intheblanks | ➹BEEPER

I see you made it without being eaten by any stray dogs.

[What is hello.]

[There's a long, considered pause.]

I'm waiting for a call.

[That's what she thought.]

You should get back to that.

I will be in a minute.

Who stitched you up?

I don't know.

Not the hospital.

[He's already checked the records, it's barely a question.]

Of course not.

All right.

[His thumb hovers the disconnect button longer than he means it to, but eventually it clicks.]

[But later there's one of those annoying knocks that raps out part of a tune at her door, and a voice behind the panelling.]

Don't get up unless you've got the deadbolts on.

[Besides her apartment's extra precautions, most of the locks in these places work the same way.]

[She gets up anyway, but only gets as far as the kitchen table, which was less than arm's length away in the first place... Rex, of course, has given a cursory yip before being silenced. This does not stop him coming to mush his nose into Chase's knees as soon as the door is open enough for him to do so, however.

Carla gives him a bland look.]

That could have done with more finesse.

[Chase puts a hand down to rub between Rex's ears. The dog is much more pleasant company without a looming owner threatening to use it as a weapon. Now that Chase has walked him once or twice he's used to the greetings, too.]

Somebody likes me.

[Next time he'll break in with more style, Carla. For now he'll turn and collect the loaded paper bags before Rex can get his head any further into them. The kitchen table is also his destination.]

[Is there food in those bags? Carla really hopes so, but rather than be anywhere as eager as Rex she just notes,]

He likes most people.

[And it's all Blonde's fault for turning their hellbeast into an attention hungry house pet. And then leaving her alone with it.]

What are you doing here?

I could ask you the same question.

[Yes, there is, and he's methodically unpacking and finding places to put it away rather than allow it into her reach.]

[...But she's hungry, and it might just be showing all over her face while watching him put the things away.]

I live here.

[When is she not? This bag is all bulk food - dry pasta and grains. Nothing she could pick at anyway.]

On your own. [A glance down at the leg.] Practically immobile. How's that working out?

[She frowns faintly, looking down at Rex when he comes to sit beside her chair, also watching Chase raptly and also hoping something delicious is coming out of those bags for him.]

Well enough.

[One sprained elbow and one broken leg, and a host of other enjoyable maladies that are not quite so immediately obvious while she has clothes on. Obviously it's been wretched, lonely and aching and struggling more than normal with basic every day tasks. It's been delightful.

At least she didn't say 'fine.']

[He replies into a largely cleared cupboard.]

Of course.

[Echo-echo. He keeps his words markedly clipped, every silence an indicator of things he's not saying.

The next bag: things in cans, and a fresh butcher's wrapped pack of fillet steak, blood just soaking the edges of the paper. He drops it near her, picking up an armload of the cans for packing onto those empty shelves.]

[She starts chewing on her lip, as soon as he's set that package down. She would gladly eat it, just the way it is. It wouldn't bother her in the slightest, it was what she'd been fed on for years: a savage little doll perched at a human's table, pretending to be decent with her knife and fork and plate. She'd be gagging all the while as Barbet fried up eggs or bacon, the smell absolutely toxic to her. He told her not to complain. Sometimes she listened, sometimes not and he would grow sour with her until she apologized for it. He might ignore her for the rest of the day, either way. But at least he hadn't thrown her food on the floor for her to eat, right? He was due some gratitude and manners.

She's too busy staring at it to pay any attention to Chase right now.]

[What a domestic scene. A couple more opened doors discover plates, and in a drawer by the sink, cutlery. He leans over her to put both down in front of where she stands, next to that bloodied package.

Rex is turning figure-eights around his legs and it takes Chase crouching with a can of food to draw the dog's focus off the same prize.]

There's chow-mein in the other bag. Should still be hot.

[A pervert and his zombie pet. What does that make Chase?

Carla is still staring at the package of meat intently. She could just take it up in one hand and pull it apart with her teeth, who needs cutlery, just let the blood run down her face. It would be emotionally satisfying, that's what it would be.]

...The girls have been feeding him.

[If only he could figure that out. He feeds the dog, watches Carla.]

He's still hungry.

[Like her.]

I"m saying you can take him out before you leave.

[She exerts some will, reaching into the bag with the warm food, getting hold of the container in one hand to lift it up. The other arm is set on the table, cast and all. That damn thing has been a nuisance all week, but from the bleary pieces of information she'd gathered before Karl carried her back here, it could come off in another week or so. Maybe she'd call her vampire friend back up to pry it off of her, just to continue her staunch avoidance of the hospital during its normal hours.]

[No response. He presses his hands to his thighs, straightens, comes back to the table. There's no attempt to help her, the pieces are already in their place. All he does is fold his arms in silent observation, letting her struggle.]

[It's a poorly coordinated effort, but it's not unsuccessful. She plucks the stupid cardboard container open with her nails, turning it over to dump the contents onto a plate. He already knows what she looks like trying to wield an instrument of any delicacy, she's no better with the fork than usual. The slightly sticky noodles are easier to get wrapped around the prongs of the fork than something else might have been, at least.

He's still standing there staring though. It's tempting to just fling the plate at him and be done with it. It's too bad she's hungry--(and too tired to be angry anymore.)]

Sit down.

[And stop looming.]

You'll order me around.

[As demonstrated.]

You'll ignore me.

[In more ways than simple avoidance. He turns a chair and drags it with it's legs complaining from the friction with the floor to drop it at angles next to her and sit. He reaches for the butchers meat, unpicking the tape holding the soggy paper with blunt fingernails.]

So why, exactly, are you so afraid of me?

[He takes the wrist holding the fork and guides it into clearing space on the plate, onto which he deposits the meat, matter-of-factly, watery blood and all.]

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

☏ courtesies that i disguise in me

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