DEAR READER this oneshot will contain sudden descriptions of violence and gore, death, threat, suspense and tension, a dysfunctional mother-daughter dynamic.
please read at your own discretion.
it is also ridiculously long. i know. we don't need to talk about it. i am simply insane.
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"MOM. FOR THE FINAL TIME, get out."
Rory doesn't even spare a glance in her mother's direction. Her hyperfocus in the mirror, however, doesn't mean that she can't feel her mom's presence looming in the doorway. She drags the pad of her thumb along her bottom lip, perfecting that pucker.
"There is a killer on the loose again, you could be in severe danger!" Judy laments in her awful sheriff-motherly concoction. Rory offers a scoff, fluffing her hair. She turns on her heel and walks toward her mother, still looking beyond her. "Why can't you be more like your brother and just... grin and bear it for the sake of being prepared, you know? It's a matter of your safety, angel. There's room in your purse for a taser."
The words cut, but Rory has plenty of makeup to cover how easily she bruises. Her eyes narrow toward Judy as she finally glances down, reaching to grab the small pink purse from the woman's hands. "Why were you searching my purse?" The blonde scoffs, sliding the bag's handle onto her arm.
Judy quips in a quick defense, holding up her now-freed hands. "I wasn't."
"You are making me want to use a taser on myself." With a roll of her eyes and a sigh of boredom, Rory turns on her heel to face her mom once more. "Okay, how many times have you given me this lecture?"
Now that they're face to face, blue eyes meeting in equally stern glares, Rory notices that they've mirrored each other in the crossing of their arms. Immediately, Rory unfolds hers and rests one hand on the banister behind her. She doesn't have anywhere to go when Judy steps forward.
"Don't you think I'm sick of it too?" A sigh that's less stern than her gaze. Perhaps it's a flicker of exhaustion from the long nights she's spent at the station ever since that attack on Tara Carpenter, but Rory finds it none of her business. Especially when her mom's eyes soften into that puppy-like sentiment she shares with Wes. "You're my baby girl, I worry about you."
"Then just -- don't? Have you tried that?" Rory shrugs like it's easy. Two can play at this jesting game - Rory had to get it from somewhere. Her pitch raises in a sweet, mocking tone. "If Wes is such a good boy then you shouldn't have a problem with focusing on him instead. I'm sure he's way easier to think about."
"Aurora --" Immediately as Rory begins her descent down the stairs, she can feel her mom on her tail like always. That full name holds the same warning as it did back when she and Wes were ten, when Rory would shove her brother away from the spot in the living room she had defined as her 'stage.' He just wants to play with his sister. Yeah, right. Rory knew she wasn't letting her spotlight get stolen even back then. She turns to her mother with a passive-aggressive smile on her lips.
