The Conflict

It was a sunny day outside the three-storey house, bright sunlight glistening off the many puddles left in the yard. Lightning sat at a round table, staring bleary-eyed into her half-full mug of coffee. She idly scratched at one of her bandages, then tentatively took a sip, wincing as the hot liquid touched the places where teeth used to be. Birds chirped in the tree outside the living room window and steam drifted from her mug.

Slowly, she turned her palm up. The skin was smooth, but a red hue now existed over a certain, familiar spot. She rubbed the spot with her fingers, a thoughtful frown on her lips.

Soft footsteps caught her ears. She didn’t look up.

A bunch of forms landed on the table, scattering slightly as they did. Aria, no less bandaged, gingerly sat at the chair perpendicular to Lightning, a soda clutched in one hand. She popped the tab and took a long pull. That done, she grabbed a pen from the center of the table and started on the first form.

Lightning raised an eyebrow, set her mug aside, and grabbed a form. It was a job application. She blinked at it, then peered at Aria’s. Hers was for the same job. Shifting through some of the forms, she realized they were all job applications, and there were two of each.

Lightning looked at Aria. Aria looked back. The siren offered an uncertain smile, shrugged, and went back to filling out the form.

Back in the kitchen, Adagio started frying eggs in her banker's uniform. Upstairs, Sonata was just crawling out of a bed drowning in stuffed toys.

Eventually, Lightning grabbed a pen of her own.