The faintly flimsy posture cozened him into a truth-pecking hole. The ruddy scatters of bursts and spits of evidence pinged her memory. Not of his identity, but the swirling gait of a drunken, tall ship in a whirlpool being sucked down. It was subtle. He wasn't even obvious about the boozy bustle. She only knew what all these symptoms meant when smashed together and sewn; mother looked at her that way long ago. Staying there without movement, she recoiled inwardly, slapped by a memory. Called some unheard names.
How was she supposed to figure out why he was here? He couldn't hear her? Her eyes narrowed and studied him up and down, did he live here? She couldn't help but to laugh. The bone-sister of a lunatic from the stars.
She opened a little bear-shaped purse and pulled out some badgal black liner, not giving a shit about the walls in here and wrote.