them’d bought it— they both had a penchant for collecting objectively stupid memorabilia) protecting the hardwood below them from the occasional nail-painting mishap. 

“For the last time,” Mercedes, her eyes set half on the blue paint drying on her nails, mumbles, an air of humor in her voice, “I refuse to watch the movie Cars, Nathaniel. You’ve made it sound like a horror movie.”

“C’mon. Cars? ‘Cedes, I’m not forcing you to watch it, but it is just an animated movie about talking cars. Nothing scary. They’ve got big eyes where their lights are, everything.”

“Do you see what I mean? Talking cars? Come on. Cars weren’t made to be sentient. Think of all the shit you’ve done in a car— what do you think it’d say to you?”

“What kind of shit are you doing in a car?” Nathaniel bursts out into laughter, a bubbling, pleasant kind of sound, rolling onto his back. “That’s not at all how it works in the movies! They’re just living in their own car world. No people, nada.”

“No people?” At this point, it’d become something of a joke— but a stark look of mock horror falls over Mercedes’ face as she shakes her hand limply to try and dry her nails faster, “No people? Then how did the cars get there?”

“That’s between you and whoever directed the movies, Mercedes. The cinematic world of Cars can’t answer every question we have.” He fumbles back onto his stomach, propping his hands up underneath himself with a grin. “That’s what makes it my favorite mystery series.”

“Now it’s a mystery series!?” She gasps, feigned, coming up to a more adequate sitting position with her legs folded. “Are there car detectives? Car cops? Oh my god, are they cop cars?”

“Dunno. Like I said— total mystery.” With a bit of a grunt, Nathaniel pushes himself back up to his hooves, stretching his arms out over his head with a pop. “But I’m hungry. You want something?”

“Well, now I'll be haunted by these cars. But sure.” Smiling, she casts her gaze to the kitchen, like that’d give her any indication of what they had to eat, before shrugging her shoulders. “What were you planning on making?”

“You have pasta, or something? That’s easy to make. Hard to mess that up.” Nathaniel, without waiting for much else, moves over to the kitchen, signaled by the distinct, haphazard sound of glass jars clinking together and cabinets being flung open.

“Well, hey.” She comes to a stand, then, bending over to pick up the stray bottles of nail polish— no telling what would happen to their tacky rug if one of them had knocked a bottle over. “If you cook it, I’ll eat it, probably. You always make good food.”

Safely placing the nail polish bottles in a place she was at least semi-positive would pose no risk for them being knocked back down, she throws herself onto the couch, cozying up against the pillows.

And she’d almost be able to enjoy her comfort on the couch— almost— if it hadn’t been for the abrupt, harsh knock on the door. Sitting upright (and she can tell Nathaniel’d heard it, too, with the way the strangely ambient sound of his cooking had stopped), she raises an eyebrow. 

In hindsight, she’d dealt with plenty of situations like this in the past— and she’d been more than equipped to deal with the stress that could come about with the presence of an unexpected visitor. But tonight, of all nights— the one time she’d had a minute to breathe for herself, and this had to happen.

Mercedes comes to a stand with a sharp, belligerent sigh, striding over to the door. Glaring through the peephole, she hadn't thought twice to look first at who it was at the door before shouting, “Who the hell is it?”

“Aww, c’mon, no need to be like that!” Oh, shit. She should’ve absolutely checked to see who it was first before responding. 

“Wait, is that Gami?” Nathaniel peeks his head out from the kitchen, that mischievous glint in his eyes already starting to form. Of course, it had to be him.

“Nathaniel’s in there? You guys really started a party without me, huh?” Gami laughs from the other side of the door. “I brought something from uptown, though, you guys gotta see this. Wanted to pop by.”

Mercedes, turning to Nathaniel, who’d just started to come out of the kitchen, mutters loudly, “I am not letting him in.”

“Oh, he’s great! Come on, it’ll be a good time.” Nathaniel’s grinning, ear to ear, and despite, in that very moment, knowing she absolutely shouldn’t, that grin somehow convinces her to open the door.

“Hey! There we go.” Gami walks in quickly, knowing in the back of his mind that if he’d spent a moment too long outside, Mercedes would just shut him out again. 

Gami, for all his irritating, absolutely intolerable behavior, was fun to have around. Sometimes. Very, very, very rarely, but sometimes. A bit like listening to really loud music, she’d reasoned; it blew your ear drums out, but if you focused really hard, at least you could still hear the music. Better than having no music at all. It was difficult to come up with an analogy to perfectly encapsulate the conflicting energy Gami’d managed to embody.

Beyond that, though, Gami certainly did have something, he hadn’t been lying about that. Clutched in his right hand was a thick garbage bag, out from it jutting sharp corners. The bag itself teetered on tearing— it really was shocking that it hadn’t already.

“You look terrible.” Mercedes comments, snide and with arms folded. Nathaniel snickers. “Were you running away from the cops, or something?”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. Check this out, though.” Gripping the bag from its bottom, Gami shakes it once, dumping out its contents onto the ground. And out from the bag, to Mercedes’ immediate shock, tumble a few paintings— all still in their frames, and all incredibly expensive looking.

“Holy shit, Gami.” With wide eyes, Mercedes comes down to the floor, taking one of the paintings in her hands. Something about it looked familiar, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. 

Nathaniel finishes what Mercedes couldn’t, in her awe at the sudden mass of art on her floor. “Did you steal these?”

“Short answer? Yeah.” Gami grins, leaning up against Nathaniel’s weight. “I was in the area. Figured why not? Just little gifts. They're small, too, won't even notice they're gone.”

And Mercedes, squinting further at the painting, suddenly realized what about it was so familiar. 

It was Inoue’s. One of her best friends in the world, alongside Nathaniel, and Gami’d gone through whatever lengths he had to steal it. From her best friend’s art exhibit— and now said stolen art was laying on the floor of her apartment.

She looks up, speechless at Gami, who’d seemed to have completely forgotten what he’d just done in favor of leaning his entire body weight against Nathaniel. Taking one, long, deep breath, she sighed, putting the painting down back on the floor.

Tonight would be a long night.