Re: the reunion; cas & mat
Forgive the panicked snarl of muscle in his gravestone shoulders, but it wasn't just her voice. Our leading man was jumpy these days. He'd taken a six-inch stabbing after Matilda left, it was a short story co-starring some psycho(or was it psychic?) bitch that hey! the missing Matilda just might know, and while that was a story for another day, it left dear tomcat understandably skittish when people snuck up on him from all fucking sides in the fucking dark.
Caspar turned, ready to face horror with all the style of Rod Sterling. He even lit a cigarette, a slim-rolled, darkly spiced Cuban thing lick-sealed by the ghost of Castro himself. Or so Sotheby's said.
He expected a harpee, a shrieking madwoman with a knife, a phantom of memory... and while Matilda was regularly all things, and also regularly none, most of his mind hadn't expected to really see her standing just there. As real as celluloid, exacto-knife sliced out of his mind.
Damn. She looked amazing. Caspar exhaled from the corner of his mouth with style, offering her no enthusiasm while the chambers of his heart ate one another, like a snake swallowing its own tail. "I brought your shit. Its in the car."