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Mar. 7th, 2021 06:18 amYona doesn't know what time it is when she gets home, no longer drunk-drunk, but still firmly in the realm of tipsy. The first thing she does, once she's shed her mismatched shoes — it really is a shame about her boot — and some of the other accoutrements she somehow accumulated last night is text Grantaire to let him know she's back. Well, no, the first thing she does is pet Fred, the dog who's been with her now through all the people she's had from home disappearing, and then, settling on the couch, still bedecked in mostly dead glowstick jewelry and the hat of which she has already become inordinately fond, she texts Grantaire so he'll know she's back and alright. It isn't, honestly, something she would usually do. She loves her phone and loves sending texts, but she never got in the habit of checking in with people this way, more inclined to just go and do her own thing and trust that anyone will reach out to her if they need her. In the wake of something like this, though, it just makes sense. Tensions and emotions are high, and in the face of something that hurts in a way she isn't entirely equipped to explain, it's nice, she thinks, to know they still have each other.
As she expected it would last night, part of the reason she went out in the first place, the apartment seems so empty. It's her imagination, probably, her own awareness of the person who should be there who isn't anymore. On the surface, after all, nothing has changed, and it isn't as if she hasn't spent time alone here before. She just feels Edgar's absence in her bones, much like the snow that's begun falling outside, fittingly unnerving weather for a time like this.
For a while, she sits sprawled on the couch, flipping through TV channels, watching five minutes of one show before she gets bored and switches to another. When it gets late enough, though, she gets her phone out again, and starts systematically going through the restaurants in her contacts, ordering delivery from all of them. They'll need to eat, and she doesn't feel like making a decision, and anyway, it'll probably be good to have leftovers on hand.
Once done, she texts Grantaire again: got food. couldn't decide what to get so there's some of everything, followed by a bright pink heart.
As she expected it would last night, part of the reason she went out in the first place, the apartment seems so empty. It's her imagination, probably, her own awareness of the person who should be there who isn't anymore. On the surface, after all, nothing has changed, and it isn't as if she hasn't spent time alone here before. She just feels Edgar's absence in her bones, much like the snow that's begun falling outside, fittingly unnerving weather for a time like this.
For a while, she sits sprawled on the couch, flipping through TV channels, watching five minutes of one show before she gets bored and switches to another. When it gets late enough, though, she gets her phone out again, and starts systematically going through the restaurants in her contacts, ordering delivery from all of them. They'll need to eat, and she doesn't feel like making a decision, and anyway, it'll probably be good to have leftovers on hand.
Once done, she texts Grantaire again: got food. couldn't decide what to get so there's some of everything, followed by a bright pink heart.
