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Summary
The first time that she sees you is when you’re huddling in the corner of some dark kitchen that smells like rotting food and sour wine, but it beats the lingering scent of gore out on the streets. You tried to convince yourself about twenty minutes earlier that maybe the smell of rot could keep you grounded through your sobriety, but in all honesty, you’re about to add vomit to the list of unpleasant smells in the room.
“Oh,” she says, sotto voce, like she’d just come across some box of abandoned kittens on the street and felt the sudden compulsion to smuggle them back to her apartment, “Oh, All-mer, you look terrible.”
( The first thing, crucially, is that you are miserable. )