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@kadavernagh replied to your post â[pm] A stĂłr, have you heard from Daiyu recently?...â:
[pm] Yes. She enjoys the burgers. They are like her bones. So how kind to support her in her... burgerial achievements. I told her I don't eat burgers because the consistency reminds me of human flesh... when we, uh, met.
â[pm] She loves her burgers. I've had the best burgers with her. They are like her bones, that's a totally accurate analogy. Or lips, in my case. (Your lips, to be precise) (I won't say which) (I can't pick a fave).
Baby, you know saying that makes it sound like you've eaten human flesh? WAIT. Forget about human flesh (just this once, I prommy) (we can circle back later) (You can even give me the lecture about the muscular system) (I love that one, especially when I get to be the subject of study) [user gets sidetracked thinking about this]. You guys actually met? I love that so much <3 Tell me everything.
@kadavernagh replied to your post âHello. I'm here about the rib spreader.â:
What do you mean, you don't have one? I was told you had an extra 1-3/4"X2-1/4" blade with a 12" spread. Of course I am going to use it. You're going to have to go to the operating theater and retrieve it for me. [user is confused about the Frankenstein mention but assumes she should know the reference and doesn't want to make things weird by asking, because things aren't weird right now]
â[pm] I definitely don't have one. I have absolutely no use for those. I teach for a living, and work in the theatre.
[user processes the part of the message where they said she'd have to go retrieve it from the operating theater and is even more confused than when she read the first message.]
What do you mean I'll have to retrieve it? Where's this operating theater? I think you have the wrong person?
@kadavernagh replied to your post â[pm] Are you... how are you? The morgue is full....â:
[pm] Good. That is a relief. Jade really... she injured her arm. Not the left one, fortunately, but I love her right arm almost as much, and she could have died, and her mobility might be affected long-term. And she should have never been out there. How can I just watch her do this all over again when she heals? [...] Moose traffic.
â[pm] Shit, yeah, she mentioned. She's gonna be okay, you know? Bounce right back, that one. I'll help her train to adjust to the mobility. That's what we do. Like this guy always says:
Right yeah, the meese. How many eyes did they have?
@kadavernagh replied to your post â[pm] Jade informed me about your-- partner?...â:
[pm] You are welcome. And that's very good to hear. It will be a long recovery, but best made at home. I have dropped the box off. Do take care of yourself in all of this.
â[pm] Go raibh mĂle maith agat, Regan. It was mostly a very thoughtful gift.
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@kadavernagh replied to your post âHello, search engine. I will be attending a...â:
[pm] Oh. Hello. I didn't mean to send that. To you, anyway. Correct, I am bisexual, but it seems to entail a lot more than I once thought. I'm only beginning to understand the literature, and I don't know how to speak with the... clam folk.
â[pm] Accidents happen. Omg same! I am also bi. Or pan. I don't know. What did you think it entailed?
Clam folk? Are there literal clams out there that are people
PARTIES: @kadavernagh, @goryglam13
TIMING: Mid-November
LOCATION: Jericho Cemetery
SUMMARY: Regan & Jessie meet up in the most peculiar place for a most peculiar request.
WARNINGS: None!
It was in her fingertips and toesâthey were growing grey, almost marbling. Regan curled them around the pendant on her necklace, feeling each line of the knot against her skin. It didnât make sense. Even when Regan wore the necklace for too many hours, the illusion held; the problem instead was physical illness. So what was happening to her? To it? Sheâd snapped nitrile gloves over her hands and went in search of someone who might be able to discretely fix this problem. The woman sheâd found onlineâJessieâwas a risk, but if the necklace stopped working entirely, she didnât want to be caught in the center of town. Teaganâs was a cautionary tale.
However littered her past was with social misunderstandings, Regan knew that a woman might not wish to meet a stranger somewhere private. So instead of suggesting one of their homes, she decided on a perfectly appropriate location for such a meeting: a cemetery. Jericho. Who wouldnât feel safe there?
Death held her as soon as she walked through the gates, stroking her in its palm as she had her necklace. Even that persistent wrongness that she felt over her shoulder at times seemed to quiet hereâlost in the sea of death rattles. People feared night in places like this, but the dead didnât mind the sunlight. Regan waited near one of the mausoleums, studying her gloved hands. Just to be sure, she took a quick look at her reflection on her cracked phone screen; her eyes were still her fatherâs (fake, running, cowardly).Â
She stood straight at a womanâs approach. Mid-twenties, dark skin, an expression that Regan felt was appropriately serious to have living on oneâs face the majority of the time. âHello,â Regan said, quieter than she would have preferred, âIâm Regan. Are you Jessie? The make-up expert?â She hesitated, mind flicking through various conventions she should deploy. No handshake. No wave. She gave a small nod. âItâs nice to be here. I mean, meet you.â
â
The request was very odd. So odd, in fact, that Jessie almost didnât go. How Regan had gone from Irish birthday wishes to needing Jessieâs makeup assistance was a leap. And then to suggest they meet up in a cemetery? This had felt ominous. But if she was being truly honest with herself, these days, everything felt ominous. The only problem was that Jessie had been out of practice for nearly a year. Color matching, airbrush techniques, the whole process, but she had been doing this for so long that it had to be like getting back on a bike after falling off right? Innately there. She just had to trust herself.
As her GPS led her to the requested meeting location, Jessie had Ghost sitting in the back seat and on lock, just in case she needed his assistance. It wasnât that she wanted him to get hurt or worse, but knowing she wouldnât be there alone in theory was better than going out there to meet some strange lady by herself. And as she parked the car and cracked the windows, she spoke reassuringly to him, âThis shouldnât take too long, Ghost. Then weâll go to the park.â
A kiss on the forehead followed by grabbing her makeup kit, and Jessie was making her way down through a grim reminder of where a lot of people recently in her life had found a home. It was seeing this woman hanging out alone that had increased her nerves. Was this a setup? Or did this woman genuinely need help? She had already made an effort to help someone else recently, and it hadnât gone so well, âHey, yeah, thatâs me. Itâs nice to meet you too. But why in a graveyard? Could we have not done this in a more populated setting? I mean, no offense, Lady, but I donât know you that well.â She glanced around, âAlso, Iâm gonna need to set my stuff somewhereâŚâ Jessie motioned to the mausoleum. âMaybe we can go in there?â
â
Why a graveyard? Regan tilted her head, eyes searching Jessieâs face for the reason behind the question. It made no sense. It was like asking why humans consumed meals at restaurants (although, she wasnât entirely clear on the answer). âDo you not like it here? I can think of no better place to meet someone. Where I am frâI mean, itâsâitâs quite common, really, meeting others through the dead. Beautiful, too. We are a fungus fed by their decomposition.â Regan thought this would put Jessie at ease.Â
It was true they needed to find a surface on which to workâRegan would never place anything other than a hand on a headstone. The mausoleum was promising. âSo long as they donât mind.â Reganâs eyes drifted to the name carved atop the mausoleum in that Greek revival lettering. Williams. A common surname. Did anyone take the time to know the deceased now, or did they just walk past the mausoleum, thinking it housed Williams like every other?
Regan led Jessie inside, her nose immediately taking in that damp, mineral smell that structures of old marble always seemed to possess. There were two rows of crypts; Douglas, Charlotte, Elizabeth, and Peter Williams were all here. Regan took the time to remember their names. None of them seemed to mind their presence after all, but she would avoid sitting anywhere on the crypts. Instead, she sat in the middle, where a stone bench was fit between the central pillars. She watched Jessie, ready to tell her to move if she so much as considered setting her buttocks upon the dead. Why a graveyard? Did Jessie still wonder, even now? Regan closed her eyes and breathed in the stale air. âCoffee shops donât have these,â she said, leaning back slightly, admiring the marblework and friezes. âNot that I have anything negative to say about Just Coffee, but here, we have privacy and atmosphere both, donât we?âÂ
Privacy. Jessie probably didnât understand why that was so important to Regan. âRemind me of your qualifications? I donât know how toâI mean, how shall we start? Can I hear a commitment to discretion?â
â
Okay, this woman was weird, but Jessie didnât want to be rude. Everyone had their quirks, and most people probably thought she was weird considering what she enjoyed doing for a living. Well, when she did it. Her mind had been drawing a blank of what kind of content to even make since last Halloween. In fact, anytime she tried to research and study things she had once been interested in, it had all just kind of fell flat. But depression did that. Grief did that. âIf this is some metaphor for âlive your life to the fullest before you become worm foodâ, Iâm not really digging it, but youâre right. It is beautiful hereâ in a morbid kind of way.
The proposed question of if these people would mind two random strangers using their final resting place as a temporary makeup studio made Jessie raise her eyebrows. How the heck was she supposed to know? They were bones, and unless bones could talk (which she didnât want to know), she was just going to have to assume no. Just like she assumed Regan had thought no with the pair now making their way into the cold, stone building. And once downstairs, Jessie made sure to set her makeup on the bench next to Regan. Sure, she didnât really want to be doing this in a cemetery (any other time in her life, yes), but she wasnât heartless, âRight. Privacy and atmosphere. And gotta say, no offense if you are, but not a huge fan of Just Coffee.â
Pulling out her airbrush kit and the makeup that paired with it, she began looking to see what all she had available, and what exactly Regan was wanting done, âWell, I have a very well known Youtube channel. I went to school for this. Iâve been around makeup artists and movie sets most of my life. Does that seem to ease your fears? Also, I do need to askâŚany latex allergies? And the even bigger question, what exactly is it that you want me to do?â She paused on unpacking until she got the answers she needed from Regan.
â
âWho said I have fears?â Regan looked down, eyes angled up. Even two years of Jadeâs support hadnât made Regan comfortable baring her throat to others. âCongratulations on your success. What is the number of your channel? I⌠my concerns are slightly alleviated, yes. Your discretion is as good as a promise to me.â She wouldnât ask for it in wordsâshe rarely went that far, human that she was these daysâbut Jessie should know its weight, even without understanding what a promise meant to something like her. After a moment, Regan lifted a gloved hand and said, âI have no latex allergy, though these happen to be nitrile. Itâs good of you to check. Medical professionals thank you.â Regan would be recommending Jessie to everyone she knew, now. Perhaps leave an online review. That one, diligent question was all it took to endear her.Â
If Jessie didnât run screaming. âThere are a couple areas of concern,â Regan said, watching her hand. âBut my hands are the most difficult at the moment. Youâll see. I am not creative, but you may have a solution to this.â Slowly, she peeled one of the gloves off, feeling the cool air against her clammy skin. A couple of weeks ago, Regan had been able to convince herself her hands looked perfectly fine, perfectly glamoured; human, human, human. If there was any difference, it was subtle. Now âsubtleâ no longer seemed like an apt descriptor. Her fingers were greyâdarkest at the tip, growing lighter as the rot climbed each knuckle. It was only cosmetic, but it felt like an infection claiming her limbs. Seen on a frozen decedent, fingers this color might have snapped off. Â
âSo, can you fix this?â
â
âThank you. And itâs on Youtube. You knowâŚthe website? I can show you later, if you want me to.â Jessie could see the uneasiness clearer than she could before. Whatever it was, the fact that she was letting a stranger take a look at this situation was a big deal, and Jessie wouldnât forget that. Especially, because trust was a very fragile and delicate thing that she had learned about over the years of being in the public eye. And once it was broken, it was a very hard thing to gain back.
âThatâs what I use, actually. The only reason I ask is because if I have to do any prosthetics, thereâs a chance I might have to use latex, but not having an allergy to it will make this a heck of a lot easier.â Jessie sent a smile in Reganâs direction. And as she did, she glanced down to see the woman slowly peeling off a glove. What she didnât expect was what was found underneath. In fact, it had almost looked like something she wouldâve done to someone on a movie set already, and as much as she wanted to pose the age old question of: Is this a joke? She didnât.
Jessie had done her research. She knew there were all kinds of dermatology issues in the world, but this straight up looked like the woman had decided to play a game of chicken with a block of dry ice, âLook, Iâm gonna say this as nicely as possible, but if this is frostbite, you might want to go see a doctor, because I donât know if some makeup is going to fix that? Doesnât it hurt?â She was tempted to reach out and touch Reganâs hand, but she held off for fear of hurting her. She did, however, squat down to observe the womanâs hand, âIs this what your other hand looks like too?â Would she even be able to cover this up? And if so, would DermaBlend work on this?Â
â
âI know the website⌠perhaps not how it works.â Regan was fairly sure she knew Youtube, but there were so many âtelevisionâ options these days, no one could possibly keep them all straight; she and Jade spent too many hours utilizing streaming services. âVery cautious of you. Respectable. What kind of prosthetics are you referring to? I am interested, not for myself, but in general. We should engage in conversation.â She looked to Jessie, wondering if sheâd find eyes looking back at her, and whether they would spark with kinship, or push her into the shadows of the crypt.Â
âFrostbite is warmer.â Regan exhaled through her nose and felt something in her chest that mightâve been a trapped laugh. A small one, barely there, subject to denial. âI am a doctor, and I can assure you this is not a medical condition that needs to be seen by a dermatologist. On that note, I have the hands of a doctorâcold. Be forewarned. And you are to work on the dorsal side only. My palms are to be untouched.â Concealing those scars was tempting, but explaining them was even more daunting than explaining the⌠well⌠she peeled the second glove off and set it on the marble bench. âThe same. It doesnât hurt.â Now seemed like a poor time to explain that she couldnât even feel anything on about a quarter of her handsâ surface area. âI am prepared to hear that there is nothing you can do. Iâm quite the messenger of bad news, myself. You wonât be shot.â
â
âItâs okay. I had to explain it to my parents when I first wanted to make videos. Itâs super easy to navigate once you know what youâre looking for.â Jessie had found Youtube to be a pretty good way to bond with people. Even if they had never used the website, it always piqued peopleâs curiosity; even more so when they knew they could search just about anything on there and find results. Well within reason. There was some stuff on there that no one ever needed to see. âAs for prosthetics, I can do really anything. Wings, hornsâŚI can make you look like a zombie or even some kind of animal. Really nothing is off the table. Itâs just how much time and effort someone wants to put into sitting through the application of it all.â She knew it could be a tedious process, but the end result was usually what made it all worth it, and she had loved that about special fx makeup.
Oddly, Jessie was feeling very comfortable around this woman now. She was interesting. And maybe it had been the morbid side that the woman could relate to, but she had hoped that she could continue their conversations on outside of a mausoleum sometime, but right now, there was business to attend to, even though the smallest of laughs from Regan had made Jessie crack a genuine smile. The first in a long time, âLook, I donât touch anything you donât want me to touch. The appliance of Special Fx makeup can be a lot for some people, especially when you start working around their face. It can feel claustrophobic, and I respect that. Itâs your body; my canvas, and to make great art, you have to respect your canvas.â
Jessie slipped on a pair of gloves that she had pulled out from her kit, âNitrile.â She winked at Regan as she began digging into her bag of tricks, finding exactly what she was looking for. In fact, she had almost forgotten she had bought this on the off chance she would ever need it. âPerfect!â She had never seen someone with Reganâs deathly pale skintone, well among the living anyways. But after doing makeup on a few deceased friends and family members (Jenna included), Jesse knew people deserved to look just as lovely in death as they did in life.
âOkay, so this is actually formulated for blemishes, tattoo coverup, etc. Iâm really hoping it will work with your current skin tone to match your regular skin tone. What do you think? Iâm not doing anything until you give me the all clear toâŚâ
â
Wings and horns andâoh, that kind of prosthetic. âNo, no, none of that! Iâhuman. Human is the look I must achieve.â Regan couldnât imagine anyone wanting to look like something else, but she supposed there was a whole holiday about pretending. (Samhain was superior, by the way.) âHow can you make someone look like something that doesnât exist? By what metric do you accomplish this?â She paused, testing her words, trying to figure out how to say this in a way that lacked the sting of her usual complaints, because her curiosity had won out. âI mean, zombies do not exist. So how can you make someone appear to be one? Do you understand?â The Williams family would have supported her in this.
âI tried painting recently. Twice⌠It did not go well. But you are a type of painter, Iâm discoveringâwould you say thatâs an accurate characterization?â Her attempt to paint with Jade resulted in an entirely black canvas, which could be claimed as Russian avant-garde, or a disaster (clinical term), or a blatant distraction, but certainly not a show of skill. And the less said about the egg sheâd submerged in primer, the better. âSkin must make a better canvas than⌠well, canvas. I considered that. I wonder if I might have succeeded if I had changed the materials.â Probably not. It only changed what was on one end of the brush; not both.
A blush of heat rose in Reganâs cheeks at the wink, which was traitorous. It was the gloves (nitrile was a titillating word). Sheâd have to inform Jade. For now, Regan spread her hand out in front of Jessie for ease, staring down at her own fingers. They looked wrong. She had grown used to seeing them like thisâdarker stillâat night, and naturally when she was in Saol Eile, but not out here, exposed and inhuman. Jessie had an impressive amount of contents in her bagâRegan could hear bottles clink and the patpat of brushes and other materials being pushed around. And then: victory. Her eyes went from the container in Jessieâs hands and the bright, unbothered expression on her face. âYou⌠you have makeup for it?â Something warm clenched inside Reganâs torso and spread through her veins. She hadnât expected Jessie to be able to help, not really. Only now did Regan realize sheâd been expecting bad news. âThatâs⌠yes, good. You may proceed. Please.â A rare word out of her mouth. âDo you think this will remain on my hands? And not⌠will it rub off on everything?â
â
âHuman it is.â It was odd to hear someone say they wanted to achieve human when they were hopefully, more than likely, human. Jessie listened intently to Reganâs questions and curiosity. âRefrence photos from old movies. But mostly by imagination. And research of what happens to the body when it decays. Put that together, and youâve got the perfect recipe for creating a zombie! Not a real one of course, since theyâre not real.â She had to push Jenna out of her mind. It was hard to think of her in that context, and she really didnât want to have a panic attack in front of Regan. Not here. Not now. This was a time to be professional.
âItâs like anything else. You just have to keep practicing at it, but yeah, I like to think of myself as a painter. Plus art is subjective. Iâm sure whatever you painted was great in the eyes of another person.â She smiled, âSkin isâŚan interesting canvas. Itâs like in order to work on it, you have to get rid of the blemishes first, unless youâre incorporating it into the look youâre going for. Thatâs where stuff like this comes in.â She motioned to the bottle with her head as she began pulling out her airbrush gun. Investing in a cordless one had been a lifesaver, especially being somewhere like this where there wasnât a power source she could use.
Once everything was set up, she looked back up to Regan, âI do have makeup for it. A true artist has to be prepared for anything.â She wasnât trying to fluff her feathers, but she did know how crucial it was to have what you needed on hand, especially on a movie set. âThis should hold up for a little while. Obviously itâs not a permanent solution, and you would have to touch it up. I know not everyone has access to airbrush kits either. There are decent ones available online that arenât too pricey. And once you get the hang of spraying it on, itâs pretty easy to do.â
Jessie switched on the machine and gently grabbed one of Reganâs hands. With a certain precision and delicacy, she tested an area of the womanâs skin first to see how well it would cover things up, and when it was a success, she began to go over her skin. Stopping every now and then to check her work. Once she was finished with one hand, she paused so Regan could see it before moving on.
â
Movies. That didnât even pass muster as a secondary source. Why did everyone in this town believe these human fictions had any bearing on reality? Well, at least Jessie knew it was fake⌠but it was perpetuating a kind of propaganda, wasnât it? Regan would ameliorate this situation. An idea came to her, lighting up her face. She sat straighter on the bench, boots scuffing against the floor. âWould you like to see decay?â She could find some. She could find some in ten seconds! âIt would help. Iâm certain. You will see sloughing skin and livor mortis with intimacy. Once weâre done, I will show you.â Her fingers stroked the marble at her side.
Jessie didnât draw back from her cold skin or flinch away from the task. She was as professional as many of Reganâs colleagues (and more, in the case of Dr. Rickers, because Jessie didnât shed beard hairs all over her). How greatly she could excel, if only she had more observational experience; Regan was determined to make it happen. âI like some blemishes,â Regan admitted, âI have seen vellum beforeâold parchment, bovine calf skin. Sometimes there are hairs, or irregularities on the page. It disturbs most people. They like to believe that when you die, you become something elseâthat your individuality has vanished with your breath. But it isnât true. Itâs when you are alive that you must conformâŚâ Regan watched Jessie gently dab the off-white material (was that her skin tone?) onto her hand. âWhat were we saying? Ah, right, art. I donât understand it.â
Jessie finished and moved back a little, letting Regan admire her work. Regan looked, and her mouth fell open. Because her hand seemed⌠human. Mostly. She knew what was concealed; if someone didnât know, they wouldnât pause and see the lie beneath the skin. But the difference between her hands now was drasticâone fit for tenderness, the other for a blade. Regan turned the fixed one over, examining from every angle. Her palms were honest, always would be. The rest was a farce. âYes, letâs do the other now. Itâs only right.â
â
Jessie couldnât get a full read on Regan. But it was like the universe had stuck her with a walking encyclopedia of death, and she couldnât fault that. If this had been two years ago, the young woman wouldâve been chomping at the bit to pick Reganâs brain and learn more. But somewhere deep inside, grief was slowly eating away at her. Yet, there was still a certain morbid curiosity. A need to satisfy questions she had always wondered about. No matter how famous your parents were, itâs not like people would just let you observe decay in person. She had read about the Body Farm in Knoxville, Tennessee, but that was off limits, unless you were a student or worked in the business of bodies. But then it struck her. She had read that Regan worked in that exact field, and now the offer was right here. Though every broken part of her was saying to let it go, Jenna was in the back of her mind screaming, âdo itâ, because it had been one of the things that had attracted the other woman to her â her morbid side and always searching for knowledge to make her craft better, âReally? Youâd do that for me?â
It took her a few minutes to readjust to the task at hand; Reganâs hands, but after giving the woman an enthusiastic head nod, with an âAbsolutely, I would love to. Thank you.â She returned to her current job, âI can go back after the main coat is on and add some fine detail, if youâd like. Let me finish your other hand, and you can let me know.â She wanted Regan to be happy. She had always wanted the people she worked on happy, even if it wasnât always the most comfortable stuff to wear. But the womanâs words lingered about conformity and life, making Jessie think there was more to Reganâs story. Maybe questions for another time.
Turning her head when Regan put her palms up, remembering how important the skin on her palms had been, Jessie gave her some privacy, until she got the okay to resume, and when she did, she gently took the untouched hand and began working on it. It hadnât taken as long as the other one since Jessie had gotten a feel for Reganâs skin and the absorbency of it, and once finished, she sat back letting her client observe to see if anything else needed to be done, including a few blemishes.
â
Reganâs judgement, as always, had been excellent. She had thought Jessie could help her, and she was right; now, she thought Jessie might benefit from witnessing decay, and the offer had been received with enthusiastic interest. A triumph! Such impressive human acumen she had developed (she would only brag to Jade a little). The word âfriendâ still felt like a jagged stone in Reganâs mouthâa salivary stone wouldâve been easier to crack or weatherâbut this seemed like a promising foundation for a pleasant acquaintanceship. What successful interpersonal relationship didnât begin and end with death?
Regan gently tugged Jessieâs hand toward the marble, inviting her like there was a heartbeat to feel for. âOf course I would. After we are done, there will be no one more talented at capturing the beauty of the dead on the human canvas than you are. The real question is whether you are prepared to accept the responsibility.â She lifted her hand away from Jessieâs, from the cool surface. âFor the Williams, for them all.â
Once Jessie finished with Reganâs second hand, she studied them curiously, like they were alien appendages, but ones that didnât displease her. Quite the opposite. The grey was gone, hidden again. âThey lookââ She struggled with the words. With the prickle infecting her eyes. They looked human, like they did before her necklace had begun malfunctioning (who said it was the necklace and not you?) ââThis is good. Youâve done well. Thank you.â Those two words were another stone, but this one had turned soft and silty, easier to swallow than others sheâd choked down before. âCould you⌠would it be possible to learn how to apply this myself? In case it getsââ Worse. âârubbed off and needs reapplication? And is this safe to use on the face?â
â
After Jessie had finished with Reganâs hands, she thought back to the brief moment when the woman had pulled her hand to the cool marble. Was she about to introduce her to the Williams family? Jessie was slightly confused, but she didnât want to jump the gun. Instead, she shot Regan another warm smile trying not to show the confusion. This woman was offering her the chance to see real decay, and she didnât want to mess that upâŚas weird as it had seemed, âI feel like youâre asking me to dawn a cape or something and be the next great superhero of the dead.â She laughed nervously, âBut yeah, yes. I am.â She nodded softly.
The subject soon went back to Reganâs hands though. Jessie could see in her eyes just how impressed and grateful she was. It was always the ones who needed something for more personal reasons that tugged at Jessieâs heart. Sure, makeup could be fun and games, but if it made a difference in peopleâs lives for the better and made things a little easier for them, then she was always game to help, âThank you. And absolutely. If I was home, we could go pick up some supplies, but Iâm guessing Wickedâs Rest doesnât have a store that sells professional grade makeup, so weâll have to order what we need.â She paused for a moment, âYou know what? Iâll go home and order what I used today, and then we can meet up again when it all comes in, and I can teach you how to apply it yourself.â If this was Jessieâs way of making a new friend in town, sheâd gladly take it. While she didnât see herself hanging out and getting Just Coffee with Regan, she did see her as someone to learn from, especially when it came to the art of death. And if she was going to get her life back on track, maybe death was the first place to start with.Â