youronlylaw | ic inbox @ undergrounds

[The phone had looked new. All packaged. Even had a nice screen protector. And she'd bought a case for it. One that was supposedly Swiss Army tested and waterproof. Of course, none of that actually stopped the screen from smashing into a thousand pieces, but. Well. She was trying.

But she found a number had already been put into her phone.

"James" was now changed in the contact book to "Creepy Guy" with the name noted in the comments. She wanted plenty of warning if/when he called or texted.]

Expensive gifts for a stranger is kind of creepy. You know that? I hope you know that.

I've still got your tie. Want it back?

[Entirely the reason why she's texting him at eleven o'clock on a Friday night. The Friday night after the Blood Moon and classes started and she's been working on two different memorials.

As soon as she got home, she started work on it. And she is way too emotionally drained to keep going right now. She needs a distraction. Something just fun.]

[Knowing James is a werewolf tells Skip everything she needs to know some nights. Like the night right before a full moon. He's the type to still work a full day, of course, but... not much longer than the firm is actually open on certain days. Like today.

Getting into the parking structure? Not difficult. It's a public place, even if it is small. The latter fact makes finding his car way too easy. Most of his coworkers have seen her now, and she kind of looks forward to whatever he decides to tell her about their reaction. After all, it's not every day that a young woman wearing little more than a t-shirt with black stiletto heels is in their parking lot, leaning against the hood of the backed-in car.

And there she's waiting until he leaves the office.]

Woes of a painter: it can get everywhere.

[It might be an innocent joke/complaint. But when has Skip ever been innocent?

The picture she attaches isn't really indecent. It's a selfie but mostly focused on the camisole she's wearing. It is spattered with paint, as is the skin around it. And, under other circumstances, one might even think it's by accident that the angle of the camera allows a peek down her shirt at a blue bra.]

[Touchscreens? Don't work so well when there's blood on them. So texting? That's just not happening.

Thankfully, it's technically still Sunday. At about 12:30 in the morning. But she doesn't even know what time it is. All she knows is that she's listening to the phone ringing and, for the first time, hoping someone picks up.

Usually, she does care if she goes to voicemail.]

[The voicemail is left with life in it, yes, but there's a serious undertone to the young woman's voice.]

Mister Memon, it's Abigail Widdowson.

I'd love to meet you to discuss our... current situations.

Ring me back.

[First comes a selfie. Make up done up, lips quirked into a smile, and her dress seen.]

My date tonight was a disappointment.

Want some company?

[What's left is a message in voice mail.

...After four prior attempts at calling.]

Memon. God damn it. Pick up the phone. You had to have heard it ring. The moon isn't up yet. I know that for a fact. God damn you, pick up the phone. Millicent--

Christ.

She's gone insane. More insane than usual. She's decided-- Your pack's in danger. God damn it. Answer!

Call me. When you get this, call me. If I can do anything, I'll try to, but I can't make promises.

God damn it.

I'd like to renegotiate about Waltham Forest. Will you call me when you're free?

ic inbox @ undergrounds

Aug 24th - text

Oct 3rd

October 26th - evening

Nov 21st - text

Feb 14th - call

April 4th, early afternoon

April 14th, late night

May 21st, 8:30 PM

May 23rd