Chapter Text
P is re-stacking the last of the day's forgotten and neglected books onto her cart when she becomes faintly aware of movement behind her. She smirks to herself but says nothing and continues what she is doing.
Gracefully, and without a word, a long, pale arm snakes around her petite frame, its hand resting just at P’s left hip. She needn't even look up or acknowledge the owner, she knows to whom the arm belongs.
"So... what kind of name is Poussey ...? " The question is whispered into her ear as the speaker rests her chin on P's shoulder. With a snicker, the bespectacled woman adds, "that's like me earnestly addressing you as ‘Vagina,’ while trying to be classy about it."
Poussey places the book she is holding down on her cart and fights the urge to turn into the embrace. She briefly tries to look put out by the sudden closeness in proximity but already knows it won’t be very convincing, nor have any effect on the much taller woman.
"It's French ... putain ," the smaller woman obliges, combatting with the slightest hint of a grin.
While the specific wording of her chosen response usually varies, the subsequent reaction from the other woman is, habitually, a soft chuckle and a playful nuzzling to the neck of the shorter woman.
It truly spoke to the daring that is Alex Vause that one of her favorite lines of commentary involved the pint-sized woman’s given name.
Even after the very first remark, spoken in the same sultry tone, had almost earned her a well-deserved punch in the face, she wasn’t deterred in the slightest. Truth be told, she enjoyed getting a rise from the other woman too much and, given her affinity for strange addictions, it was safe to say that she was hooked.
After their initial awkwardness (mostly on Poussey’s end) subsided, it quickly became apparent that Alex meant her no harm, regardless of what was said.
This hasn’t stopped Poussey from reflexively turning the baiting comments back on her whenever possible - after all, she was no chump.
Their regular conversations have also taught P that it is a very rare occasion when Alex doesn’t tap into her infinite wealth of wit and that her cheeky sarcasm is practically a form of endearment.
And while that’s all well and good, P is still no chump.
So, in spite of age and supposed maturity levels, this childish back and forth makes up the foundation of their relationship. Both are well-aware of how incorrigible the other is, and could become, with the right... encouragement .
Their trademark banter is consistently peppered with subtle insults, one-upping with obscene remarks, snippets of French and German, and the occasional insightful observation.
What’s more interesting is that it has gone unspoken which topics are actually off-limits but they both know well enough which lines should not be crossed for the sake of a joke or jab, making their kinship undeniable and their companionship all the more fulfilling.
Simple discussions, seemingly overnight, have become a liberating outlet for the women and one of those things that feels as necessary to a day as the sunrise.
This meant that the only real oddity between them is that almost a year ago, neither Alex nor Poussey would have given much notice to the other's presence in a room, despite the length of time they occupied it together.
Strange really, since it is quite a small world after all - especially in prison.
And fate tends to have a way of intertwining those whose needs are ultimately one in the same.