The road back to the cemetery couldn't have been any different than the one they took out of it, to the warehouses, but Shilo knew so little of the city that it all seemed brand new. Again. In her defense, most of the journey out had been spent with eyes locked on the back of GraveRobber's head, silently counting all the different threads of colour. Synthetic, natural, yarn, shredded ribbon. Even the varying shades of brown and lighter brown, blonde, bleach blonde...
Had she known her own streets, she would have insisted on taking the front way home. It was all well and good to know her way in and out of the graveyard, but that route kept them indoors for most of the trek. She loved her cemetery, true, but tonight, she wanted sky instead of ceiling. Fresh air instead of filtered gas masks. Back in moderately familiar stomping ground, she wished to be figuring out the rusty gate she only knew how to operate from the inside. Marching up her own front steps, instead of sneaking through dirty tunnels and false wall panels. If GraveRobber caught the disappointed look on her face and called her out on it, though, she wouldn't have known what to tell him.
That she wanted to revel in one of her first and, now, surely, her last chances to be outside? He would laugh. Kid, there will be plenty of time for that. What's your hurry? she thought to herself, in her own impression of his voice. It almost made her crack a smile, amidst all her serious worries.
For all she thought she had tried, before now, to - once and for all - pour those shitty, little blue beads out of those shitty, little glass bottles and down the drain...she hadn't, really. One bottle meant nothing, when she knew there was no way to trick herself out of hunting for another, when her chest tightened and she coughed more than she breathed. Even in gathering all the remaining, known containers of it...locking them in a drawer, what good did that do, besides put all her poisons in one, accessible case, for those unavoidable moments of weakness, when she knew of nothing else to save her?
The first thing she wanted to do, she knew, was unlock that drawer and really flush them all, this time. Goodbye, medicine. Could she do it? On her own, no. On her own, she would stare at it and cry and never be able to bring herself to second-guess the poisonous crutch, ever again. And she would be alone and she would die and, now, it would be her fault.
Still, years of her father's lies stoked the flames of her irrational fears. If she gave up now, she would be willingly forfeiting her life, after a pointless fight to save it. But if she went through with this, if she took GraveRobber's cue and let it go forever... An attack after missing one dosage used to knock her unconscious until Daddy came to the rescue, with another pill and a scolding. When none of that would come, what if she slipped and never woke up?
Back at the crypt, she swallowed hard. Felt like a cartoonish gulp to her, but, like most of her panic, was probably also still silent. As the heavy door swung closed behind them, her heart gave a mighty thump. She brushed her fingertips over her mother's portrait, hanging on the sliding door that opened to the tunnel. This couldn't be it, this couldn't be her unceremonious funeral march. Even accompanied by the only man she might wish to know attended said funeral. After tonight, she had fallen...well, at least under the impression that he would not want to attend, so soon. And if he wanted her to last... She wanted what he wanted.
"So, um." She allowed GraveRobber to pass into the foyer, so that she could close the door behind her. Dropping her bag by the end table that waited for them, on the house side of the tunnel, she leaned back against the wall, with her hands between her body and the paneling. And, of course, turned sad, saucer-huge eyes up, expectantly, towards him. "What's." What's first?, she wanted to know. But that was no way to badger a guest, on his...perhaps, first -invited- expedition into the Wallace home.
...But, on that note. What was the proper way to badger a new guest? She bit her lip. "Can I." Take your coat? No. He never took that off. "Um. Do you." Want anything to eat? No, no, not unless he could make it himself. Rude. "Want..." Think, think, think, Shilo. There's plenty to suggest! Bugs to see, fake fireplaces to turn on, shelter to be had from errant Repo Men... "A glass of water? Or..." And she didn't quite surprise - but, with the implications, did frighten - herself to offer, "...Anything?"
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