Knock knock.

[damage_girl]

Who's there?
Hell assassin.
Hell assassin who?
You're dead, the punchline doesn't matter.There's laughter. Actually, there's never anything but laughter in Trevor's apartment. Everything is… fun. A trip to the supermarket is a hysterical adventure full of whimsy. There's never any crying. You never have to be serious, ever. Nothing matters, because

Comments

[jla_extras]

The house has that familiarity of small childhood. The smell of wood burning fills the house. There's snow slanted up to the windows.

Everything's quiet, though. Six kids means there's always noise, of someone singing, or talking, or playing, or being absolutely silent while they break a few minor rules. This is a stillness throughout the whole structure, not even the creak of floorboards.

There's whistling in the kitchen.

[damage_girl]

Shadows stretch from a side wall. She's got him telekinetically propped on the ceiling so fast that she's staring at him from below before he even realizes that she's there.

Phillip.

[damage_girl]

Phillip's brows are up that It hasn't killed him already. It's a good sign. Then again, she's got a surprise waiting. "Are you going to kill me?"

[damage_girl]

Perhaps.

She lets him drop to the floor but stays where she is. She's inspecting ripples of paint in the ceiling. It's a complicated issue.