Yamara wrote:Jet isn't necessarily crazy, love is just like that. Wrote this before Turkey Day as a response, but only getting it posted now.
EDIT: Now I remember why I waited. Was looking for this old installment:
Meet Georgette Sundahl.
Careful what you wish for.
You Are Your Own Toothbrush
It was the perfect way to awaken. Sunlight streamed straight into Monica's mind, like silent music. Everything of Georgette's was all around her, the pretty sheets, the beautiful things they had bought together on the Riviera, the long and high windows which let in all that glorious light.
"You'd never let Kevin see you like this," commented Doubt.
Monica had to look. Doubt was in flawless skin and killer couture, like she was ready for an evening in Monte Carlo with James Bond.
"Yes, I preferred to wake up in piles of ladies without him," was her comeback, but it wasn't with the sharp saracasm she intended, as her voice was hushed... almost...
Etherial.
Doubt cupped her ear. "Eh? Something get caught in your throat?"
Monica looked at her own hands. They weren't really there, because her spirit had spent the morning hanging outside her flesh, apparently. And then from behind her, she heard a sneeze.
Clumsily spinning in place, the full monstrosity of her form lay revealed, spread out upon bedsheets. Bones were exposed, rotting fur lay unmoving, and worst, her steel-trap jaws were closed over her silver cord.
The sneeze had come from Panic, sitting on the freshly cleaned floor by the bed. She wiped her missing nose with a demonic hanky. "'Scuse me." Then she smiled, almost cheerfully. "It's not Ebola--!"
Footsteps were coming from the hall.
"--IT'S JET!!" Panic vanished and, with a snap of her fingers, so did Doubt.
"Good morning, gorgeous, Jill made us breakfast!"
"NAH! Don't come in! I'm not dressed!! I mean I'm not--" But Jet was already in the room, seeing her flimsy spirit helplessly pry at the unyielding vice of her hellish face. "--i'm not presentable"
And Jet stood there as Monica tried to wheeze out an explanation, but she could finish no sentence, because there was no way to lie, and there was no way to apologize, and there was no way to do anything but babble about how little she understood of the mess and horror she abjectly was.
Jet was the very vision of unfazed radience. "Have you ever participated in Tokyo Fashion Week?"
The ghost of Monica folded what arms she had, and calming, slowly slid back into her quietly opening jaws. Having resettled within, she raised one claw to signal patience, and reconstituted her eyes before sitting up. She gave Jet a good long stare before saying matter-of-factly, "...I have not."
Jet nestled herself and the breakfast tray on the bed beside her, and poured them both a mimosa. "Well then you haven't
seen scary."
They spent the morning in a long conversation about how to keep Dietzel from getting lost in the wainscotting again.
