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[personal profile] tachycardiac

Chiela’s standing in the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards, trying to determine if there really is nothing to make dinner with and if she really does have to go to the store, when the front door swings inward, bouncing off the wall, and Terasu walks through with a, “We’ve actually got mail.”

“Cool!” Chiela says and gives up on the cupboards. Looks like she’s going to the store after all. Hell. She knocks the cabinet door shut and walks out into the living room, where Terasu’s standing beside the table, fanning out the mail. And she has a -

“Oh, hey!” Chiela says, “Package!” which isn’t unheard of but usually only comes from, “Sister Mary?”

“No,” Terasu says, shaking her head, “There’s no return address.” She holds it up, so Chiela can see the label, then adds on a totally unnecessary, “It’s for me.” Granted that’s kind of an event. The only stuff that ever comes tends to be addressed to both of them. The apartment’s in both of their names, and they split the bills. Anyone who knows them knows the both of them. Again, not unheard of, but unusual.

“Well,” Chiela says, “Open it, already.”

Terasu frowns and shakes the box - seriously, whatever’s in there could be fragile; Chiela’s never understood the urge to shake boxes - and says, “It’s probably full of anthrax,” and Chiela points out, “If it is we’re probably already toasted. You might as well see if there’s anything else.” Terasu snorts, but must agree or else she wouldn’t do what she does next, which is open the box, pulling out a bundle of bubble wrap - which just lends credence to Chiela thinking it might be fragile - and a sealed letter. Seriously, sealed. Nobody seals stuff anymore. Except maybe the Queen of England, who Chiela kind of doubts is writing to them.

Terasu frowns - again - at the letter and sets down the bubbled-wrapped something. She slides her finger beneath the edge of the letter, breaking the seal, and opens it up. Her eyebrows go up immediately, and, shortly, she’s looking at Chiela and saying, “Look at this,” handing the letter over. Chiela turns it so she can read it - all it says is, “Returning what’s yours,” with no sender’s name or anything. Which, hey, “That’s a little bit creepy.”

Terasu snorts. “Just a little,” she says and picks up the bubble=wrapped something again. She peels the tape off and the bubble wrap away, a little carelessly, and something falls out and lands on the floor with a soft tinkling sound. Terasu picks and holds it up for Chiela to see - a white-polished crystal hanging on a silver chain, very new-agey looking, like something one of Chiela’s co-workers would wear but not Terasu.

“Huh,” Chiela says, “Look familiar?”

“No,” Terasu says, “But it’s not like I’d remember it,” which is true enough. She grabs the crystal pendant and turns it over in her hand and adds on an, “I like it,” which surprises Chiela because, like she said, it’s very new-agey and not very Terasu.

“Huh,” Chiela says, again, “Well, I guess it’s not like we can send it back.”

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