(Untitled)

[matrelli]

As if it weren't bad enough that she has to enter what is still her house by night -- and it's late, it's very late --

There's a bloodstain.

On the floor.

On her hardwood floor

Comments

[morelikeasponge]

There's something else on the hardwood floor, but it's not visible.

It's too bad Peter's never managed to absorb an ability that would let him breathe silently.

[matrelli]

And city or no city -- the house is quiet enough that she can hear that something --

For one long moment she stands, transfixed, openly frightened.

Then, haughty, loud, demanding:

"Show yourself."

[morelikeasponge]

First it looks like a heat mirage, a shimmer in the air, and then it looks like something liquid and silvery has taken the shape of a person.

And then it looks like Peter. Peter after a week or two with food, sleep, and hygiene pretty far down the list of priorities, and even further down the list of easily accessible.

Which is to say: like hell.

[matrelli]

It's not enough to say that Angela relaxes. No; she instead sways a little on her feet, catching herself on the desk. Her eyes close briefly.

Briefly.

By way of greeting, she nods at the bloodstain. "Do you know who?"