open starter.

“pfft, yeah, it’s been rough,” rose’s tea has long gone cold, but they continue to clutch their mug in tight hands, as if by sheer will and pressure they can summon any more warmth from the brew. “every client i have has had someone close to them displaced by this time clash. and what am i supposed to tell them? ‘here’s a worksheet of coping exercises for when your dead aunt brenda shows up on your doorstep’?!”

-

“I mean, I guess that’s a start,” Roxy says, her mug empty but still being held. She’s not sure what else to do with her hands if she puts it down, and right now, she needs to fidget. Her finger runs around the rim of the mug, stopping at a chip and scratching at it with her nail. “I don’t think there’s a right answer for this, Rose. I mean, Dad got displaced and now I’m suddenly older than him? It’s weird and no one really knows how to handle it. At least you’re doing your best, right?”