Well, then. Artemis began the process of mentally farewelling her furniture. Goodbye, bed. You were fine to sleep on. Goodbye, couch. I sat on you sometimes... aw, gods damn it, Alaskan Kodiak pelt, this was not the dignified end you deserved. (Artemis didn't care about her furniture, but she liked that bear pelt. She'd tracked its owner eight miles through near-whiteout snow.)
"Screw new things, you're rich. You can buy me a new apartment. No, wait – better idea. You can give me money and I can buy a new apartment and then I will never, never tell you where I live." She groaned and pushed herself up from the couch, resigning herself to the fact that this was going to be her night now. "There's beer and noodles in the fridge. If you don't like it, you can order whatever, up to you."