She should have guessed that was it, really. Proud as ever, Divorce chalked it up more to CeCe's deviousness than her own stupidity. Because like it or not, she was stupid right now, stupid and in a fog. She stared down at the bag of chips on the tiled floor -- as luck, or CeCe, would have it, they hadn't spilled at all. Divorce left them where they were, trodding across the apartment and towards the front door, resisting the urge to cradle her injured and traitorous left hand the whole time.
"You trickster," she called in a tired wreck of a voice. "You clever fiend." When the door was opened to admit CeCe, she'd see her friend as perhaps one other god ever had, and Litigation was nowhere in sight.
Divorce was a mess. Her long hair was still an uncombed tangle, and though at some point she'd had the thought to wash her face of makeup and tears, she had neglected to put on pants. Where she'd found the oversized men's dress shirt was a question for another time. There was the wreck she'd made of her hand, which was held carefully away from her body as if it weren't to be trusted. But worst of all was the total void in Divorce's eyes. Usually so confident and full of fight, today there was nothing. They were neutral, blank of anything recognizeable.
"Oh, CeCe," she half-whispered, half-moaned. "Thank you and I'm sorry."