Re: [UFO Tourism: Connie & Dahlia]
Dahlia knew that shit intimately. Photos made shit feel a little less liminal. There weren't nothing documenting her first couple decades of life, other than all the bullshit she carried with her. Bouncing between juvie and homelessness for years meant nothing but mug shots, and if there were any of her as a kid? Fucking gone. Probably. Sometimes she drove past the house she grew up in, where the new residents installed a basketball hoop and a dog, but shit otherwise looked the same. Maybe there was a box or two in the attic. Maybe some shit left behind when her dad died and her mom vanished. Never had the nerve to knock on the front door and ask. Family there was just as likely to take one look at her shady ass and call the fucking police, anyway.
But her mentor liked photography, all that old school shit. Had a darkroom in the house and everything. Lotta the photos she had now were taken by her mentor, or by herself fucking 'round with a hand-me-down. Most were back from when she had friends, and a life. Lacking those now meant just a smattering of selfies on her phone that nobody saw. Unless they were taken for a reason, usually of the not-safe-for-work variety.
Dahlia blinked at the comment, and watched her best friend's wistful expression. "Way to make me feel fuckin' old," she murmured, shoving her aviators up on her head and slinging an arm 'round Connie's shoulders again. She was gonna outgrow thirty herself in a couple months, and good fucking riddance. Thirty started with rehab and she was vaguely convinced it was gonna end with bankruptcy on a failed gym. Connie deserved better. Start thirty with a solid surprise party, maybe. Gonna have to plot with Pat when they got back.
As the conversation shifted back to her brother, Dahlia stopped walking, and turned 'round to better face her best friend, roping her in close with her arm. "Hey. Listen. I know." She paused, giving Connie a downward look, then continued, "But Pat's real frustrated, okay? He, uh. He says you don't talk to him 'bout some shit and just shut down when he asks. He's just--doin' the brotherly shit, or whatever. Wanna make sure you know he worries 'bout you, too." Saying it was just sibling shit meant she didn't gotta own up to the fact that she worried, too. Right? Right.
Her expression totally betrayed her, though, tender under her heavy gaze, as Dahlia absently brushed white hair out of Connie's face. "When we get back to town, go talk to your bro. Real frank. Alright?" She quirked a crooked smile and rolled her eyes slight, and that flit of concern disappeared beneath her familiar mask of sarcasm. "It's doin' me a solid, man. He already mopes over his love life. Give him less shit to fuckin' whine at me 'bout."