[psl] 2015: Crawl 'til dawn, on our hands and knees

[firewatcher]

The end of the first night of the rest of her terrible garbage life saw Palmer in a situation she never imagined possible: in the first all-night diner she could find, sitting across the table from Vera Volkov, back from the dead.

Or—Liv Lazzari, now, wasn't it.

That was going to take some getting used to. That, and the fact that despite the drastic changes to her appearance, Vera—Liv—still didn't look a day older than when Palmer had seen her last, over twenty years ago. Not worth the price of admission, in Palmer's mind, but it felt a little unfair. Palmers tended to start showing age early, and she herself was no exception.

Palmer leaned on the slightly sticky table with one elbow, absentmindedly stirring her coffee with the other hand and biting back a yawn. "Is every night in hell this eventful?"

Comments

[firewatcher]

"Yeah," Palmer said, after a moment. "And... you have mine. And I'll remember that. Trust me, I wish I didn't need to, right now."

A pause. Vera was almost at the door.

"And if you're going to be this annoying about it, just call me Maria. It's weird to hear you call me 'Palmer', anyway."

[wolfatyourdoor]

Her hand was already pushing the diner's door open, but she stopped, then, and turned around to grin crookedly.

"Took you long enough. I'll chalk that up as another victory for my effortless charm." It was the kind of thing she might have said back in high school, enabling Palmer into cutting class.

She lifted her hand to her forehead in a mock salute, and then she was the rest of the way out the door.