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2017-01-02 12:01 am (UTC)
A few more hopeless waves of the phone - a single bar appeared in the reception icon, then vanished just as quick - passed before she gave up, giving her phone a look that suggested that this, all of this, was its fault and that it really ought to go to jail for it.
The IMs could wait, even if she was eager for more photos from Celadon's department store. With a sigh, one that might trick an uninformed listener into believing that this was the absolute worst thing to have happened in Blackbell, disappearances be damned, she shoved the phone back into her bag and felt around for a small, round tin with an illustration of a sliced orange on the top.
She still had something like twenty of these tins at home, most unopenned, sympathy gifts from people who wanted to feel like they'd done something. Better than the flowers, at least. The tins of hard sweets kept longer.
"You're neither of you getting nothing, though-" She fished the tin out of her bag and put it on the desk, but then poked the front of Raury's hoodie. Not enough to actually make contact with him, but enough to disturb the fog. "Not 'til I get my pen back, Spooks. The purple one."
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