She followed him up, sliding off boots and matching his custom. The place wasn’t familiar, but that was no surprise. Fernando likely had many places.

Lulu glanced at the news as a pink-haired gym leader flashed on the screen. There had been several new ones rising up recently. Rocket had managed to secure another spot on the circuit, even. Her vision lingered on the woman before the image flashed away, along with thoughts of taking the challenge again. Fingers wrapped around the left-behind bottle and began to unscrew the lid with a crackle, rounding the corner to catch him going from business to birthday.

She took a sip, lingering in the doorway and watching, unabashed in her stare. “Think I’ve got more to wash off than you.”

There was a snort of air and a toothy smirk. “Alright, then.”

Another sip and she placed the water aside on a countertop. When the illusion the hosiery had provided was removed, ink was revealed running from her feet into streaking makeup—a bit of a mess which had been hidden skillfully. 

“Thought it’d just be… classier, I guess, I don’t know.” She explained. The dress followed, as did the rest. The coat had already been thrown onto a piece of furniture in the entrance room.

The sight of the hovering tablet coming in from behind caused her shoulders to jump. Rotom were the bane of Lulu’s existence. She was grateful when it left the room.

The scent of MISTY TERRAIN was intoxicating, and she breathed deep, docile in a net of fae fuckery. “Smells lovely.”

It took his words to realize what she was doing. Watching his expression change aroused suspicion, but it was blotted out by vague, weightless sensations like cotton in her brain and warm milk on her skin. Even as the MIST originated from him, its power hadn’t registered. It might as well have been a bath bomb. He was akin to a Venus flytrap.

Toes began to curl self-consciously under his gaze, and her smile faltered. That was a strange realization: that he hadn’t yet asked her about them. Digging through memories felt like peering through windows with lights on she could see through; see their evenings spent from the potholed streets of her consciousness, and yet upon opening a door, it was always black. The power was out.

For some reason, this was not a conversation they’d yet had.

Not everyone asked about tattoos, and she had not been with many people to have had to flesh out a story. A shrug and explanation that they didn’t mean anything had sufficed in the past. However, she found herself oddly comfortable with him. Additionally, her past had been, for the most part, taken care of. If he didn’t know who she was, she was in no danger of being arrested. She was no longer on lists. If he did know who she was, which she did suspect, then it didn’t matter. Her one claim to fame above the surface was a high-profile trial. Nothing would be a secret. People had speculated enough that they’d hit every nail on the head—charges just hadn’t stuck. Money fixes everything. There had also been a sore lack of evidence, as Lulu was very good at what she did.

At least, when she wasn’t under his spell. She slid into the bath with him, skin brushing his. Instead of focus on a racing heart, she felt calm.

The water felt nice. She also liked burn. After a moment’s consideration and a contented sigh, she answered him. “You said earlier tonight: ‘I’d rather be me.’” Nape of her neck rounded leisurely against the edge of the tub, and she looked over at him. “Internalize that, then. That’s sexy.” She wouldn’t be cliché and compliment him on scars and how they were humanizing and showed a life lived. She didn't carry around bandaids for peoples egos. 

“Hm.” She could relate.

Her gaze didn’t waver from him, only narrowing a little as she tried to read anything in his face. “And what of yourself have you given up, I wonder?” Legs stretched out, the veil had  already begun to wash away from a past she couldn’t scrub off. “Or do you even remember anymore?”

Feelings. Not a topic Lulu had ever been good at. Her foot bobbed in the water against his touch, and for a moment, the sensation of it and the scent of lavender dominated her mind.

She shifted, and the edge of her other foot ran against his leg, more idle, comfortable than suggestive. The tablet was ignored. “You can’t just… give up whole emotions.” Of course, she wasn’t sure about that, but felt like she understood this truth from experience. “You’re bottling them up, love.”

While Lulu didn’t talk much about her feelings, she didn’t express her emotions well. Impulsivity had always been a flaw, and it tended to get her into trouble.

“You’re right.” She gave, not expressing the impact his words had made. The sound of his movement in the water seemed to amplify in her ears, and she let silence fill the gaps.

Finally, she breathed. “So, what happened? Your scar.”

Peacefulness waned some in a frown. Although Old Rocket’s ethics differed immensely from New Rocket’s, it meant little. Rocket was Rocket. Her eyes skimmed the top of the water, unable to look at him.

This was uncharted territory: being this close to someone who had been affected by her criminal underworld. She kept to the inside of it, typically, except to skirt edges for the occasional thrill. This wasn’t that.

She felt like she could feel his pain, whether it was truly there or not. “I’m sorry to hear that.” What else was there to say?

With a deeper breath, her eyes eventually glanced back up at his. She withdrew from the topic. “That feels really nice.”