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[shawt]

SAMEEN@TORNA.ORG

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[flawing]

[ shaw gets home, inevitably, to a plain box sitting on her doorstep, all legally packaged and papered and scrawled with the usual unintelligible codes of delivery boys across universes. in the address field for return to sender, however, there's just two words --

hey, sweetie.

OPEN BOX: Y / N ? ]

[shawt]

[ OPEN BOX: Y / N <

it's more difficult to crouch over than it should be, when she's wrapped in bandages and still spinning from vertigo, a little queasy, her head throbbing. it isn't a satisfying ache in the end, when she smells like menthol and rubbing alcohol, when she's spending an extra second just to pick up a damn package from her front step.

she almost shoots the thing, just to see if it explodes. a bomb would be better than the familiar address that she reads off the front, seconds before she tears into it, starting from the top corner, nails digging into the neat scrawl. ]

[flawing]

[ congratulations! the box contains:

-- one (1) long sheet of bubblewrap;
-- cardboard flakes;
-- air.




but she probably didn't get that far: the thin slice of a phone microSD card taped to the back of the mailing label must've jarred a nail long before that. ]

[shawt]

[ it takes a moment or two to register.

she doesn't carry a phone very often, and this one has barely seen use besides the occasional reading assignment. she doesn't go home very often either, but she's fairly certain she's the one doing most of the watching these days, and if she's being monitored -- well.

she knows root wouldn't leave it, if it mattered.

she pops the fragile back of her phone with another scrape, fitting the little piece of plastic in place. the phone screen gets a good stare for a second -- for static, for a virus, for an app to pop up. but she's never really been very patient, so she opens up the documents after a quick scroll of her thumb. ]

[flawing]

[ trust is such an unfortunate commodity to carry in their business. which is to say: one second, ,another before her screen shivers -- and blackens completely, dead as something discharged.

at the center of the black screen, a single word begins to flash on loop: CONNECTING . . .

it takes a moment or two. ]

I thought you'd never call.

[shawt]

[ hers is not a soothing voice.

even if it rings a lot more pleasant than she remembers it, when it's screaming from the echoing gap of a closing elevator. the headache she has now is nearly worse than the one she had back then, which lends well to the dark look she eyes the phone screen with. ]

Sorry.

[ she says, voice cracking a little with leftover exhaustion, with the wry humor of someone who's realized that nothing has changed. ]

I didn't really know what to say, if I did.

[flawing]

That's. . . probably the wiser decision. Between bugs and enchantments planted all around the city, you never know what might overhear you.

[ practicing irons out the shakiness -- it's what, root knows, experience is supposed to do. but the air's all empty, beat after beat, and her tongue scrapes against her teeth like sand.

she closes her eyes. the smile, at least, is audible. ]

How's the head?

[shawt]

[ but that's a new sound. the phone crackles a little, plastic against her fingers. she doesn't smile, but there's a higher lilt in her flat voice that implies she can still take the joke. ]

I think I feel an aneurysm coming on.

But I'm not bleeding.

[ . . . ]

Much.

[flawing]

. . . You've survived worse.

[ soft and light and baiting -- but then, if it were any louder, it might ring a little shrill. ]

[shawt]

Like you have?

[ sentiment sounds silly from an arrogant voice. which is why she does them both the favor: ]

Root, where are you?

[flawing]

. . . someone must've told you the city's name by now.

[shawt]

It's a big enough city for people to fight over it.

[ that's irritated, too. there's pain, and anger, and all in all, it's too much feeling to handle at once. ]

And I haven't seen you yet, which probably means we're not pitching for the same team.

[flawing]

[








. . . ]

That depends on your definition of the team.

TEXT;

[flawing]

[ except it's not really text when it crops up like a dialog box, green text on a black screen. ]

Kyouya Hibari.
GPD officer.
Last sighted: October 4.

[ look, a blurry security cam picture attachment and everything. ]

[shawt]

[ what the actual fuck.

how the hell does she text back.

well, not like it matters, when she's muttering under her breath: ]

So much for personal space.

[flawing]

[ the cursor blips blankly for a moment before -- ]

You're not the only one who's had him on radar.

[ see, she's thought of everything. : ( ]

[shawt]

Everyone's watching everyone else. Isn't that how this sort of thing usually works?

[flawing]

Watching usually doesn't affect the phone listing.

[shawt]

So, what, his head's on the chopping block, too?

He's police. That's not surprising.

[flawing]

The timing's a little unusual. But I'm guessing that you haven't heard anything.

[shawt]

With everything on my plate, I guess I didn't have time to subscribe to the newsletter.

[flawing]

They shouldn't be keeping you that busy.

[shawt]

You would know.

[flawing]

You asked for space.

[shawt]

Is this your idea of it?