26 - [Voice // Filtered to friends + Open Spam]
[A click, a long pause, and then a voice that sounds tired but otherwise collected.]
I'm back. [Silence that goes on for several beats too long, as she tries to find something else to say, before the transmission clicks off.]
[Open Spam]
[Murphy opens her door immediately after making the transmission, despite the fact that at least one of her potential incoming visitors probably (definitely) isn't going to knock. As far as Gabriel's concerned, the door is open for very different reasons.
Her cabin has changed slightly. It's bigger, her entire house laid out inside instead of two rooms. There's a fluffy gray cat slightly smaller than your average Buick sprawled on the couch in her front room. Murphy herself is in the kitchen, hair dragged back into a ponytail. Hair that's now a cheap, punky black. One arm is draped in a sling, and there's a collection of bruises across her bare shoulders and face.
She drops a tea bag into a mug of steaming water and watches the brown murk start to drift from it, feeling weirdly zen despite knowing there are some uncomfortable conversations heading her way. It shows in everything, though particularly in her eyes. Steady, solid, and about as subdued as coals ready to roast a three-pound steak.
It's been a busy couple of months.]
I'm back. [Silence that goes on for several beats too long, as she tries to find something else to say, before the transmission clicks off.]
[Open Spam]
[Murphy opens her door immediately after making the transmission, despite the fact that at least one of her potential incoming visitors probably (definitely) isn't going to knock. As far as Gabriel's concerned, the door is open for very different reasons.
Her cabin has changed slightly. It's bigger, her entire house laid out inside instead of two rooms. There's a fluffy gray cat slightly smaller than your average Buick sprawled on the couch in her front room. Murphy herself is in the kitchen, hair dragged back into a ponytail. Hair that's now a cheap, punky black. One arm is draped in a sling, and there's a collection of bruises across her bare shoulders and face.
She drops a tea bag into a mug of steaming water and watches the brown murk start to drift from it, feeling weirdly zen despite knowing there are some uncomfortable conversations heading her way. It shows in everything, though particularly in her eyes. Steady, solid, and about as subdued as coals ready to roast a three-pound steak.
It's been a busy couple of months.]