Re: Cass & Mat: the Quiet Home
A silence yawns, her scoffing in the midst of its swell. She folds her slender arms, lissom and starry with gooseflesh, eyes smudged into squints. What’s she mean, she thought she wanted to get her out? She must be pinched tight, squeezed in by whatever boneless tranquilizer dart they blow her with. A single arch of a brow jabs up in earnest interest, perhaps a strangle of her own bewilderment. There is a prance closer, the muffled poke of sole to switchblade heel tip, plot and click, in resounding unison.
“Duh,” she says, a lean of her chin, ”If we go straight to the source, I can make them change what you’re supposed to be taking every Wednesday. What would you prefer? A xanax? Fish oil? Vitamin b12? Your choice. Though, might I humbly recommend half a vicodin?” she is haloed by some aching fluorescent light and grinning, scintillant.