Unlike the woman on the other side of the door, Josephine King knew exactly what she was getting herself into. A little birdy had twittered and tweeted in her ear, sending news from the great, great beyond: Harleen Quinzel wasn't back, oh no — she had been here all along, right under the point of her nose. What a surprise, what a pleasant, pleasant surprise. She hated surprises.
It didn't take long to learn more, of course. These days, one could put their hands on just about anything, given the right amount of pressure, the precise prod of persistence. First, a name. Second, a visit. There had been a convenient opening at the desk of one Harper Kelly, one left just as conveniently bloody and appropriately short-notice. But there would be time for that later. Much, much later. They were already so far behind schedule, weren't they? Late, late, said the white rabbit.
How many times — how many cycles — had they lived through this first meeting of theirs? Over and over and over again. The dance, their dance: and how special it always was. Once more, perhaps. With feeling. 'What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation!' Grin spread like toxin in the water, here and gone again, hidden just below the surface.
Jo turned the doorknob and pushed, poking her head in through the newly appointed gap. "Well, if I'd have known you were passing those out, I wouldn't have wasted a half hour parallel parking." Teeth flashed, natural, easy. Every bit of charm they'd possessed in another life, and all the ones thereafter.
"Harper, right?" She said, moving in fully now. But she knew the answer. She'd know the answer anywhere, with any face. There was no hiding what was always in plain sight. Eyes moved to the sight of the hyena, back to Harper. A brow quirked, expression impressed. Bingo.