Once he'd merged with the yellow glow of lamp light, sat on her couch with his head hunkered low between his shoulders. She'd only first seen him when he'd moved — when she'd disturbed him. He'd turned to her then, rivers flown down his cheeks, and his eyes slipped straight back into his skull. He'd turned to her and she could have sworn she'd witnessed him sinking. In nothing but thin air.
Now @jokethur commands the light. It bounces off the sleeve of that cherry red suit jacket he shoulder probably hang over a chair if he wants for it to dry even just a little before he leaves. There's not much to be salvaged in the time it takes to drink a mug of tea, though. Two hot drinks steam in her hands when she turns out of the kitchenette and heads toward the coffee table in front of the couch. It's fit for two, just the same as the small dining table —it's scattered with paper's from her night schooling, she and Gigi had eaten their dinner on the couch just a couple of hours before now.
The girl sleeps down the hall. She'd sleep through a hurricane, and judging by the deep dark peeling in through the window, and the sheet rain which scrapes against the glass in a way that reminds her of long, dragging talons, her daughter just might.
The noise from 8J was somehow louder than the violent weather outside. The clatter of the long-abandoned apartment's front door had not been Arthur, but neighbour opposite almost thrusting his leg heel-first through the wood. Were it not permanently unlocked, it seems, he might've gone straight through on his hunt for the presumed murder tourist he'd witness slip his way inside. Some residents of the apartement block on Anderson Avenue have taken to tossing Joker fans out onto the street themselves, since gaining further security isn't an option. Sophie, however, just keeps the door to 8B locked. Until tonight.
She'd stepped out into the hall to witness her neighbour with a revolver shaking in his hand, taking broad steps back away 8J's previous occupant. She'd given him an excuse to flee back into his apartement just by playing audience alone.
" He really wasn't going to shoot you. " She says with a reticent, if unnerved laugh snared at the back of her throat. It helps her now to cut the quietude in two, even while Arthur's attention has drifted to the papers plastering the small square dining table by the window. " He wasn't even going to shoot the... dumb kid he thought you were. Doug's all talk. " Arthur's tea meets the coffee tale at the end closest to him across the room. She cups her own between two hands and throws her brows north, as if he can see the expression while facing away. " Usually works, though... You gonna be okay? "
He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't ever be here. There's nothing left in this building for him but further poison, and so Sophie knocks her head to one side, asks with delicacy. " I can... call someone... if you're not? "
