𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋, jschlatt

𝔵𝔦𝔦. clichès

𝔠𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔢̀𝔰

               BEING TRUTHFULLY HONEST, Vera had grown rather fond of Schlatt. Sort of in the way she could see them actually moving past their differences and becoming, well... friends. Though she'd treaded carefully around that topic, feeling as though it was explosive diarrhoea waiting to happen, now Vera could actually pluck up the courage to say that yes, maybe her and Schlatt were actually friends. Though not officially. But it was something nice to think about.

It was something to distract her from her wreck of a social life, and how she and Wilbur had received a fucking eviction notice through a dodgy email, and the looming thought of a probably disastrous family reunion ━ that was something she'd decided not to mention until it was too late, and Wilbur wouldn't force her to go to.

Though something that wouldn't be particularly useful in distracting her was the sudden announcement that TwitchCon was happening in New York, in bloody June.

"You bloody what!? And they expect us to pay for it?" Wilbur had flung the bathroom door open with his outburst, hearing of the news.

Vera had gasped dramatically. "Oh, sod off. Twitch can shove it up their fucking stingy, pissing urethr━"

There had been an entire scandal in San Diego about some money laundering and the usual venue having been some sort of cover for some dodgy shit. Of course, Twitch was somehow involved. People had been fucked over, money was all over the place and so they'd decided to push it forward to June and hold it in New York in some sad attempt to scavenge any revenue they could. Vera thought this was an absolute buttfuck of an idea, something absolutely ridiculous. And so did at least three hundred thousand people on Twitter ━ Twitch never seemed able to sort their shit out, did they? Nevertheless, when she'd been invited to it, Vera had bloody agreed.