#sendusablade

"Coffee?" Noemi asked her remaining guest, already reaching for the can.

She was grateful to Charlie for staying to help clean up after her birthday party. Not that there was much cleaning to be done. It had been a small, quiet gathering, just a few close friends and a couple of surprise visitors.

Still, she appreciated the company. Karma was away - visiting a friend, she'd said - and despite having people around all day, Noemi didn't feel like being alone right now.

Aletta now knew of a couple of cafes and restaurants in town, and cycled through them for friend meeting purposes. Today it was Charlie and the boba tea place. She hadn’t actually been yet, so she was excited; and she hadn’t seen Charlie since the party. There were a lot of things she was hoping they could talk about.

Jax was terrified by the time she got to Noemi’s ‘house’. 

The alien had never seen buildings this tall, sterile, or shiny--nor had she any context for cars, or electric lights, or having to travel across open spaces on ground as hard as rock. Luckily her phone spoke to her and told her where to go, and didn’t yell at her or rush her when she hid in doorways or under the sparse fenced-in trees. All she’d had to do was ask it where Noemi was. This, at least, was a good thing Earth had to offer.

The building was like the others--no open holes to enter or exit. All locked up like a nutshell. Jax craned her neck up and looked at its impassive front. Squares of glass reflected streetlights like winking eyes.

Twilight was just turning into night when a black car pulled up to the curb outside the apartment building where, according to a quick online search, Charlie Wright lived. The driver spent a moment looking around - she'd cased the area earlier - before stepping out and slamming the door.

It didn't matter if the car was spotted. It was a shitty Volvo from a local rental place. Fake name, dummy account, untraceable. They weren't getting it back.

She wore her outfit of choice for this kind of work: hair up in a bun, no strands loose; comfortable shoes; all-black suit. She looked like a funeral home director. Dressed for success.

The house itself was a dark gray, with black shutters and big, floor to ceiling windows. It appeared around three stories tall, though it was difficult to tell from the front how far it might extend back. The front door itself was large and ornate, with a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head on the front of it, beckoning someone to knock it. The steps that led to it were made out of some sort of expensive stone.

@justskipper stickman hook