Vis avis

You’ll clean up, sure. Only as far as it’ll give you answers, though.

You're supervised by Grimes' aesthetically dissatisfying back as you rearrange shoes. Perched on the stoop all the while against a yardful of cats, like someone was trying to set a scene. Her markings are obnoxiously bland, a coat like you'd never see on a cat for want of anybody bothering to document it. Something that screams "generic" to the point you wonder why it isn't. Shitty grimy quantum-state snowflake.

You crouch down alongside. She studiously ignores you, fixing you at ill-mannered length with the laziest deathglare. Her hackles rise - floating, as if on an imperceptible wind - as you reach to give her a scratch on the head.

You find a sweet spot. She relents, settles in after a moment, watches you through narrowed eyes. You pat the cat down, trying and failing to find hidden speakers, weird microchips, even a bogstandard collar.

She squirms, bites you as you're gently squeezing at her shoulder. Ow.

Grimes looks at you as if to say "I think you should leave." Like you were the one who overstepped rules of civil engagement and got mouthy just now. Fine.

Fine! You were done here anyhow. Be that way.

You trudge back into the kitchen, notice a scuff of rubber-sole black where your hiking boots hit the fridge door. A dislodged post-it tries and fails to stick to your sock as you walk over to the jug.

“Chelsea,
Plz clean up after yourself in
the kitchen!! I know youve said
u hate notes but Cleo and me
haven’t seen u to talk in person so??????
We’re both away through spring
break so plz have your shit at least
done before were back!

-J”

You stick it back on the fridge under a month-out-of-date chore schedule, trying to cover up the scuff mark. It falls off again as you click the jug back into action. A shelf, a couple inches off comfortable eye level, is stacked with boxes of tea. Lotus, it seems, opted for an artsy box of masala chai. It smells good enough to eat.

Which is well and good, but you student-housing surrounds (standards little-raised from your own university days) remind you this isn’t where you want to be. You want to savour this smell in your own apartment, with Hal. Less visceral and more pragmatic, you want to know whether that’s ever going to be an option again.

One row of clean cups with teabags later, you look around and settle for asking Grimes: “How do you - how does-”

The cat looks at you like how dare you speak to her.

“Milk? sugar?”

You shake your head, sparing Grimes the indignity of any kind of response. Back slowly out of the kitchen, into the foyer where your new friends went.

“...’m not pissed.” Thin walls. A bedroom door not quite closed all the way. The words themselves seem to sulk, like they’d rather lie on the floor than ever be forced to stand up for themselves. Not Lotus. “Not m’bout anything that matters.”

“Tal, come on. Tell me what’s wrong.”

A response. Inaudible.

“If it’s bothering you, it matters.” There’s been a faint keening from Tallahasse’s room all the while. You couldn’t place its source until-

“nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnWho is that guy and why is he in my house.”

“He said his name was Maverick-”

“Wow. Edgy.”

“And he’s got less clue what’s going on than we do. Doesn’t know Cat. Probably doesn’t-”

“-He’s a liar.”

“Tal-”

A lurch-creak of bedsprings; she must’ve sat up or stood. Her voice was too fast and low to catch outside scattered emphasis. “No. He’s- [...] -douchebro friends- [...] -fucking with us. [...] -like, what [...]? -only- [...] -still human- [...] -sole flagged- [...] -whatever the hell-”

“Tal. Grimes led him here. And I don’t think it was worth his time to pretend he’s even more lost than we are.”

“Well we’d find out just like that if Mickey or Cat turned up logs when they should. Oh wait! But we won’t!!! Because they fucking bailed on us and the world is probably actually utterly birdfully fucked.”

“You’re scared,” said Lotus, distinctly - almost insultingly - not. “I understand why you’re upset-”

“Oh, really?”


“You always made sure to not share personal information, so, agreeing to meet in-person was an act of trust. Extra people weren’t part of the deal.”

Talahasse doesn’t respond.

“Also, you’ve told me strangers - men especially - make you uncomfortable. I assumed, when he showed up, he was the person I was waiting for.”

There’s a muttered response. If Tal’s anything like you, your best guess would be “you assumed wrong.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tallahasse just groans, and her bedsprings follow suit. A little more clearly, she says: “Ok. Fine. Alright.”

“So.”

“He’s here because, out of like seven billion victims, he’s immune. Or won the worst lottery ever. Or, you know, Mickey and Cat aren’t telling us what’s up because they did this, or they’re in on it, and it turns out they’re fucking cowards. With no sense of like, responsibility.”

So like, if anyone here knows what’s up, and he’s listening in on us, he can get out of my house right now.”

You spin around, expecting to trip over Grimes or spot her sitting dead centre of the kitchen staring you down like some horrid stealthy cat burglar alarm narc, but the little menace is nowhere to be seen.

Behind you, back in the hallway, Tal’s door is yanked open. “I SAID, IF YOU’RE LISTENING IN-”