Re: Eddie's Kitchen: Muerte / Eddie
[She freezes and watches him with that unreal stillness as he finishes the rest of the story. Finishes it in his own way. And she looks. And looks. Too long and too hard. She can't quite focus on his other words, not yet, because she starts shaking her head.] You know. You know the story and you still...
[Continuing to shake her head, she climbs off the kitchen island again, a scramble of limbs instead of simply being elsewhere. She takes one step toward the staircase, one foot on the rug beneath the table, the other on the wood of the floor, and she stops. As if there's a barrier keeping her from stepping any closer.] But you don't know that. How can you? [She swallows hard, the most human of her quirks coming out when she's most emotional. Her voice goes soft again and the rest of her goes still.] If I can't know those things, if they're true and I don't know... then we can't know that the hotel will allow
[She stops. She stops because she sees the way he wilts, just a little, watches the weaving of his hair between his fingers. She waits there, still apart and not going any farther yet. And the next thing she says comes out as a whisper with a sigh.] You know, I'd made the decision not to. Not to... any of this. [She gestures at herself standing in his kitchen as evidence of how well that worked.]