/spam

[She drifts in, thinks about it. It might be kinder not to leave any traces of corpse on his chairs. Then again, there are the social cues of sitting to consider. More intimate, more permanent, more lifelike. The dead don't need rest. She perches on a nice hardwood stool, elbows on her knees, chin in her hand, embodying her personlity, her contemplation as she picks her way through what to say. Letting him see in the lines of her shoulders that her body language is the same, that she is only so much changed.]

The barge made me a mutant, once. Did you know? It was before we were close, really.