The Drunk Poet pumpkin spice up your life
#1
Well wasn't this just the place one wanted to go on an autumn afternoon? Etta knew the scarf was too much almost as soon as she left the house but she'd clung stubbornly to the idea that this was scarf weather--it was almost Halloween, for crying out loud!--and if she was tomato-faced and sweaty as she tramped downstairs to the cafe-bar to meet up with Grace, it was her own fault. It was even warmer inside, of course, and so she grudgingly unwound the woolly length from around her neck and unzipped her coat with a sigh. She didn't see Grace yet, so she was probably early--she always tacked on ten extra minutes even after she'd calculated the time she should leave to go somewhere, including considering peak traffic times. You just never knew when a disaster exactly ten minutes long might pop up while one was driving. (In fairness to Etta, there had been the whole manner of her initial introduction to Grace. Ten minute disaster while driving seemed a fair estimate of what had happened.)

Flapping the edges of her jacket to try to subtly fan her face with little gusts of air, Etta squinted up at the drinks board and tried to decide what to get. She wanted coffee--she always wanted coffee--but she'd already had coffee at home.

What kind of tea was it that had more caffeine? Black or green? She wanted to say black but that felt wrong. She should really know this, and it galled her that she couldn't remember and was going to have to work up the nerve to sheepishly ask a barista--the most intimidating professionals one could encounter outside a court of law.
#2
Grace didn't do coffee meetups almost ever. She didn't drink coffee, and she probably had the kind of vibe that said "this bitch doesn't know how to sip a hot beverage and catch up." But she was doing it for Etta, who had always been so fucking sweet. So here she was, stepping into a book shop she'd once made a man puke at. Six minutes late, because Grace's bike riding was more on time some days than others.

She was lucky enough to spot Etta, either ordering or having just ordered, and greeted her in the customary Grace a way called out to companions:

"YooooOO ETTTAAA."

Too loud for here, in retrospect, but what was done was done.


she's wearing this like always

#3
At least Etta knew the exact moment Grace arrived on the scene--she turned to greet her friend with a slow-growing smile, just happy to see her.

"Hey!" she said, halfway sticking out her arms before she dropped them back to her sides uncertainly. "Are we huggers? Do we hug?"

Etta felt like she wanted a hug, but not if that wasn't how Grace was comfy.
#4
It was a cute look. Etta had a tiredness and a kindness that made Grace want to protect her. She saw those arms rise, then flap downward.

Don't worry, babe, Grace was a hugger. Or not a hugger so much as a physical person. Shoving. Grabbing. Hugging. All of that, she was down for it.

"We hug," she decided, flinging her arms out and giving Etta about two seconds to adjust before sweeping her into a squeeze. Whether Etta kept her arms in or outside of the vehicle would be a fate of her own choosing.

Extra squeezy with all those layers, Etta was decided to be perfectly fucking huggable.
#5
Etta couldn't help her delighted little laugh when Grace re-engaged for the hug, and returned the squeeze with what she hoped was equal exuberance.

"Ooooh it's so good to see you!" she said as they pulled back, briefly chafing Grace's arms with both hands, wondering if Grace was warm enough in just a hoodie, even if Etta herself was too warm in a winter coat. It was a weird time of year for layers. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch, work's been insane. How have you been? You doing okay?" A barista cleared their throat and Etta glanced over, still undecided for herself. "Want a drink and a snack or something? It's on me."
#6
Etta had grown up energy. Like actual fucking functional adult energy. That was something Grace herself had never possessed or even tried to wrangle, but she could admire it in Etta, the way you admired a president or something. "Damn, imagine doing that stressful shit."

The hug was good energy, and she was charged up further by it. Being at a coffee shop. Like a president. I'll have a black coffee and a copy of the New York Post, please! Or New York Times? Whatever.

She should have turned down the offer of food, but fuck if she had that kind of power.

"I'd take like, a chocolate muffin. I don't need a drink," she said. Didn't need a muffin either, but yolo. Grace would let Etta order before busting her on the apology.

"You don't need to be sorry. It's a two way street, I coulda reached out. All that matters is we hanging out now."
#7
Muffin got ordered, and...oh dang they had hot apple cider. Yes please!

Etta paid and then they found a tiny table crammed between squashy low-slung armchairs that were great to flop into and an absolute bitch to haul yourself out of. She unwound the rest of her scarf and peeled off her coat, draping them over the back before she propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hands.

"Appeared anywhere fun lately?" she asked, half-serious and half-kidding. It still kind of baffled her, the whole...superhero-style ability, thing.
#8
Etta had such a fall look. Grace imagined she had a pumpkin spiced cupcake recipe memorized. That wasn't a dig; it was cute as shit. She flomped crosslegged into the chair, feeling her ass sink deep into the cushion. Good shit.

"I'm having fewer fuck-ups lately, actually," she said. A point of almost pride. Grace had been putting some fucking work in, for all that she was far from mastery. "And. I figured out some crazy shit. Which is that together with some friends, we can undo if someone gets turned into a shifter or whatever. If we do it early enough."

This was big news to drop immediately, but it felt important. Etta was never going to get turned into a were-what-the-fuck-ever.
#9
Etta absolutely did have a few pumpkin spice recipes loaded into her cannon and a handful of orders for them still to work on. Cold weather drove people indoors, and thoughts of hibernation meant snacks, soup, and sleeping. An insomniac chef’s time to shine.

"You can—?" Etta leaned back for a second. This was all still pretty new to her, the amazing things these people could do. It felt like there were no limits to the world, in a way. Anything was possible. "That’s amazing! Have you…was there someone who was…" Her nose wrinkled. "How do you know if you’re…turning? Would a person start getting hairy right away or what?"
#10
Heheh, hairy right away. That would be easier, at least. Grace pulled a hunk of fat muffin top off her bakery treat, crammed it into her mouth. Wasn't there some kind of joke about only eating muffin tops? She could be into that. Wrapper digging was weak.

"For shifters at least, you get like. Fevery, and hungry, and cranky. And you heal really fast. So if you get attacked by an animal and it heals fast as shit, you get me on speed dial."

She hoped Etta would never get to that. Grace wanted to kick the head off that fucking raccoon that had terrorized Rosemarie. And twist the body off that bird that fucked up Fawn.
#11
"...well, what kinds of animals? Like if I get stung by a bee, how do I know it's not a were-bee?" It sounded stupid but of course it didn't sound stupid enough in her head, she had to actually hear it with her ears when it left her mouth, first. "...were-bees aren't a thing, right? Is it just...mammals, or what?"

Much as the whole idea of it freaked her out, Etta felt better knowing that there was a way to fix it, and that Grace was on her side. Grace had a fierceness that Etta envied--maybe that was what drew her to her. Part of it, anyway. There was also plain fascination, and Grace being a fun person. Etta felt like Grace had a kind of patience with her that was comforting, like Grace had no problem handing out forgiveness if Etta messed something up--maybe because Grace understood what it was like, to mess up. Etta knew things weren't always easy for her friend, in ways she couldn't entirely comprehend; but she knew it made Grace someone who just Got It, and for that, she was thankful.
#12
Were-bees. Shit. That was a thought. If you could turn into a raccoon, what could keep you from turning into a bee? Grace didn't know the rules. All of it seemed arbitrary as fuck.

"No idea," she said. "It can be mammals. Lizards. Dunno if it's birds." What were frogs again? Reptiles? "But I got someone I could ask sometime."

Asha would tell her that stuff, she guessed. She'd always been forthcoming, which Grace appreciated.
#13
Lizards? Etta tried not to shudder at the thought. She knew she had no reason to prefer furry creatures to those that had merely skin or scales, but she just couldn't make herself like iguanas the way she liked cats and dogs. A respectful nod from a distance and behind a pane of glass, maybe. But this was all theoretical, at this point--she hadn't actually seen anything horrific the way Grace had described it, and she was thankful. Maybe she never would, if she was lucky. But then if Grace had never teleported on top of her van, she'd've never known about any of this, besides what she saw on TV occasionally.

"You know somebody you can ask?" asked Etta. "But you're my person that I ask!" Then she winced at herself a bit. "Not that you're required to answer all my questions. This is all so...huh. I wonder why nobody's made a wikipedia entry about it."
#14
She grinned. Grace appeared to be the source of all info, but the reality was that she had her own connections. She couldn't manifest this shit. She just had a certain charm that got other people to tell her secrets.

"I bet there's Wikipedia, but I bet it's fake as shit," she said. Grace didn't Wikipedia for anything. She hated the big message at the top always telling her to donate. Donate to her rent, thanks.

"I got a shifter I can ask. And I got a vampire I can ask vampire questions to. And a psychic friend who knows a lot. I'm just the one who collects all the info."
#15
"And…they don’t creep you out? Like, how do you know they won’t hurt you?" Etta knew Grace made some interesting life-choices, but they were both adults and she had no right to tell anyone what they should or shouldn’t do, especially when she was the one who knew dick-all about most of this stuff. She was in no position to judge. But she was always in a position to worry needlessly!
#16
Good questions, Etta. Grace pulled off another muffin hunk but held off eating it just yet. She didn't talk with her mouth full because she wasn't that sloppy.
.
"I don't. And I don't recommend other people do it. But I got the power to fuck off if I gotta. And it usually starts with, like. These people had opportunity to fuck me up before I knew what they were, and they didn't take it."

Big shrug. Billy was better served not murdering her, at least for now. Asha definitely had no motive to off her. Not that either species needed reason.

"It's like a, do as I do- or. No. Do as I say, not as I do. That kinda shit."
#17
Etta could hardly help the worried look on her face, she wore it like a visible cramp.

"Do you…have any close family around? Or friends, who could…" Help her? Stop her? Those seemed like futile ideas, but Etta just wanted Grace safe. The line between protective and patronizing was razor-thin, though, and Etta knew she couldn’t walk it cleverly enough. "What if something happens?"

Grace knew some powerful people…whether they used that power in good or bad ways. It was more than Etta could offer.

"Do you feel safe in your place, where you’re living? Is that secure, at least?"
#18
Oh, Etta babe. Grace saw that look, smiled as she continued to tear into her muffin. It was all reasonable. She knew that. Etta had every right to feel scared about it all, but.

"My family's in North Carolina. I got good friends," she said. Her apartment was not secure, but no apartment was secure if something really wanted in. Even a vampire could just wait outside. "But, like."

She pondered the muffin, trying to figure out if this would scare the shit out of Etta or not. Leaned with definitely scare the shit out of her, but she'd come this far.

"A few months back, I'm walking home from a concert. Some creepy motherfucker follows me, corners me into a coffee shop. It turns out he's a fucking vampire, and he's giving me, like..."

This was the less fun part. She scrunched around the edges of the muffin, frowned.

"Not just bad vampire vibes. But. Bad man vibes, you know." Etta had to know. Etta couldn't be this paranoid if she didn't know. "So I could have called a psychic friend for help. Or could have called 911, or whatever. But cops around here don't do shit, and a vampire could fucking kill my friends. So. You know who I do call? Another vampire."

The Vampire. The one who had specifically asked she not hang around others because they were fucking dangerous.

"And he fucking- bust down a door to come save my ass. Healed the concussion I had and drove me home. So like. Vampires and shifters are fucking bad and dangerous, yeah. But. You can see, like. You know."

That was a thought trailed off enough that she actually wasn't sure how it ended.
#19
Etta couldn't help thinking back to her own dark encounter on a lonely night, and nodded. It still gave her goosebumps, thinking about it, and worse was the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, knowing that she didn't trust the police enough to call them without hesitating, if she felt there was any danger to anybody. But then what? Who did she call? She guessed she'd just have to hope she was lucky enough to never find out, or take matters into her own hands, and find a way to deal with it. And that was just if regular people were bad vibes. If a were-thing or a vampire decided to do something...that was probably the end.

Etta chewed on her lower lip for a second before she found her voice.

"Couldn't you...do your thing, to get yourself somewhere safe?" she asked. Grace must stand a chance, of sorts, with the power she had, and the things she knew, and the people she could call. Maybe, even with the chaos and uncertainty that had landed Grace on top of Etta's van, the sheer existence of that ability was a kind of comfort and security, if things got really bad.
#20
That was a fair question, and the answer wasn't as solid as Etta probably would have liked.

"Sometimes. I'm still mastering it. Not for lack of trying," she said. "And it sends me back to wherever I came from after like, twenty minutes or whatever. So if he was still there, you know. Bad."

But this was treading entirely away from the original point of this story, whoops.

"Anyway. What I'm saying is. Like. I know having friendships with vamps and shit is scary. But I'm an arite judge of character, and I play it as safe as anyone can."
#21
"You know you can call me, too, right?" Etta wanted to make sure that was clear, even if she couldn’t think of anything she could offer beyond the abilities of people with superpowers or the undead or people who turned into animals. "I…am kind of blackmailing a cop. Or was. Not that it’s relevant," she admitted, looking over her shoulder and lowering her voice to a whisper as she said it. "I’m just saying. If you ever need help, or a hot meal, or a place to hide out where someone might not think to look for you…"
#22
Uhhhhh.

What.

Etta definitely missed the whole point of calling a vampire. It was because calling a non vampire would end in bad fucking shit for everyone involved.

All that went out the window, though, as Grace hooked in on some big information.

"Yo. Tell me about this cop," she said, grabbing another hunk of muffin from the dumb stump.
#23
It wasn’t that Etta saw herself as on-par with a vampire or whatever, just that…well, maybe, somehow, someday, she might be useful. Probably not in a fight, but still.

"Hm? Oh, uh…well, he was an asshole," she said, shrugging lightly. "I kind of wandered into a messy situation, I started filming it because I don’t think I’d have done much good where some guy is beating the shit out of another guy and also has a gun, but, um…the cop saw me filming and got real pissed and came over and grabbed my phone and was telling me I’d better unlock it so he could delete the video and I just…"

Okay this was the embarrassing part.

"I sort of pretended I was a vampire and just…bit him. Hard. Like I definitely had his blood all up in my mouth, it was one of the more disgusting things I’ve ever done…" she made a face and took a grimacing sip of her hot cider as if she needed to taste something nicer than the memory. "…then the guy he’d been beating on got the jump on him with a knife or something and took off and I…called an ambulance and just pretended I was an innocent bystander. I didn’t tell anyone else about the video, but I put it somewhere safe. And told the cop to leave me alone or else the video would find its way to the media as well as his boss if anything happened to me."

It was a lot, but Etta felt better confessing it all.

"…I guess I thought maybe getting stabbed might’ve made him re-think what he was doing, but I don’t think it made much difference. He figured everything he did was entirely justified…including threatening me."
#24
Hot damn, Etta.

It was a lot. Like a lot lot. Grace was very pro recording wild pigs. Then Etta fucking bit the guy. Then the guy got stabbed. And then somehow now Etta knew he wasn't repenting anything. Grace had a lot of questions, but. To start.

"Holy shit, girl," she said, dropping a few crumbs of muffin onto her hoodie as she brought another piece to her mouth.

"First. You got STD tested yet? You don't know what's in his blood."

Not that Grace was rolling up with diseases, but, uh. She'd had some scares. Anyway, it was a lot to process and it wasn't practical to rattle off ten questions at once.
#25
Etta turned pale(er).

"Uh…no. I didn’t think…’cause it wasn’t like…" Not that that was an excuse. She knew enough first aid protocols, she should have seen the obvious. "I should…I’ll ask. I have a doctor’s appointment next week. I’ll see if they can…uh. Do that."

She was so stupid, why hadn’t she thought of that? Here she was thinking danger was something you faced and then left behind you. Of course there might be consequences for reckless behaviour.
#26
Oops. Hadn't meant to shit on Etta's parade, but. Good thing Grace had asked. She assumed every cop had something nasty in their blood.

But there was a lot more here, so she waved a hand, ready to move on to other parts.

"It's prob fine," she said. Wondered who this cop was. She knew, like. Two and a half, but only one and a half of those were male. At least she could be sure this one wasn't Casisdy. "So whatchu blackmailing him into doing?"
#27
"Not finding where I live and never bothering me again, ideally. I tried to convince him to resign if he wasn’t going to cut out his vigilante shit but I don’t think anything I said or the cookies I baked got through to him. Or the brownies."

And after a scolding, baked goods, and light blackmail, Etta was all out of ideas.
#28
Grace wasn't following. Like.

At all. This much was clear in her expression, brows furrowing together.

"So. You made him food. And have kept this video in secret so he can keep beating people at his job. And that's... blackmail."

How would Etta know if his behavior changed or if he kicked someone's head in for fun?

She fucking wouldn't.
#29
"I don’t know if he ate it, I mean…he probably had good reason to suspect everything was poisoned," mused Etta slowly, frowning faintly. "I didn’t know what else to do—there was…like, he was stabbed-stabbed." It didn’t make much sense even as she tried to explain the jumble of guilt and terror and anger that had propelled her through that night and the days that followed. It was more blood than she ever wanted to see or feel or taste or smell for the rest of her life. She sighed. "And if I don’t have the video, he has no reason not to just…find out where I live."
#30
That was fucking infuriating.

When her friends weren't getting attacked by vampires, and when humans weren't getting turned by shifters, fucking cops were terrifying Etta into keeping their abuse secret while she fed them fucking baked goods.

Jaw set, she wanted to fling the remains of her muffin across this stupid fucking shop, but that would be shitty to Etta. So instead she chewed on her tongue for a few seconds to figure out what the fuck she wanted to do here.

"Can I see the video?"
#31
Etta stared across at Grace with a pained look. This was upsetting, she knew, and she now regretted saying anything. She'd wanted to prove herself useful and now she felt like she'd slid back into her natural state of being a disappointing asshole. She probably hadn't handled the situation that well, after all. She'd been selfish and short-sighted and scared, and now she was trying to act like she'd been brave when she was really just a coward and a fraud.

Numbly, she fished her phone out of her coat pocket and scrolled back through her photos and videos, trying to keep her hands steady. She turned the volume on the device way down, then she tapped the relevant video and handed the phone across to Grace before she subsided back into her chair, tapping the edge of one thumbnail against her teeth and trying to resist the urge to start gnawing on it like a rat.
#32
Not a word. Grace had a sense she'd upset this girl, and there was complex shit in that. On one hand, she understood the desire to keep the video quiet and to keep herself safe. It was likely the smart thing to do. This fuck, whoever he was, was definitely a loose cannon.

But it wasn't blackmail. It was being held hostage by this fucker. She watched Etta pull up the video, squinted, leaned in.

There was an undeniable familiarity.

"I think I fucking met this guy," she said. "I think he fucking pointed a gun at me."
#33

"He WHAT?"



Etta wasn't sure how, but suddenly she realized she was on her feet and everyone in the cafe was staring at her uncomfortably for several seconds before they tried to pretend they were going back to minding their own business.
#34
Yeah, Etta.

Yeah. Grace startled, if because it was inevitable in the face of that kinda leap. She held an arm out, imploring Etta to let her yank her back down. This was the fucking crooked cop reality.

"Sit," she said. "I'll tell you about it. If it's the same guy."

Tall white dudes all looked the fucking same.
#35
Etta could feel her teeth clamping together against her fury and her guilt. When had this been? Could she have stopped it if she had just outed that slimy piece of shit when she had the opportunity? Why had she wanted to believe so badly that people could choose to do better? That they’d understand, if she patiently explained, and sweetened the deal with cookies? That stubborn selfish self-serving pindick motherfucker of a bully who had to wave a gun around and beat the shit out of people and try to steal her phone and intimidate her in order to make himself feel worthwhile and then try to JUSTIFY it? What had he said—the guy he’d beaten up had sold drugs. And stabbed him, sure, but he’d just been pistolwhipped and robbed of whatever that package of white stuff was, and it probably wasn’t confectioner’s sugar. But punishment was jail following a trial, not a beat-down in a parking lot.

And what had her crime been? Or Grace’s? Etta didn’t know a lot about guns but she sure as shit knew you don’t point them at anyone you don’t intend to shoot.

"He’s going to kill somebody," she muttered hoarsely as she sat back down in a defeated slump. If he hadn’t already. Oh God.
#36
Grace had little doubt about that. Even less doubt that he hadn't already done something similar. Etta sat, and now it was her own shitty story time again. It was short and sounded like she was making shit up every time. Cartoonishly evil police.

"He found me outside a bike shop and decided I was trying to steal something," she said. "Wasn't in uniform. Called me a little girl and told me to stand up against a wall so he could search me. I told him to get a female officer, and he pulled a gun on me. Said there was a crack in the window good enough to send me to jail. I fucking teleported out before he could cuff me."

He seemed legit enough in the end, with the radio, but she sure as fuck didn't want to trust whatever he'd be up to in the time between cuffing her and someone else arriving.
#37
Etta swallowed hard, trying not to give in to the bad vibe that was making her mouth water but in the way that came in advance of blowing chunks and nothing delicious. She’d felt like she wanted to crawl out of her skin just because he’d reached into her jeans pocket to grab her phone. Made to face a wall while getting searched by some loner with a gun? Unendingly creepy.

"I’m so sorry, Grace," she said softly. Then her teeth started grinding again as she quickly realized what she had to do. She couldn’t protect herself if it meant putting others at risk, and she was a dick for not considering that possibility before it had happened to someone she cared about. It didn’t matter if it was her friend or a total stranger, this couldn’t happen again.

"…I’m taking the video to the news. I’ll give them his name." Because she knew going to the cops was no guarantee they wouldn’t close ranks to shield their own. He’d gotten that cocky mindset from somewhere, and if that wasn’t his institution, they’d sure as hell managed to reinforce it.
#38
It wasn't Etta's fault. Didn't matter the timeline of events. Nothing Etta did made this man into such a fuck. She recognized what followed as an act of bravery, settled through her feelings about it for a moment.

Grace didn't want Etta getting hurt. But the alternative was potentially letting many people get hurt. She considered one option, ready to be turned down.

"I could stay for you for a while after, if you want. Or you could stay with me, but- it's small."

There was another option, too. If Etta knew his information. How to get him to be somewhere. She could just, you know.

Ask Billy. Or even Asha. To just do something. Wait. Hadn't Asha mentioned a suspension? But suspension meant jack fucking shit if it wasn't fucking suspended permanently in jail.
#39
"Would...?" Etta looked up at Grace, a little surprised. There had been some part of her that had worried about Grace living alone, rubbing shoulders with all kinds of...well, weirdos with bad intentions...but she wasn't sure whether she'd be a weirdo or not, herself, if she offered her place for living at. But she did have that big old house that only held her and a cat, right now. "I wouldn't mind," she replied. "If you were really okay with staying at my place. There's no obligation or anything. I'd be happy to have you, but I know you value your independence."
#40
Real talk: She couldn't wait to see where the fuck Etta lived. She pictured a giant beautiful kitchen except one of the pantries folded out into a bed or something. Grace was ready to be gently turned down and all, but.

Then Etta didn't turn her down, and she felt a spike of anxiety she just as quickly corrected to thrill.

"Gimme a day to do it and I can pack a bag," she said. "We could do a week, if that's not too long? And once I been somewhere, I can teleport back if I ever need to."

Technically. Sometimes! That was borderline accidentally a threat, given the enthusiasm of Grace's presence.

"So if you ever need something."
#41
"You're totally welcome, for as long as you want, whenever you want!" insisted Etta. It was entirely possible she was just too giddy at the idea of having a friend to stay over for the first time since...well, probably middle school...but the idea of not rattling around the house by herself was too tempting to pass up. Grace could set the curtains on fire and Etta would still be glad she was there. Then there was the question of where to put Grace, and at first she thought her parents' old room was the biggest and nicest. But then that still felt so weirdly like it belonged to her parents, in ways the other rooms didn't. The siblings had squabbled and traded rooms here and there over the years, and then ultimately as each kid had moved out, their ownership of those spaces had been mutable things that could fade over time, when they took what was important with them and left behind what wasn't. Her parents hadn't left...there had been every expectation they'd come back soon. They just hadn't.

The room was probably long overdue for occupancy, but Etta felt kind of weird about making it up for a guest, because what if it was more upsetting than she bargained for and Grace thought she was upset at her? Maybe it would be safer to have her in Lou's old room. But then there'd still be the question about why Etta, the grown-ass partial owner of the house and sole human occupant, still slept in her childhood room at the back of the house, on a single bed crammed beneath the slope of the ceiling. That was probably something to talk about in therapy one of these days.

Maybe she should just clean all the rooms and get them ready and then Grace could pick.

There was still the matter of the video, though.

"...do I just...hand over my phone to the news station, then? Do I call them first or just turn up...hm." She didn't expect that Grace would specifically know which broadcasting professional she ought to turn to, but she was more thinking aloud at this point.
#42
Etta was big fired up, huh. Not that Grace was complaining, but it appeared her worries about potentially coming on too strong sure were for fucking nothing. However long you want, any time you want, Grace.

She wished she was a roommate type, because she could pay for a room in Etta's house a lot cheaper than her own place. But paying a friend rent never felt good to Grace, and if she fell behind, she sure as shit didn't want to have to involve anyone but her landlord.

That all went to distraction in favor of Etta's question, and Grace laughed.

"I bet they all got places to submit shit online," she said. "Pick your fave station. Bet they got a tip line to submit shit. Be all like 'I trusted your station with this first because I knew you'd report it right' or blah blah dick sucking. If they don't get back to you, go to the next one."
#43
Etta was nodding, trying to think if she had a favourite station. There was the local news channel she always tended to turn to, but that was just because it was the one her parents had always turned to. God knew how far back the habit went and who had decided that was the go-to for weather reports, traffic jams, and guilt trips about struggling food banks. But it was somewhere to start. And whatever came of it, she wouldn't be stuck in her house alone waiting for a red laser dot to appear on her forehead. She'd have a friend there. To point out exactly when the red laser dot appeared on her forehead.

"...and I'm totally going to cook for you," she said, cheered by that thought. "What are your favourite things?"
#44
The answer that came back was almost a non sequitur, but Grace got it after a second. She laughed, a rare kind of almost sheepish.

"Shit, I eat everything," she said, meant it. As long as it wasn't some fancy bullshit that was barely food. "Fuckin'- pizza. Fried rice." Separate, but yo, could do it together, too. "Anything fried. Breakfast food."

Grace's palate was a refined one. Good luck, Etta.

"What do you like to make?"
#45
"Everything," Etta halfway echoed Grace's declaration, and grinned at it. "Cooking at home is different from cooking at work, most of the time, though. I do stuff I could do in my sleep. Eggs. Noodles. Soup. Grilled cheese. I never met a grilled cheese I didn't like. I might not have the balls to put Wonderbread with a slice of American on a menu and charge people money for it, but it has every right to exist and be enjoyed."
#46
Etta was cute. Grace wanted to wrap her up and keep her safe for a fucking lifetime. She spoke all soft and enthusiastic and good. About the right of shitty grilled cheese to exist. Hard not to appreciate that kind of person.

"You're a mad good human, girl," she said. "Only you could have like. Good philosophy about grilled cheese."

That was definitely a compliment.
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Etta gave a self-deprecating shrug, but she couldn't help feeling all warm inside at the enthusiasm of the compliment.

"Symptoms of living alone," she said. "I have acquired a cat and extensive opinions on sandwiches."

Made her smile a bit more permanent, though.
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