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Agent Starling [Lavinia mood]
#1
Chelsea adored Marley.

She was the undisputed head of their band, Agent Starling, which one didn't normally think of when they thought of a drummer but it was the truth. Everything that they did on stage was set by Marley. She was the rhythm, the tempo, the driving force behind all the melodies and harmonies riding above. Chelsea had joined the band almost entirely by accident. She was at some seedy craphole in Austin spending her last few dollars listening to a little indie band that no one seemed to care about.

Marley didn't know the first thing about Chelsea, only that she was tall, thin, and willing to put herself between their lead singer and his rhythm guitarist girlfriend when he got drunk and angry and looking for someone to take out the bad show blues on. Max normally turned his frustrations on furniture or other bar patrons; Marley only put up with it because Leslie was pretty insistent that they keep him. When Max overstepped his bounds? He was out.

So, Chelsea may have been in the middle of a fist fight with a guy who had eighty pounds on her, but Marley had since concluded that if the kid needed a pack to run with, Agent Starling was going to be that pack.

So, there they were inside of a No-Tell Motel in SoCal that charged hourly rates and was pretty sure a van full of girls had to be groupies of some kind. Their equiment was brought in, stacked in a corner, and the girls doubled up on beds. Leslie and the bass player Kate were in one bed. Chelsea and Marley were in another. Mostly, this had been done due to sleeping habits and compatibility. Marley slept hot, Chelsea tried to cuccoon herself in the blankets. Kate was a pan-spoony sleeper: if you were human, Kate would probably try and use you as a body pillow. Leslie was freezing all the time, to she wanted all the warmth she could get. The girls had a system. It was a good system.

Leslie and Kate were getting In-n-Out at the behest of Chelsea, because seriously animal style fries are fantastic. It left the other two girls alone in the room.

"Let me do your makeup," Marley said. It was enough to make Chelsea sit up off the bed. She'd been laying there with blonde hair sprawled out under her. Her hair was shaggy, still growing out and not quite at a length she liked yet. She'd always wanted long hair, but for now she'd have to settle for something that rested at her chin.
"What's wrong with my makeup?" she asked, looking sideward at her companion.
"Nothing, but you have a pretty facial structure and I like putting makeup on people."
"Can I do you?"
"I don't know, can you?" Marley shot her a slight smirk.
"May I do you?"
"You have to buy me dinner first," punctuated with a wink.

It was fun to watch Chelsea mull over innuendo, then see herget that innuendo and blossom into a whole new shade of pink. Corral on bronze- it was summer time and all it took was putting her in the sun for a few hours and Chelsea had the beginnings of a fantastic tan.

"Yeah, okay, you can," Chelsea finally replied. The young woman sat up and adjusted herself. She was tall, and a little like a newborn horse from time to time. Sure on her feet, but ever-so-occasionally awkward. It was enough to send Marley scrambling for a gigantic pink kaboodle. Things were unlocked, opened, slid out, and Chelsea knew that she was going to immediately regret her decision.

"You're going to make me look like Barbie," she said.
"I am not going to make you look like Barbie," Marley replied while taking a cotton pad full of makeup remover over Chelsea's left cheek. She made quick work of whatever was there, caring little for the kind of trash pile she was going to create, "close your eyes, and don't open them until I say."
"Wow, dominatrix much?" Chelsea laughed, but closed her eyes anyway.
"Lick my boots you sexy, awful worm," Marley had to laugh, too. She was, however, in the process of painting up Lavinia's face, "I really should make you look like a Barbie for that."
"Oh my gawd, no," it would seem that laughter was contagious, because Chelsea wasn't stopping any time soon.
"You'd be perfect. You're already blonde, you tan well, and we just need to stuff your bra with everything you own to give you those ultra missile boobs."
"I solemnly swore on my mother's grave that I would never, ever stuff my bra."
"You shouldn't," Marley told her, "it's a dangerous downward spiral. Besides, if someone has a problem with your tits then they don't get to see 'em anymore. Remember that- if someone has a problem with your body it isn't your goddamn problem, it's theirs."
"Wow," her laughter had died down and she took a second to just... absorb what had just been said.
"For the longest time I hung out with a bunch of guys, got all the make me a sandwich and my ex girlfriend is fucking crazy shit and it took me some time to figure out that I didn't need that shit in my life. I just kinda want to live some of the hard shit for you so that you don't have to."

There was silence, a second when she opened her eyes and regarded Marley again. There was a little bit of a misty cast to her eyes. Marley looked up and to the side, blinked it away. She exhaled hard.

"You're kind of like the best sort of big sister ever," Chelsea told her, and on her leg and a comforting smile on her face. It made Marley laugh, the kind of breathless that comes when you're trying not to cry. She didn't understand why Marley might be crying, might say the things she does but she'd figure it out later. Couldn't live all the hard things for Chelsea, after all.
"Does that mean I have to quit making passes at you?" Marley asked, locking eyes with the dark-eyed celestine and adopting her ever-too-common saucy look.
"Oh my gawd," Chelsea said as she laid back on the bed.
"Because this ain't Joe Dirt and I'm not your sister," Marley adopted her best Jamie Presley impression.

The girls got on to laughing, generally shooting the shit, and waiting for food. It was a good day.
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