Re: [UFO Tourism: Connie & Dahlia]
She got it. In theory. Kinda. Like, conceptually, she got that time powers could be used to really fuck a person up, or do some morally bankrupt shit, or whatever. Hell, it weren't like Dahlia ain't never wondered what she would do with Connie's abilities. Her business was mostly bought on money fucking scammed outta Vegas. With time powers, precious fucking little would keep her from robbing a bank, if she knew she could get away with it.
But far as she knew, Connie ain't never done shit. And reputations were usually earned, alright? Her best friend was kind and earnest and funny and thoughtful. People liked Connie. Nobody liked her. So Dahlia kept all her bad fucking influence to herself, 'cause who the fuck wanted that? Shit weren't all it was cut out to be. Especially once she went legit or whatever. First time in her life her career didn't depend on being an asshole, and now all it took was one kid spreading a shitty fake rumor to actively fuck it up. That bad name of hers 'round town--the one she used to pride herself on--was just starting to grate.
Shoulda expected it, in retrospect. She did have a rap sheet, after all: as a felon, a violent drunk, and an asshole. Dahlia was a supreme fuckup of a human being, and she knew it. Really felt it, lately. And she weren't sure she knew how to be anything but.
Arm still hung 'round Connie's shoulders, Dahlia bared teeth in her wild grin and snapped a few photos of herself, her best friend, and the excellent mural. More dumb selfies with her bestie, among the dozens already on her phone from this trip, to hold onto for all her bad days. She could only try to be better 'round Connie, after all, just like she tried to get her shit. If that didn't work, Dahlia figured it was just her own damn fault. If she was less of a shitty person, or smarter, or--not afraid--just trying would be enough.
"M'gonna take that as a no," she said, dryly. Wandering back into the line of tents set up to pander alien wares, Dahlia swiped through her photos and forwarded a few good ones to Pat. There was that good one of them in front of that giant pistachio sculpture from two days back. Shit like that needed to be shared with the world. She then traded the phone for a stick of gum fished outta her pocket, unwrapping and popping it into her mouth. "But, yeah, he is sorry," she admitted, 'round gum, "'cause your bro thinks he let you down. You mad at him just for that?" She glanced sideways at Connie, then looked away and pretended to be real interested in some lumpy, grey rocks ("authentic meteorites!" claimed a nearby sign). "Or is it somethin' else?"