Smelling like a mix faint designer cologne that was made for a man and Chanel, the pink less mirror image pushed open Marty's door. New baby blue streaks rolled threw a few places in her platinum hair. But of course they were there to match retarded short, flimsy powered blue skirt she wore loose about her hips.

Neon blues went from her twin to the pile of shoes... "This is no way to treat Jimmy Choo. " she leaned over and picked up a pair that had some wicked pits of blue and held it up to her skirt as if looking for a match.

She'd walked over and plopped right down next to Marty, her cell phone slipping from her fingers to the blankets. Like anyone she really cared about would call. She was quickly starting to realize that she was just as bored as Marty was mal-adjusted, and something would have to snap them from this state soon.