"But, Capi..." The young boy behind her whined as she adjusted a very thin line of a choker undecidedly, "You said we'd play with the ball today..."

"I know, Kit," she spoke softly, finally deciding she was done toying with the stupid string of jewelry and it'd be fine where it was. It was the only nice thing she was wearing, anyway. And it was mass-produced garbage. Her t-shirt was old and had holes in it around the cartoonish print in the center; some old comic strip character.

She didn't even know who he was. A dog or... something. She'd just found the ratty thing at a consignment shop, and it drew her in. She'd had it for years, now, and it showed. Her jeans were as equally tattered as it was, and they went down into her beaten, black, faded old work boots; the only shoes she owned. She turned on her heel to face the kid, and she knelt down to his level with a kind smile.

He was still so little. Only about seven years old, now.

"We'll still have time to play, Kit. I promise. Just a tiny bit later."

Kit pouted, still.

"And," she continued, "I'll bring you something special for dinner. How's that sound." Kit's eyes widened.

"What?! Like what!?" he quizzed. Calli chuckled.

"It's a surprise," she said with a wink. And the boy stared in awe.

"Wow..."

"Right?" She smirked and booped his nose with a finger. He flinched back and scrunched his face, and she chuckled. She got back up to look in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was always a mess. Short, choppy, and asymmetrical. But she still fiddled with it. It had to be the right kind of asymmetrical today.

She finished with a huff; mostly irritation at her hair not doing exactly what she wanted. She turned, and headed back into her and Kit's room.

It was an old, rickety place. And, it should be noted, there was no functioning plumbing in the bathroom. Everything was fed with disposable water bottles. The 'sink' was a plastic tub with hand soap. One would fill it, add soap, and scrub. The shower? A bucket, large enough to fit most people standing up, and an odd sort of modified jug that could be filled, uncorked, and create a steady, narrow stream for a few minutes. Enough to fill the bucket half-way.

Kit toed after his sister as she strolled through their room; two rolled-out bed mats and a basket of Kit's toys. In the corner were two stacks of clothes: clean and dirty. Right. Calli still had to do the laundry today, too. She sighed as she kept walking as Kit kept following. Finally, she opened the door and headed out into the main office. Calli followed the way she knew to the courier's office.

"You can play with Imogen today while I'm away," she offered with a smile, "You like Imogen, right?"

Kit gave a somewhat reluctant nod. "Yeah... She's not as fast as you, though."

"Well, she's older than me," Calli said with a chuckle. "Doesn't mean she can't still be fun."

Kit frowned. "Yeah..."

Calli opened the courier office and entered. And, there was Imogen seemingly crunching some numbers as she held a pen and stared at a sheet of paper in front of her, rubbing her temple. It didn't appear to be going well.

"Imogen?" Calli called.

The older woman jerked up with a start.

She pulled down her angular glasses and eyed the lanky woman standing in her office doorway. She cleared her throat, set her frames back up on her nose, and looked at her with a meager smile. "Calli." She nodded. She looked down to the young boy trailing in behind her, and her smile richened a slight bit more. "And Kit! Good to see you, rapscallion."

He gave her an apprehensive look. "Hi..." he said as he fiddled with his hands.

"You're gonna be spending a little time with me then, love?" the older women said.

At his lack of response, Calli chimed in, "Yes, he is."

Imogen set her pen down on her desk, and stood to her full, tall stature, moving slowly around her shamble of a desk to the doorway of the room. As she reached Calli, she put a feathering palm between her bony shoulder blades and guided her out the office. She looked down to the young boy.

"I won't even be a minute, little one," she said. She gestured to three rigid, mismatched, scrounged chairs on the left wall of the room. "Feel free to have a seat, if you'd like."

Kit nodded, and Imogen shut the door. A thin barrier now between the two women and the kid, she gave her a smirk.

"So; you figured out what you wanted, huh?" she shot. "Taking the dive?" Calli's face flushed as she cleared her throat.

"Well," she said, fingers lacing restlessly, "She was the one doing the diving..."

Imogen chuckled. "Go figure. You're too much of a wet twig to ask a girl to save your life." At Calli's deep pout, she chuckled again. "Good luck," the older woman said with a wink, "Make sure to tell me about it after, yeah?" She added, slyly, "Everything."

Calli made a pronounced wretching expression, slapping the older woman's hand away from her back. "Oh, ewe! I will absolutely not, you old bitty!"

She cackled in a way that wasn't un-witch-like. "Oh well. Can't blame a girl for trying," she said with an almost wistful sigh. "Wish an old hag like me could find a someone. Not very likely though. 'Specially not lookin' like this." She cackled again.

Calli frowned. "Disagree," she said, "I think you look just fine..."

The old girl huffed out her nose. "Well, thanks kid." She gave a dry chuckle. "But I'll take that with a grain of salt."

"I think you should take it with more than that..." Calli gave a serious look. Imogen just smiled.

"Well," she said, "Figure you ought get goin', yeah? Don't wanna keep the pretty lady waiting."

Calli blushed. Again. "R-right..." She gave a quick, but loose turn, and as she strode away, she waved behind her. She was beaming bright and wide, and Imogen could clearly see the pronounced, but silent mouthing of, 'bye!' as she shifted into a jog.

Imogen shook her head at her as she finally turned back to her office, greeting the impatient young boy inside.

. . . .

The transition between districts was sharp and sudden. One second, distant gunshots blasted through the air, vitriol flinging with reckless abandon. The next, almost nothing other than the bickering of street-goers pressing shoulder to shoulder. And the sparse sounds of some few vehicles owned by the rarities that could afford them.

Shots grew softer. Cruelty grew thinner. At least so it seemed. But the looks and scoffs shot her way reminded her things were never really different. No matter where you were.

The hand closest to her hip didn't cease in its twitching—ready to snatch her handgun if need be at any second.

As she'd made her way through the human ocean, trying to keep her profile low—not make a fuss—she still managed to gather some controversy. She was a woman, in public, without a man. And a brown-skinned, ratty, tomboy-ish, dyke-seeming one to boot. But she was a good, trained shot. All the couriers were. All the Underground members—period—were. It was part of basic training. Even for desk staff. Just in case.

As a bearded man shot another slur her way, she tried to pretend she didn't even notice him in the first place. Which wasn't hard. She was well used to it as it was. She had become a master of the art of pretending she didn't care what someone was saying, while still—in actuality—being very aware, and very prepared to act, if necessary.

When she'd finally made it there; to that quaint, worn, but not nearly trashed home she'd known was her destination; her lips turned up to smile, and her pace quickened until she was at Jasmine's door. She glanced at her watch.

'6:54pm.'

While she still felt like they would have plenty of time, she was, admittedly, later than she would have hoped. She wasted no time in hurriedly knocking, but paled as soon as she did, the reality of the situation finally hitting her like a brick to the skull.

She was going on a date. With a woman. For the first time. Her first date, with her first girl—who was an absolute and undeniable bombshell, if at all important—living in an upper district with nice clothes, a nice home, and hair that actually looked presentable, and not like a grade-schooler had taken scissors to it, and bright, blue eyes and silky, platinum-blonde hair, and dusty freckles, and smelled like baby's-breath and had literally perfect teeth and—

"Calliope?" a voice called. Cadenced.

Calliope. Nobody called her by her whole name. Calli—or Cal, sometimes—was just easier. But when Jasmine broke the trend, and did call her by her full name, it made some circuits in her brain she didn't know were there rattle and click and spark.

The taller girl finally snapped to, stumbling. "Oh! Uh–hi! Yeah, um, that's me..." As if it wasn't obvious enough, she cleared her throat, and awkwardly added, "C–Calliope." She said her own name like it was foreign to her. It felt enough as such.

Jasmine was smirking at her. A smug, teasing, curious sort. But it was laced with something more subtle. More enigmatic. Flirtatious could be a word to describe how it seemed. But it could not describe whatever specific part made it so.

"Thank you for clarifying," Jasmine cheeked, "I wasn't quite sure."

Calli gulped. She was an extrovert. At least, she knew most people described her such. But something about this girl—the way she talked, maybe, or the way she looked at her—made her freeze. As if she never knew how to talk in the first place. Her mouth made a few pathetic attempts to express something. But it took a moment for the words to parse together in her brain.

"Y-yeah," she managed, "You're welcome."

Jasmine snorted, now. Then she laughed, high and musical. Almost like birdsong. Excluding the spliced gutturals of intermittent snorting.

"You're cute," she finally breathed through residual laughter. She stepped aside there in the doorway, and gestured into the house with her head. "Come on in, Courier."

Calli gave a rapid nod, and she did. Jasmine followed after and shut the door. As Calli seemed to hesitate, unsure what to do with herself, her host suggested, "You can sit on the couch if you want," jogging past her and into the kitchen.

"I don't wanna get it dirty," Calli said back to her.

"You won't," Jasmine answered in a light chuckle, now in the kitchen. The sounds of a sizzling pan and the woman's own shuffling about rang from the space. A pan sounded as Jasmine shuffled its contents. It smelt wonderful. Calli wasn't used to real food. Scraps, sure. Instant nutritional meals that bordered on actual garbage? Naturally. But not cooking. Not real sustenance.

"Pretty sure I will," Calli shot back.

"I-okay, then?" Jasmine shot back with a somewhat lost sounding chuckle, "I don't care. Sit."

Calli frowned and did—tentatively—what she was told. She sat on the couch as if it was going to leap up and bite her. And when she'd finally gotten there, she sat stiff and ridged.

"I'm almost done in the kitchen, sorry," Jasmine chuckled. She sounded almost worried she was being an inconvenience.

"I don't mind," Calli answered, rolling her head back over the head of the couch to look over to Jasmine, "Honestly, wouldn't have minded if you'd waited for me... I would've loved to... um..." she trailed off.

Jasmine was in a white hoodie—must've been her color; it seemed to be the only one she wore at all. Underneath she had equally bright and pale shorts. They were tight, and short, and barely covered the whole of what they were supposed to cover; the shapes and folds and crevices there were very evident. They gripped tightly around her thighs, digging into the flesh there.

It seemed to her that the majority of Jasmine's ampleness lay in her lower half, even though there was, of course, a bit in her stomach and a bit in her chest. She was pear-shaped more than anything. Her hoodie wasn't tight, but showed her form enough, and Calli found it hard to remove her eyes from tracing around the shape of her hips and the curve of her ass, and the softness of everywhere relatively disrespectfully.

She could consider it a blessing the other woman was too busy to look back at her, only following up with, "I'm sorry? It's super loud over here—I didn't get all of that."

Calli snapped to, flicking her head straight forward. "Y-yeah!" she yipped, "Uh, s'fine, um—Was just saying...." What had she been saying? Oh. Right. "I was just saying, it would've been nice to see you work. I've never really... cook, cooked before. Not really on the table for me..."

Calli heard a sullenness in Jasmine's answer. "It's not really on the table for a lot of people, unfortunately..." she said, "I work for a grocer though. My mom's the owner. Well—sorry, she's not my mom." She paused. "I kind of conflate the two sometimes..." She cleared her throat. "My mom died when I was younger." There was an awkwardness that hardly passed when she finally continued. "She lets me bum stuff from there, sometimes."

Calli frowned. Her posture loosened as she deflated a little. "My mom passed, too. I was twelve..." She mustered a smile. She looked back to the other girl, trying to hold her eyes off from wandering.

"I'm so sorry..."

"Not something to apologize for..."

Jasmine cleared her throat. "Um-Sorry for... that. This isn't really, 'first-date,' talk, huh?"

Calli huffed and smirked. "So, this is a date then?"

Jasmine flicked off the heat, and pulled the pan onto another, inactive burner. She shot Calli a smug look.

"You're pretty," she said, "But not really fast on the uptake, huh?"

Calli stuck out her tongue. "I figured," she said back, "But... y'know. I wanted to make sure, I guess."

Jasmine's face softened into something sweeter. "Well," she said, "Consider this your confirmation."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Calli found a heat in her face. "Oh," she said, "Cool..." She could hear Jasmine chuckle faintly from the kitchen.

Smoothly—gracefully—Jasmine moved back to grab the pan and split its contents among two flat dishes she had set up on the counter. Then she grabbed both; one in each hand; and glided back into the living room.

In front of the stained couch—nicer than anything Calli had ever seen, but still, nonetheless, stained—there was a scuffed coffee table. That was where she put the plates.

Calli eyed the food curiously. It looked like beans, spinach, and sausage, and it smelled of a handful of different species that tickled her nose. It was clearly thrown together. Just what she had. But it was steaming, and real, and it smelt like food.

It was perfect.

Calli grabbed the plate eagerly before Jasmine had even sat down, and the other girl looked at her and giggled. She was smiling. Probably. Calli wasn't looking; her face was buried in her plate. But she heard her ask.

"Is it good?"

Calli flicked her head up, a piece of spinach hanging from her lip inelegantly as her fork was still in her mouth. She flushed and nodded wordlessly. Jasmine huffed happily.

"Good."

She began working on her own. She pecked around her plate, mostly uninterested. Her eyes kept darting to Calliope. Eventually, she had seemed to notice Calli had stopped eating. But, most of her food was still there.

"You're done already?" she asked, "You've barely eaten half."

"I sh—," she started, before her mouth clamped shut. She mouthed to speak again, smiling unconvincingly. "I–uh... I'm already full."

Jasmine gave an un-humored frown. "And... What's the truthful version of that answer?"

Calli froze for a second. She glanced at the other woman. She was giving her a concerned, scolding sort of look. Her brow was furrowed in an almost disapproving, admonishing way. Like a parent at a kid. It made it impossible to hold back the snort that slipped out her nose. Jasmine's brow remained that same staunch way, but she cracked a smile.

"Don't worry about it." Calli chuckled. "And what are you anyway? My mom?"

Jasmine gave an exaggerated gag, sticking out her tongue. "Well, I sure hope not."

Calli snorted again. Then she looked forward, hunched, running her fork absently on her plate. She frowned. "I have a brother."

Jasmine's brow unfurrowed, and she cocked her head. "Oh?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "He's seven."

"Young," Jasmine said simply. Calli nodded again. Understanding seemed to wash Jasmine's face.

"You're trying to save some for him?"

A nod. "He doesn't exactly eat well. I don't either." She realized what had slipped, and hurried, "But I'm fine. He's just a kid, though, so–"

Jasmine stood abruptly, and Calli gave her a bewildered look as she marched right back into the kitchen.

"What the Hell are you doing?" Calli yipped after her. She was sputtering laughter, she noticed. She wasn't sure why. A reaction to perceived absurdity, most likely.

"Cooking," Jasmine flatted, retrieving some ingredients from the tarnished old fridge. Some sort of squash and some sort of something else.

"I–Yeah, I know that!" Calli shot back. She was standing now, too. "But you don't have to!"

"You said you wanted to watch me, right?" Jasmine said, her smugness audible. "Then come over here and watch me."

"You're an ass," Calli answered back, tone heavy in insincerity. She ambled after the other woman.

Jasmine made a sort of dismissive sound and pointed at the other girl's abandoned plate, left on the coffee table. "And you should eat," she shot, setting a zucchini on a cutting board, "Finish up, then come watch me work." She then began cutting. And Calli looked at her, sputtered, and with some reservation ambled back to the table. When she'd finished—not after much more than a few minutes once she had gotten going—she went back to the kitchen. At this point, Jasmine had a bowl of already cut vegetables and was pouring a bottle of oil into a pan. She turned a dial and then looked to Calli.

"Sorry." Jasmine shrugged with an apprehensive smile. "I used what I had for our lunch, so... Ratatouille! Except, without the sauce—don't have any tomatoes. And without the presentation... I suck at it."

Calli chuffed and grinned. "I'm sure you're not that bad. You always seem to be good at presenting yourself, at least."

Where had that come from?

Jasmine grinned and looked away, huffing and shaking her head. She busied herself slicing a large bit of butter off a stick and plopping it into the pan within the oil. "Thank you," she said, "I don't make much of an effort, though."

Calli shrugged. "Guess that makes sense. You're pretty enough as is."

She hadn't even processed that she'd done it, but she had reached forward to brush a strand of the shorter girl's bobbed, platinum hair behind her ear. She had studs in. They were white. They looked like pearls, almost. Small, white spheres. Even if they were most likely just painted metal, they suited her beautifully. She noticed, now, behind her freckles, her cheeks growing redder. Her chest was rising and falling with rapid movements and she was looking directly at Calli, wide-eyed.

She cleared her throat and pulled away, stiffly grabbing the bowl of vegetables and dumping it in the pan. Calliope was left standing dumbly with her hand in the air. It finally fell to her side limply, fisting and fidgeting with her nerves. She took a deep breath.

She cleared her throat. "Um," she said, "W-What are you doing now?"

"Garlic," she responded breathily. Like she'd forgotten air at some point. "Garlic. I'm chopping garlic." It was said like she had misplaced her own actions. She grabbed a large knife. She crushed a clove under the flat side of it, and Calli came beside her.

"What's that for?" She asked, gesturing as Jasmine did the same with another clove.

"I'm taking the skins off," she answered with a chuckle.

Calli cocked her head. "Did I say something?"

"N-no, nothing. It's just-I guess I take this stuff for granted. It's just... odd. Knowing someone who doesn't." She looked at the other girl more teasingly. "It's cute how curious you are."

Calli huffed out her nose and watched quietly. Her face fell to something more intent. Focused. And Jasmine smirked at her, continuing wordlessly. When she finished crushing, she peeled the skin off, and Calliope observed her short fingers working diligently.

Calli looked kind of like a dog, in a way. Curious. Blank, but calculating. Except the calculations where two-plus-two, and her brain had arrived at twenty-two as her first answer.

Jasmine centered a clove on the cutting board and started dicing it. Calli watched.

"Paying attention?" Jasmine asked.

"I think so."

"Wanna try?"

"Cutting?"

"Sure."

Calli's lip curled pensively.

She nodded stiffly. "Okay."

Jasmine stepped out the way of the cutting board and handed the knife to Calli. Her fingers lingered as she passed it on.

It wasn't the first time Calli held one. Not this kind, though: the kitchen kind. Calli, now in position, seemed lost for what to do. Jasmine chuckled. And Calli felt her faculties leave her as soft fingers wrapped around her left wrist, where she held the handle.

"You don't know how to dice, do you?" Jasmine asked. Calli chuckled.

"No," she sputtered, "Of course not."

"Left-handed?"

"Yeah."

Jasmine gently moved her hand down, taking Calli's with her. She pressed the tip of the knife down gently with the pointer of her other hand, and made sure the knife was lined up.

"Pinch this end," she said, pointing to the thinner end of the clove, "Make sure your nails are facing out. That way you don't hurt yourself if you overshoot." Jasmine shrugged. "At least not as bad."

"'Kay." Calli nodded stiffly. She grabbed on the clove. Jasmine nodded affirmatively.

"Good," she said, "Now just bring the knife down, but, kind of keep the tip touching the cutting board... like, hinge it down."

"That's okay," Calli said with a chuckle, "I was paying attention." She copied what she saw, and Jasmine nodded, smiling lightly.

Jasmine grinned. "You were."

"Damn right," Calli smugged.

Jasmine huffed and rolled her eyes. And when Calli was done, she took all the chopped garlic and tossed it into the pan. She then threw in salt and pepper, and, from a cabinet of which one door was barely holding on, she grabbed a canning jar full of red flakes. She tossed some in sparingly.

"What's that?" Calli asked with a cocked head. She really did that a lot. The, 'inquiring German shepherd,' face.

"Red-pepper," Jasmine answered.

"What's that like?"

"Spicy. Kind of."

"I dunno if Kit can handle even a little spicy." Calli nervously chuckled. "Or... flavor, really."

"I figured," Jasmine answered. "That's why I hardly put any in." Her smile faltered and became something near worry. "I hope he doesn't hate it..."

Calli shook her head and chuckled. "I'm sure he won't. I think he'll be happy just to have real food for once..." She sighed, and frowned. "It's been... a while."

Jasmine nodded grimly. "Food's expensive." She smiled again, gently. "I still want him to like it, though."

Calli huffed and smiled, too. She hadn't realized how long it'd been before she heard Jasmine's voice:

"You're staring, Calliope."

There was a package sitting by the stove. A small, plastic container with Jasmine's food stashed into it.

The two women were side by side on the couch, talking. It was the most matterful thing they had to do.

"Thanks for cooking for me today," Calli spoke softly. "And my brother."

"You don't have to thank me for that." Jasmine's voice was equally hushed. Gentle.

"But I do. It... It was sweet."

"You were worth it."

Calli swallowed ladenly. "Oh..."

Jasmine gave a light giggle. "Yeah."

A silence.

Calliope finally gave an odd chuckle. "You don't feel real..."

Jasmine huffed, humored. "How do you mean?"

Calli teetered, trying to find her words. "You just–I never thought I'd... That I'd be in a situation anything like this. Let alone with someone like you... It's just-I didn't think... I didn't think dating was in the cards for me."

Jasmine smiled, lopsided. "And what exactly is... 'someone like me?'"

Calli was quiet for a good few seconds, making various moves to speak, but none seemingly sure of what they ought say. There was so much she felt like she wanted to. And a lot she also felt like she shouldn't.

"Something beautiful," she finally settled. But the words seemed so loud in the quiet room; so heavy.

"... Is that so?" Jasmine called back in feathery words. She moved a little closer to Calliope. "And what's a, 'situation like this?'"

"You know what," Calli chuckled, avoiding any chance of catching the other girl's eye.

"I'm not sure if I do."

"A date," Calli parsed. The word felt much, much heavier now, and she wasn't sure why. She took a sharp breath through her nose as she felt a warmth on her thigh. Her eyes flicked to Jasmine and she was startled by the proximity, now. She was almost pressed up against her. Her small fingers were rubbing on her thigh lightly and she felt some segment of her brain short-circuit. She swallowed a lump in her throat and said, shakily:

"Jasmine..."

"Yeah?" she answered. Her face was only a few inches from Calli's. Her eyes were lidded; her face mostly neutral; but her breathing heavy. And Calli could feel the hot air feathering her lips.

"What are you doing?" she hushed.

And she felt Jasmine's lips press into her own. They were warm. And soft, and not cracked and chapped like she knew her own were. She found herself molding into the action, and her breath shuddered as a soft hand ran further up her thigh and another found a home in the tousledness of her hair.

Jasmine's own breathing hitched as Calli found courage enough in her to bring long, lithe fingers to lace through the strands on her platinum head. Her other hand found the back of her neck and pulled her in closer. Eventually, it came to rest on her cheek.

They had to breathe, pulling back and panting. Their faces were there, inches apart, and they stared at each other for a handful of moments that felt like hours. Calli pulled the softer woman into her again. Jasmine hummed into her lips. Her tongue came to trace the boundaries of Calli's lips

Calli allowed her access. Jasmine's tongue jutted in playfully, and the rougher girl moaned. She fell back onto the couch, and Jasmine came on top of her, heavy where she was on her chest. Their tongues fought each other before they pulled back. And then they kissed, and they kissed again.

Calliope's hands ran down Jasmine's back, over the tenderness there. Jasmine hummed and pressed down further into Calli.

Calli pulled back again to breathe. Or to savor. She wasn't sure. But the look in her eyes showed still, thorough investment.

"Hi..." Calli breathlessly whispered.

"Hi..."

Jasmine pressed her lips back to Calli's. Then again, and again.

"Jasmine..." came from Calli, between.

"Mm?"

"Where is this going?"

Jasmine stopped, and thought for a minute. Then she kissed her again.

"Somewhere good, hopefully."

"That's not what I meant..."

Jasmine's lips quirked down a fraction. Then, they pulled a weak smile.

"If you're not ready, we don't have to..."

Calli ran her thin fingers along the other woman's jaw.

"I just want to actually know you first... You know?"

Jasmine kissed her again.

"Of course..."

Then Calli chuckled.

"... Was fun, though."

Jasmine smirked.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jasmine snickered and found herself nuzzling into the girl beneath her enunciated collar bone.

"Mm," Calli hummed affirmatively. Then she smiled. "You're a good kisser."

Jasmine huffed a chuckle. "I should hope so."

Calli did, too. She planted a kiss to the crown of Jasmine's head.

"Am I?"

"Hell yeah," Jasmine giggled. Then she paused. Then she broached: "So. You wanna know more about me?"

"I mean–Yeah."

"Well," she said, "I want to know you, too." She paused. "So... what do you like to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like–for fun."

Calliope froze. Her mouth moved a couple times before she answered.

"... I dunno."

Jasmine chuckled and raised a brow. "... Really?"

Calli's vague huff of a laugh seemed almost pathetic. "Don't have the time."

Jasmine nodded, meekly. "... That's understandable."

Calli chuffed. "What about you?"

"I read. And I cook." She shrugged. "But... other than that? I mean, what's there for a woman. Like–what am I supposed to do? It's not like we can really, 'go outside,' in any way that's safe. For a handful of reasons." She chortled and shook her head. "So... I read. That's how I live. But," she looked to Calli with a sad smile, "Sometimes I like to watch the sunset from the roof... or, when it's dark, I'll go out and look out at the ocean." She gave a wistful sort-of sigh out her nose.

Calli pulled a soft smile. "Me too."

"We should go together, sometime," Jasmine hushed, "Or to see the sunset."

Calli nodded. "... That sounds nice."

Jasmine chuckled. Then her face sobered a little. She looked up to Calliope. "What about your brother?" She asked, "What's he like?"

Calli huffed and smiled. "He's–Well, he's kinda quiet when it's anyone but me... But, if it is me? He's a goof. He's loud, and bombastic, and very, very obnoxious." Jasmine chuckled at the description. "But he's my little buddy. To be honest though... I dunno. Guess I'm more of a mom to him. But... we still have that sibling thing going on; the rivalry and bickering..."

"Sounds like a sweet kid," Jasmine spoke with a smile.

"He's a menace," Calli corrected with a smirk.

"Maybe. But a cute menace."

"Ugh," Calli groaned, "Don't side with him. That's what he wants."

Jasmine gave a musical laugh again, and Calli couldn't help the soft look she gave her. But, slyness soon took back her face.

"Alright," she said smugly, "My turn, again."

"Hit me," Jasmine chuckled.

"What about you?" she asked, "Siblings?"

Jasmine's face gave a small, almost imperceptible falter. It was almost like she didn't stop smiling at all. But, a creep of something faded in for the briefest moment. And sincerity seemed gone after it.

"No," she answered, "None."

Calli could tell something was amiss. But she decided not to press; she knew how sensitive family could be.

Jasmine cleared her throat, breaking the thin silence. "... Do you know how to read?" she asked. Calli shrugged.

"Kinda? I dunno. My parents didn't have a lotta money for schooling. So, my mom taught me. But..." She cut herself off, and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Sort of."

Jasmine suddenly rocketed up from the couch and sped-walked to the stairs, marching up them. After coming over her stupor, Calli launched up after her.

She followed up the creaky steps into the second floor. There was what looked like a restroom, another room with a closed door, and the wide-open bedroom. In which, was a twin bed—mattress only; but adorned nicely with a cream comforter, white sheets, and cream pillows; laying on a few pallets on the floor. And then, nothing more than an old lamp in the corner, now off in the day, and at the very foot of the bed, a small bookshelf. The thing was overflowing, books lined all across it, on top, and some in piles on the side. Jasmine was humming, tracing a finger along spines as if searching for something specific.

"Jasmine?" Calli chuckled, "What on Earth are you doing?"

"Finding you a book," she said simply.

Calli sputtered in disbelief. Jasmine gave her no further acknowledgement as she finally gave her hands a solitary clap and gasped. Calli gawked, dumbfounded.

Jasmine scooted on the floor toward the stacks along the side of the shelf, and grabbed a title off the top of one of them. Well, almost. There seemed to be a waver of hesitation before she did. But her hand finally found its way. And, holding the book, she shot back up and marched to Calli.

"Read this," she said simply, holding out the title.

'She Was Made From The Sun,' embossed in golden letters on a blank cover.

"Weren't you reading this just the other week?" Calli asked. Jasmine nodded.

"Yeah," she acknowledged, "But I've read it so many time I could quote it by heart at this point. It's..." She swallowed. "It's one of my favorites..." She looked pensive. Then she gave a sort of chuff, and smiled, softly. "I want you to read it; you can tell me what you think."

"I..." Calli looked at the book the girl was still holding, "But, you're in the middle of this one..."

Jasmine gave a dry frown. "Calli, do you really think I'll have trouble finding anything else to read?"

Calli glanced at the shelf behind the blonde. Then back to her.

"No," she said simply.

"Then take the damn book," Jasmine spoke flatly.

Calli nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she answered, quickly taking the paperback and eyeing its very frayed edges. She flipped it over. No summary.

"Yeah..." Jasmine said with a wince, as if reading the other girl's train of thought, "I ripped the jacket a while ago."

"What's it about?" Calli chuckled.

Jasmine looked at her softly. "It's about this girl. And she's... She's different. But, it's not really revealed until the end of the book... But, this guy meets her... and they get really close... And stuff doesn't exactly go according to plan..." She scratched her cheek with a finger, chuckling. "It's... It's hard to explain without giving anything away."

Calli gave a chuff. "I'll check it out," she said with a hint of a nod. Then she smirked. "Woulda been better with two girls, though."

Jasmine snorted. "Admittedly, I must agree."

Calli huffed a laugh. Then her watch beeped. She lifted her wrist to glance at it, and her eyes widened.

"Shit," she said, turning on her heel, "I have to go, now"

She jogged out the bedroom and down the stairs only stopped by a soft hand on her wrist as she reached for the door.

"Wait," Jasmine shot frantically, "When can I see you again?" There was a hopeful lilt in her voice.

Calli gave the statement some hurried thought before answering. "Next Sunday?"

"Promise?"

"Sure," Calli chuckled. She let out a sudden gasp as a hand on her arm made her turn around. And, even more so when; on the tips of her toes; Jasmine came up to press their lips together. And they stayed, for a while. Until Calli finally pulled away, the both of them gasping, and Jasmine's lidded eyes conveying a very unhidden want in them. She smiled.

"See you later, courier."

"Y-yeah..."

Calli stared, for a moment, blindly reaching for the door knob and missing a handful of times before finally taking hold. She twisted it and, with the slightest hesitation, she left. She ran across the darkening street, panting. She had to be back within thirty minutes. Something that could be attempted. But, only if she ran.

Yet, as she ran, the most brilliant smile had plastered itself onto her face.