Log: Sage/Harlow
She'd seen the post. Like anyone lacking in languid time, Harlow made some assumptions and jumped to a few conclusions before setting out that night to seek out Sage. Your average Jane might have called around or sent an inquiring text to verify this Sage really was her Sage, but Harlow didn't have the luxury of patience considering that she only had a handful of human hours every night. It was better to just guess and go see. It wasn't a totally blind guess, because Harlow did know a few things. She knew that before her friend had gone poof in the summer, Sage had lived in a small town that lacked in most things enjoyable. Repose, check.
Being that Harlow wasn't really one for heavy drinking or copious party drugs despite frequenting all of the parties and concerts ever alongside a more reluctant Sage, she did actually hold onto almost all of her summertime memories with a good dose of accuracy. She remembered things from late night talks shared on long walks, two girls stitched close with linked pinkies. Harlow remembered the small town Repose bit, already established, right? She also remembered talk of a bummer movie theater job that did little to keep Sage deep with pocket money(or maybe that was the pills, tbh).
So the movie theater clue was just the thing to pull Harlow across town in search of old ghosts. She parked her bicycle against a lamp post and lingered momentarily in the mouth of a dumpster-lined alley just next to the theater. She figured that she could just walk up to the concession stand and ask maybe, if a Sage worked there. It was a solid plan, but her forward stride for the theater's front door was put on hold when said door flew outward to showcase a familiar red hoodie and its even more familiar crown of wayward curls.
Harlow's holographic sneakers squeaked to a stop on the asphalt and she just stood there, stage left, dressed in opaque, seafoam-colored tights and a lace dress with 70's-esque bell sleeves, looking completely amazing even under less than forgiving streetlight glimmer. She watched the slump of Sage's shoulders, the way the girl hopelessly clutched at her phone. Harlow eased out of the alley's open mouth and pointed her trajectory for the red hoodie, making a big production of coughing into her hand, so as to not totally spook Sage.
"You know, I heard that the door guy at Club Weird has been telling everyone that you're dead. That you, like, died."