A/N: a quick, filler like, update :)) wanted a lighter tone since last chappie dived into Irene's feels 

It's a weekend and for some reason Joy still turns up at her door. Irene's starting to think she's the only friend the woman's got.

No words could describe how euphoric it felt to wake up in the afternoon. The bird chirps sound happier, the tune they whistled had her waking up feeling as if she were in a fairy tale. And it almost stuck. She felt content with how warm her room was, her body consumed by her sheets, and the almost dim natural lighting the sun gave her room as it leaked through the threads of her purple curtain.

Irene could almost sigh in complete bliss. Almost. The noise that shook her apartment could combust the birds too if they flew too close to her window. What sounded like a chainsaw fighting against a boulder was Joy blending up smoothies, or a handful of rocks is what Irene's throbbing temples scream.

She swears, this was the woman's revenge. Pouting like a baby, Joy's eyes fleet towards her every so often, trying to coerce her into feeling any semblance of guilt. What Joy doesn't know is, the fact that she's even moping, and the big Winnie the pooh bandaid slapped on her forehead, does anything but guilt trip her. Irene has to control every fibre of her body not to laugh.

Some vile, green abomination is slid towards her silently. If Irene didn't know any better, she'd guess it was made from grass and dirt with how thick and green it looked. The smell wasn't any better. If she wanted to taste the earth, she'd the mandatory nature strip just outside her complex.

“What is this?” She can't help but push the cup away from herself, her other hand busy plugging her nose.

“Green juice,” Joy mumbles, gulping the sludge down before continuing with her act by jutting her bottom lip out.

“Does this radioactive juice fuel the baby in you?” The smirk tugging at her lips wins over when Joy heaves a breath at her quip.

“Must I remind you of what you did?” An indignant finger shoots up to the bandaid, but Irene bursts into laughter at the sight of the cartoon eating honey. A literal baby is what she sees right now. “Why are you laughing!?”

“How can I not? Do you see yourself?” She bubbles behind her hand, her laughter still tumbling out of her.

“Of course, I have! I look beat up!”

The accusation only has her bent over. “Oh please, it was barely a scratch.”

“I shed blood last night! And I don't know what makes it worse,” Joy huffs. “That you beat me up or that your sharp talons marred my beautiful face!”

Reining in her left-over giggles, Irene sits up straight to deal with her hysterical child of a friend. “Please, I kicked you twice. And it wasn't my fault you moved.”

“To defend myself!”

“Your face got in the way of my foot.” Joy makes a face of complete despair at her words. She knows she's stubborn but for once it's playful and seeing the reaction she gets, she sees nothing wrong with being hard headed. “Okay, fine, you big baby. Do you want me to kiss it better?” she coos mockingly.

She should have known better than to play games with Joy. There was a reason why she never played any games with the woman. So, when she sees the pout contort into her tell-tale grin, Irene stops her harassment and begins the gears in her head. Her eyes drift around, maybe there was a balloon filled with flour above her head again, or maybe she'd toss a dart at a hidden balloon to scare her, again. It might be her kink, Irene had thought one day, because more than half of Joy's pranks involved balloons one way or another.

“I'd like you to do something else to make me feel better.”

And just as she utters that, a knock comes at her door. Suspicious. More than suspicious, she's paranoid. As if it was timed, like some creepy mastermind Joy became when it came to her pranks, she stares at Irene with an expecting look.

Jitters, her whole body is vibrating with jitters as she makes her way to the door. Looking through the peephole, as if a murderer with an axe would appear, she sees nothing but the closed door of apartment 203. With a deep breath and pep talk, she flings her door open, ready to face what Joy had planned out.

And it comes. In the form of, no surprise, a balloon being popped to her left. With a high-pitched scream, Irene jumps and shifts to her right to escape the noise, but what follows is a balloon being popped at her right side. This has her only screaming louder, stomping on the spot as she ran out of directions to twist her body towards.

“Did you forget that they come in sets of two?” Joy's deep, sinister voice, the voice she saved for her pranks, snakes into her ears from behind, prompting her to open her eyes and take in the sight of the cackling, freckled face, Ericsson twins.

What has them all shocked, and Irene screaming once more – seems like that's all she's good for this morning – is when the door to apartment 203 flings open suddenly to reveal the familiar figure of grey-silver tips girl, eyes bloodshot and wild.

“Someone better be dying.”

Irene felt like she could at that precise moment, because as if ignoring the other three people accompanying her, her neighbour’s livid eyes zone in on her.

Before she could even start explaining or pointing fingers, the Ericsson twins sprint off and she finds herself nudged out from her own apartment with the door closed behind her. She gulps and plans her How to Get Away with Murdering Joy plot, as she's left to defend herself.

“I. Um. You see,” a nervous chuckle is the bow on her beautifully eloquent words.

She sees her neighbour’s eyebrows shoot up, beckoning her to make any type of sense, egging her on to find some sort of excuse as to why she's screaming in the hallway. But she isn't given the chance to, as if she could anyways, because a loud thump, one that resembles a sack of potatoes hitting the floor, leaks out from the dark abyss behind her neighbour.

A deep groan is heaved out, her neighbour running her hand down her haggard face before she shoots Irene an accusatory scowl.

“Great. You woke her up.”

She doesn't get a word in before the door is slammed in her face and she's left staring at the number 203.

“I woke who up?” Irene asks no one in the empty hall.

Heaving a heavy sigh of her own, she fixes her own glare before turning back to her apartment, ready to show Joy what marring her face really means.