Quoted By:
The promised yuri incoming. I used Doom instead of Doorothy because it reads a bit better.
1/2
"Well, that was a bust."
Dolce sighed, leaning forwards onto the bridge railing. What was meant to be Doom's first girls night with her was dead in the water; the spa had mis-booked and put them on the wrong date entirely, the restaurant they were going to had closed unexpectedly only hours prior, the clubs were too noisy and sleazy by this point in the evening, and there was little else to do at 9pm on a Saturday that didn't involve alcohol. She wasn't sure if Doom had ever drank before, and now certainly wasn't the time to find out.
She turned to face Doom, the cold metal of the railing biting into her arms. "I'm really sorry it turned out like this, Doomie... When we get that spa day for real, let's try it again, okay? ...okay?"
Doom wasn't listening. Her ears were pricked, her tail still, flat against the skirt of her dress. She was staring out across the river, gently sniffing. Finally, she spoke.
"There's a storm coming."
"What? Nothing was forecast, maybe you're just--"
A terrible rumbling sounded across the skies, bouncing off the buildings. Before either of them could react, the heavens opened; it was like a shower had been turned on, a sheet of cold rain crashing down around them, a deafening roar against the concrete surroundings. It briefly blinded Dolce, flattening her hair against her eyes in an instant. She scooped it out of the way with one hand, grabbing Doom's wrist with the other.
"Agh, hell! Run!" She spat out, tugging at Doom, who was barely reacting.
"I'll call a taxi," she calmly stated, reaching for her purse. In a moment her clothes had become plastered to her, her dress stuck against her body in a manner akin to a wet bedsheet on a clothesline.
Dolce tugged again, harder. "No! No time for that! Run!"
Dolce was no stranger to running in heels. In fact, it was something she trained for specifically, so she could never be caught out - treadmill practice had left her proficient at it, and she'd even won a few friendly races in her time without having to go barefoot. Running in heels in freezing, pouring rain, against slick-wet concrete, in the dark, while pulling somebody was another matter entirely. She'd stumbled a few times, pushing herself back upright instinctually off the walls of the alleyways they were cutting through, but they were only a little way from her apartment near the arcade... Surely she'd be there in no time flat?
It was naïve. They were within sight of the block when her foot slipped out of the side of her heel, toppling her to the ground.
Neither of them had even a second to react before Dolce crumpled in an ungainly heap onto the pavement, knees first, stomach second. The sound of passing cars dulled behind the ringing of her ears, her vision refocusing; she pushed herself to her knees, then fell sideways again onto her hip, the filthy puddle water stinging the grazing on her knees and palms. As she sat on the pavement, with traffic flying by, soaked through and dirty, she did the only thing she could think to do - cry.
"Doom," she sniffled, looking up at her, "Doom, I'm so sorry. This was meant to be nice- I wanted to make you happy-"
Doom's expression was soft, unreadable, her ears drooping limply downwards as she took in the sight of Dolce on the ground. Dolce burst into wracks of sobs, covering her face with her bloodied palms, as embarrassed as she was pained... But she felt Doom's arm slip under her cold legs, another wrap around her back, her head falling against her chest as she was picked up off the ground.
"Come on. Let's go home."
