When the door opened - after long enough! - Goth walked into the building, running her hand through her hair to remove stray raindrops. Soon enough she was following the music to its source, smiling to herself. It would have been the Dolls.
...frustration and heartache is all you got don't you worry...
She didn't knock on the door before going in. He had already had enough warning she was coming, and it was Punk, in any case. It had been a long time since she had seen him, and longer since she had been at one of his crashing places. After a quick glance around, Goth decided it could certainly wait.
Making her way into the kitchen, after her nose and the sounds of cooking, the goddess wasn't long into setting her bag on an empty counter and approaching her host. Without waiting for permission, she planted a quick peck on his cheek. And resisted the immediate urge to hug the old buzzard. The Dead Kennedys weren't far off the song that was playing in her head at the presence of another immortal.
You're looking good, you're looking old and I've missed you were out of the question. Maybe after a few drinks, but she was much too sober yet for that kind of thing. And Punk had vitriol himself to strike a conversation immediately himself, he didn't need the fuel. So Goth simply leaned against the counter where her bag was, hands resting on the edge and black fingernails drumming in time to the beat.