Who: Mo & Emma (ETA: Special guest star Pierce.) What: A visit from a little skeleton she never quite forgot but tried to. Where: #102. Then walk. When: Morning, after this phone call. Warnings: TBD. So maybe things are going to get got violent.
Fuck.
Last night wasn't a good night. The night before last night wasn't good either. Even bleaker was the week, the month, the year, the life that stretched out an endless procession of loss and ugliness. Even colder, darker, lonelier was the whole epoch with which she was vibrantly recalling as she paced back and forth in what could hardly be referred to as a kitchen. The apartment was a disaster. She never expected to have company, never had company, was not prepared for it. There was the silhouette of a former full length mirror shattered on the creamy carpet and long forgotten. Boxes unpacked. No food. No furniture but a futon. A neglected koto. And there was a rusty, dried, smudged red stain polka-dotted on the wall beside the bedroom door where she had punched, and punched, and punched ...
But now, a haunting relic from her past had been resurrected, on her behalf, and was making its inopportune way to her ulcer in the belly of hell. It was her fault for being curious. Her fault for saying anything at all to her... but Emmy knew her when she wasn't what she had become. She knew her when she was trying to be who she might have been able to. It was making her feel and it was making her sick. What was she going to do? She didn't want the trouble that followed her around like a shadow to commingle with the purity of Emmy's illumination. She didn't want her to know what had become of her.
What a mistake.
Mo hastily slid her boots on, grabbed a jacket, threw her long messy hair into a tail, and was going to wait by the door for the knock, but it came too quickly.
The crypt opened slowly and she peeked out with familiarly cat-lined lashes. All she could manage was: