Pre-Wenclair. While in San Francisco for break and after an aggravating drive from the airport with her mother.
Enid: *flops onto her bed* Ugh! This visit is gonna be freaking MURDER.
Muffled voice: It’s about time.
Enid: 😒
Enid: *hangs off her bed, unzips her suitcase, and flips it open*
Enid: Not literal murder, Wednesday.
Wednesday: *sits up* Ah. How unfortunate.
Enid: *stares long and hard*
Wednesday: *stares right back*
Enid: Let me guess—Thing missed me?
Wednesday: Yes, quite excessively. It was truly pathetic to behold.
Enid: Uh huh. How was your flight?
Wednesday: Bitterly cold, suffocatingly claustrophobic, and maddeningly noisy.
Enid: So it was adequate?
Wednesday: Obviously.
Enid:
Wednesday:
Enid: Well, since you’re here, I have a serious question for you.
Wednesday: Proceed.
Enid: Slow burn, or no burn?
Wednesday:
Wednesday: At the risk of offending the arsonist in me, I choose the latter.
Enid: Sweet! Now let’s make out like our showrunners are the Wachowski sisters.
Wednesday: The creators of The Matrix? I do not see how they apply to the situation.
Enid: Oh, babe, we are totally binging Sense8 next.
