The worst part is this: Ema spends so much time in IKEA already, she didn’t even notice a difference until the second day.
It feels deeply unfair, is all she’s saying. If there’s going to be an even more evil version of the store she works in, can’t it limit itself to trapping glimmerous fop performers and the insufferable customers who only come for the meatballs and yell when Ema dares to experiment with the recipe a little?
“I’ve been a model employee!” she yells at the ceiling.
No reply. She almost wishes the fake people monsters would come and kill her already, to put her out of her despair and alcohol withdrawal symptoms, but no such luck.
“Gruugh… Ema?”
Oh. She looks over at the neighboring bedroll guiltily. “Sorry for waking you,” she mutters.
“S’alright.” Maya sits up and stretches, her shirt riding up slightly. Ema tries her best not to look. “I wasn’t sleeping much anyway.”
“Really?”
“Bad dreams,” Maya says, shrugging. “The usual.”
Ema looks at her. Now that her mind’s shifting into forensic scientist mode she’s noticing things, things like Maya’s fingers fidgeting with the cords of her bracelet and the puffiness around her eyes.
“Hey,” she says. “Want a midnight snack?”
“Whuh?” Maya blinks, then rubs her eyes; she instantly looks three times more alert. “Really?”
“No point just lying around hoping to be kidnapped by Morbius.”
“By… by who?”
“Shit. Morpheus?”
Maya still looks about as blank as Ema’s resume is of science jobs.
“No point trying to sleep,” Ema rephrases. “C’mon, I want my damn Snackoos.”
Maya brightens. “You figured out the recipe?”
“Nah,” Ema says. “I’m close though, I swear.” There has to be some way of combining IKEA supplies into her cherished snack food.
“You’ll get there!” Maya grins, and for a second Ema almost forgets she’s the one who’s supposed to be comforting Maya, not the other way around. Her smile lights up the miniature tent they’ve made here in their little town of Exchange. “I can feel it.”
How do you stay so bright all the time?
Ema wonders, but she doesn’t say it aloud. To do that would pretty much be confessing to Maya that without her, Ema might have thrown herself to the wolves weeks ago. Without her Ema’s nothing.
She clears her throat. “And I think we’ve still got some burgers.”
“Hell yes,” Maya says fervently, and so they lift the tent flap and step into —
FILL: TEAM ACE ATTORNEY
The worst part is this: Ema spends so much time in IKEA already, she didn’t even notice a difference until the second day.
It feels deeply unfair, is all she’s saying. If there’s going to be an even more evil version of the store she works in, can’t it limit itself to trapping glimmerous fop performers and the insufferable customers who only come for the meatballs and yell when Ema dares to experiment with the recipe a little?
“I’ve been a model employee!” she yells at the ceiling.
No reply. She almost wishes the fake people monsters would come and kill her already, to put her out of her despair and alcohol withdrawal symptoms, but no such luck.
“Gruugh… Ema?”
Oh. She looks over at the neighboring bedroll guiltily. “Sorry for waking you,” she mutters.
“S’alright.” Maya sits up and stretches, her shirt riding up slightly. Ema tries her best not to look. “I wasn’t sleeping much anyway.”
“Really?”
“Bad dreams,” Maya says, shrugging. “The usual.”
Ema looks at her. Now that her mind’s shifting into forensic scientist mode she’s noticing things, things like Maya’s fingers fidgeting with the cords of her bracelet and the puffiness around her eyes.
“Hey,” she says. “Want a midnight snack?”
“Whuh?” Maya blinks, then rubs her eyes; she instantly looks three times more alert. “Really?”
“No point just lying around hoping to be kidnapped by Morbius.”
“By… by who?”
“Shit. Morpheus?”
Maya still looks about as blank as Ema’s resume is of science jobs.
“No point trying to sleep,” Ema rephrases. “C’mon, I want my damn Snackoos.”
Maya brightens. “You figured out the recipe?”
“Nah,” Ema says. “I’m close though, I swear.” There has to be some way of combining IKEA supplies into her cherished snack food.
“You’ll get there!” Maya grins, and for a second Ema almost forgets she’s the one who’s supposed to be comforting Maya, not the other way around. Her smile lights up the miniature tent they’ve made here in their little town of Exchange. “I can feel it.”
How do you stay so bright all the time?
Ema wonders, but she doesn’t say it aloud. To do that would pretty much be confessing to Maya that without her, Ema might have thrown herself to the wolves weeks ago. Without her Ema’s nothing.
She clears her throat. “And I think we’ve still got some burgers.”
“Hell yes,” Maya says fervently, and so they lift the tent flap and step into —
……
This isn’t IKEA anymore.