[Her apartment isn't like Abbacchio's. It doesn't look like a Romanian castle exploded inside it; it's not gothed out or monochromatic or ornate. It's also not pink and fluffy, or bold and tomboyish, or...anything. It really isn't anything, just the plain spartan furnishings that the unit came with when it was first cracked open, nothing rearranged, nothing added for personality.
Well, no, that's a lie. There's an Amegaharan glass vase on the coffee table, and toys for Arnold scattered on the floor. And the door to her bedroom is shut, but there's a little more clutter behind it — clothes, shoes, color.
But the front room, it's like she doesn't know what to do with it, really. Like she's a ghost haunting someone else's house, instead of residing in her own.]
Hi, Abbacchio.
[She opens the door carefully, peeking out before letting him in properly, and staying behind to shut and latch it behind him.]
no subject
Well, no, that's a lie. There's an Amegaharan glass vase on the coffee table, and toys for Arnold scattered on the floor. And the door to her bedroom is shut, but there's a little more clutter behind it — clothes, shoes, color.
But the front room, it's like she doesn't know what to do with it, really. Like she's a ghost haunting someone else's house, instead of residing in her own.]
Hi, Abbacchio.
[She opens the door carefully, peeking out before letting him in properly, and staying behind to shut and latch it behind him.]