IC Time: Before midnight on August 29, 2007
Location: Forks - Waffle House
Synopsis: Ramona and Beverley quarrel, a car gets smashed.
Submitted by: Ramona

It's a typical evening in Forks, muggy, hot, humid and cloudy, that's the problem with living in a town where it rains a majority of the time. Fortunately for local waitress, Bev McKinnon, her shift is drawing to a close. "See yah guys later, don't burn the place down," the teen gives with a laugh as she ducks into the back, returning a few moments later dressed in street clothes, opting to get out of her waitress uniform before getting out of the restaurant itself.

Ramona missed the memo about the weather, apparently. She wears tight jeans and a heavy leather coat, perhaps it's a men's coat—it's draped over her thin frame and zipped halfway up. Apparently, the time of day has eluded her as well, since her dons sun glasses as well. It hides her squint as she leans over Beverley's 'new' vehicle in the parking lot. It's sniffed carefully, and then she appears confused, and then, pissed. Majorly pissed. Pissed enough that a gleam of silver can be seen under the dull light of the moon as she squats next to one of the tires and moves to jab the weapon into it. There's enough time to stop her, if someone yelled out. Nothing supernatural about her movements, however spiteful they are. She notices footsteps and a perky voice, but it serves only to deepen her scowl.

Beverley walks out of the restaurant and makes her way towards her 'new' vehicle. She see's the shadowy figure and glowers. "Get the hell away from my car!" she yells as she storms in a pissed off fashion towards the jeep and vandal. "Ramona, what the hell? I thought you wanted me to get new wheels," she states, her voice still holding an edge of pissed offensiveness at having found someone ready to puncture holes into her tires.

The human's shout elicits a roll of her eyes as Ramona reluctantly stands from the squat, transferring her scowl to the other blonde. "Just who do you think you're yelling at? You can't scare me, whore," she hisses lowly, freezing in her action to slit the tire and standing, throwing a possessive arm over the side of the jeep. "And I did, but this isn't new. This is Spencer's jeep. You're driving it why?" There is a pause as the possible causes come through her head, but she can only concentrate on one, and that one reason lends her to stick the knife out accusingly at Beverley. "You're seducing him. I knew it! Well, at least I have a reason to kill you now. Get in the car."

Beverley hisses. "Damn it, Mona, Spence gave it to me, one FRIEND to another," she stresses as she slings her bag over her shoulder. "And like hell I'm going anywhere with you after you throw a hissy fit that I'm a friend of Spencer's. You knew that all along," she gives with a role of her eyes and a shake of her head. With that, the teen starts to stomp off towards home, even though she knows it's a futile attempt.

"He did not," Ramona counters stubbornly, though a slight hint of doubt causes her narrow-eyed stare to diminish somewhat. It's not visible beneath her dark glasses. "Friend is relative. Guys don't give friends cars, especially after they leave." Leave who? She doesn't say, but it's fairly obvious—not to mention it seems to have every other week between the two. "I have every right to throw a fit. I didn't even throw one yet! You want a hissy fit?" She whirls back toward the jeep, balling her fist and rounding to the front of the car, where she connects it easily with the windshield, shattering the glass and causing a network of cracks to travel across its entire length. "There. There's an example." For good measure, she kicks the tire, too. "Run along home, then. Go ahead."

Beverley smirks slightly. "Right, just like he wasn't my friend before you turned him either, right? C'mon. Spencey's been my friend since shortly after he moved back here," she points out, not that she expects it'll get through to the vampire. As the other blond decides to take her anger out on her jeep, Bev first flinches and then scowls. "Good job, just don't expect me at rehearsals until I get another set of wheels, that aren't my parents," she gives as she turns back around to continue her walk home. Clearly, she has NO sense of self preservation.

Ramona admires her work, shaking off her fist, which has sustained no injuries, unsurprisingly. "You can get it replaced; don't be a drama queen. And…" she ventures toward the girl as she stalks off toward the road, taking three quick strides to shorten the distance between them. "I don't care. We have other vocalists, like me or Stacy. It's really yourself that you're fucking over." There is a shake of her head. "How many 'friends' you have anyway? You totally made out with him before he was turned! That sounds like a little more than a friend," she points out, voice rising, and apparently, not caring that she may be causing a scene in the Waffle House parking lot.

Beverley keeps walking, she doesn't care that Ramona's caught up to her, it was inevitable, after all. "Fine, y'all can have the vocalist, I don't need to work with someone who's gonna throw a temper tantrum just cause their boy toy gave me something they didn't want," she points out, her voice a few octaves higher than usual, taking on a distinctly Irish lilt. "And as for that, that's between Spencer and myself," at least she doesn't deny the last of Ramona's point.

Ramona isn't sure why she's still following Beverley, but once she does catch up with her, she doesn't leave, but rather, keeps walking, dagger still out, held casually at her side. It doesn't look real great to any passersby. "You're really not in the position to be making threats or leaving. This is your only shot at fame, Beverley. Ever." With an impatience that comes from nowhere, she tears the glasses from her eyes, revealing deep crimson — nearly black — irises that flicker over Beverley's form before returning to the road ahead. "O-ho." There's a dry laugh. "Is it now? Funny how that goes, from an open friendship to 'that's between Spencer and myself.'" Her voice mocks. She debates. "Okay. I won't kill you. That would probably be a bad idea. But!" She makes a sudden grab for Beverley's arm, trying to tug her close and bring her to a halt.

Beverley smirks slightly. "Y'know, if my only shot at fame is with a bully, I'll pass, thanks, I'd rather work at diner my whole life," is given with another shake of her head. "And if Spence wants to tell you about that, that's fine. Big deal, y'know, one night, and if you're gonna get mad about one little thing…" the teen shrugs and moves to keep going, but she's stopped, and that's annoying, really annoying.

"Wow. That's such a sad existence. You know! Thanks for telling me that," Ramona responds to Beverley, tightening her grip on the other girl's arm. "I wouldn't want to have someone with such a lack of motivation hanging around me anyway. You're just… you're one of those, like Bella. A vampire groupie." A satisfied light in her eyes seems to indicate she's rather happy with her term, but she does move on quickly. "One little thing? You promise?" In her other hand, she holds up the knife, but doesn't put it near the girl. There are other 'weapons' of sorts engaged that are much more dangerous to Beverley right now, considering Ramona's hunger level.

Beverley rolls her eyes. "You wish, right? I'd be happier if I didn't know that you guys existed, unfortunately, I can't forget what I already know, but I'd be happy to pretend I never knew," is stated as she balls her hands into fists, though it's only out of annoyance, really. "And I don't make promises before I know what you want."

Quite an insult to Ramona. "Huh? Well, you don't mean me. I, of course, am pretty well known. It'd be pretty hard to not know me, Ramona Krinov. I go by Vogel now, you do know?" As she reflects upon herself, the strength of Ramona's grip diminishes considerably. "But about the vampire stuff? Oh, yeah. Well, whatever. You seem awfully popular with non-humans, s'all I'm saying." There is a break in conversation. "I don't want anything. I just want to know it was only one time, and if you were telling me the truth about the jeep. I wasn't looking for you tonight. I was looking for him."

Beverley quirks a brow. "Oh, you mean the person who just busted up my jeep cause she was jealous that a girl, that she knows, had her boy toy's jeep, that he didn't want anymore?" she questions, tilting her head to the side. "Yeah, of course I wouldn't want to forget you, why would I want that?" the teen shrugs. "Look, Spence and I are just friends, we've always only been just friends, nothing else, never will be, either. And he didn't want the jeep anymore, so he gave it to me. And I suggest trying Italy, that's where he said he might go last time we talked."

Unceremoniously, Ramona drops her hold on Beverley and then slowly puts the dagger back into its spot near her belt. "I wasn't jealous. Why would I be jealous? Spencer and I aren't even together right now. It was totally mutual," she mutters, eyeing the ground and sending an innocent rock careening towards the side of the road with a forceful kick. "Fine. I sort of believe you. If you want, I'll clear the rest of the glass from the windshield for you so you can drive it around." Gee, isn't she sweet?

Beverley smirks, again. "Of course you weren't jealous, I don't know how I could have thought otherwise," she gives before she pulls the keys towards the jeep and tosses them towards Ramona. "Y'know what, I'll just go back to saving up to buy my own car. What would I tell the auto shop 'yeah, an acquaintance of mine put her fist through the windshield'?" she questions, shaking her head faintly.

Ramona doesn't bother to catch the keys, watching them clatter onto the pavement near her feet. "Do whatever you want. I don't want it; I have a new car of my own." Her head inclines to the black Mustang Shelby parked neatly across three handicapped spaces in the Waffle House parking lot. "Not that I'm a good person to take advice from, but it seems like a very stupid idea to buy a new car when you could just buy a new windshield. Then again, I'm talking to a girl who is giving up her chance at fame because I scared the shit out of her one too many times." A grin spreads across Ramona's pale face before she reluctantly scoops the keys up and begins walking back toward the restaurant.

Beverley scowls, and would growl, if she were either a vampire or a wolf, but she's neither. "The only thing about you that scares me, Ramona, is those damn teeth. I don't give a crap if you punch your fist through my windshield, or decided to get possessive over a friend who left you awhile ago. That's your own business," is stated with a shrug as she shifts her bag so that it now occupies both of her shoulders. "Besides, if I get my own car, you can't use Spencer as a reason to bust it, can you?"

"Awhile ago?" Ramona laughs. "No. This was more like a few days ago. Get it right!" The last part of her sentence comes out in a growl and she whirls around angrily, her eyes flashing. The movement is enough to remove the sunglasses from her hair; they clutter toward the ground and are then stepped on by Ramona's boot, eliciting a sharp shattering noise. "No! They were Versace!" If her cheeks could heat with anger, they would; instead, she lets out a hiss and leaps for Beverley, fully intending to tackle the teen to the pavement if she can manage to reach her. "I'll give you a damn reason to be afraid then, you little bitch. You better replace those. And stop being flirty with my… my mate." She's trying to sound angry, but that word just sounds awkward.

Beverley tries to move out of Ramona's way, but her chances of success are unlikely, she does not have vampire speed. "Not my fault you stepped on your glasses, go buy your own new pair, I'm not doing it for you," she states with a smirk. "I'm not flirting with Spencey. I'm his friend, he talks to me, that's it, I have no interest in being anything more than his friend, and I have no interest in flirting with him…"

Ramona misses her dive for Beverley, partly by Bev's effort, and most on her own admission. She decides mid-leap it's not such a good idea. Blood might certainly spill, and she cannot risk it. Instead, she lands near the girl, squatting and glaring up at her. "Yes, yes you are buying me a new pair. Don't get an attitude with me." Irked, she stands up, brushing off her over-sized coat. "And good. Keep it that way." She coughs. "Er, not that I care. Yeah." Erratically, the blonde turns back toward the restaurant for a second time and heads toward her car at a human jogging speed, unlocking it and sliding in. She still has the jeep keys, unfortunately for Bev.

Beverley smirks. "Hell no, I'm not buying you a pair of glasses that you stepped on," she emphasizes the 'you' part and rolls her eyes. "Go get your own new pair, not my fault," she gives, shaking her head as she pivots to head back to her home. She really doesn't care that Ramona still has the keys to the jeep, though she'll be sure to let Spence know next time she see's him.

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