Logs:Glued to the Screen

Glued to the Screen
Dramatis Personae Kitty, Sarah
In Absentia	2020-10-13 “What the hell was that?”
Location <NYC> Kitty's Apartment - Inwood
This two bedroom flat in Inwood has seen better days, but the current occupants have worked gamely to make the space cozy. The window in the living area looks out onto an alley, but the sill is spruced up with rock lamps and succulents. There is a dusty television pressed up against one blue-painted wall, opposite a faux-leather couch covered in throw blankets. The walls are covered in posters - bands, mostly, leading toward Anya's room, and astronomy event toward Kitty's. The kitchen is clean and barebones - some dishes are always in the drying rack, and a fruit basket is generally full of apples and bananas. Kitty is nursing a mug of hot chocolate on the couch, now folded back into sofa form as Tabitha takes over Anya's room. The television is on, for once, idling on a Netflix selection screen while Kitty stays curled up under a blanket. Her arm is free of the sling, but still wrapped tightly in medical gauze. Some new pill bottles sit on the coffee table - antibiotics, a mild course - and a new bottle of Tylenol. Kitty's hair is pulled up into a bun, messy and limp, while she sits in flannel pajama pants and a loose t-shirt (BNAI TIKVAH KADIMA emblazoned upon it in fading light blue), bags under her eyes more obvious than usual. “Did you eat when you took your medicine earlier?” Sarah asks as she leaves the kitchen, laden tray in hand. There is a selection of sweet and savory to go with the cocoa: sliced fruit, some of it from the kitchen, a selection of seed crackers and goat cheese. It all is set on the coffee table next to the pill bottles with hesitant, anxious care. “Sorry. I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” she apologetically mumbles. Grabs her own mug to settle in the corner of the couch, leaving some room between her and Kitty. An oversized black hoodie practically engulfs her and hides most of herself and what she’s wearing, save for plain jeans and socks. Kitty nods, but is immediately betrayed by a a stomach gurgle. “Well, I had a bite of something,” she says, “but it wasn’t much. I think the antibiotics are killing my appetite.” She gives Sarah a grateful look as the snacks come down. “It’s kind of nice to get taken care of,” she adds. Still, it’s a moment before she reaches for a single crackle and piece of cheese, and she only nibbles on the edge of it. Sarah nods and looks down into her mug, thumb tapping on the handle. “If you digest food at the same time as medicine, it helps it absorb into your system faster,” she offers. “For the next time you take them.” Leaning forward, she carefully balances her mug while grabbing both an orange wedge and a slice of cheese; the orange gets carefully dropped into the mug to stay. The cheese is dipped into the cocoa and eaten without hesitation. The same cannot be said for the next question she asks. “So... alligators, huh?” Kitty rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Yeah, okay doctor,” she teases, taking another small bite before lifting the cocoa mug back to her lips. The motion takes both hands, and Kitty winces a little as her bandaged arm moves. Her gaze is focused on the little marshmallows when she next speaks. “Alligators. Yeah.” A beat, and she snorts. “Sounds crazy, no? But here in our little town of New York, we have fucking alligator monsters on the Lower East Side.” Her Fiddler on the Roof impression breaks somewhere around the word “alligator”. “Hasn’t that been a thing for a while, though? Alligators being in the New York sewers?” Sarah’s face colors some. She takes a sip of cocoa to hide behind her mug for a moment. “It’s the sort of thing my sister told me about when we were kids. It was always lumped in with bigfoot and jersey devil stories, though. I didn’t think it would be real.” “I didn’t think so,” Kitty says, eyebrows raised. “Larger than life rats, sure. Tortoises that know karate, sometimes.” A small giggle escapes her lips. “I feel like if gators were normal here, we would have heard about them before-“ she indicates her predicament. “This.” What smile has started to grow at the Ninja Turtles reference quickly wilts. Sarah reaches toward Kitty’s injured arm, stops, pulls her hand back to wrap tightly around her mug. “I’m sorry it happened at all. Does it hurt badly? I can go if you’d rather rest,” is said in a quickening pace before she seems to catch herself. “Sorry,” she mumbles, hiding behind her mug again. Kitty’s face falls slightly at the retracted arm, but she recovers quickly. “No, it’s good to have you here,” she says, shifting slightly so she’s less wedged in the corner of the couch. “Tabitha is out most days and I’m not up to going back to school yet, so...” she trails off. “This is nice,” she finishes at last. “It’s gonna hurt whether or not I have good company.” Sarah slowly begins to relax, though some apprehension remains in tension around her eyes. “Right. Sor-” She stops, biting her lip. “Right. If I can do anything to make it better, let me know, okay? I don’t mind getting up for refills and stuff.” “Sarah, my arm got bit. I can still walk.” Kitty is still grinning, clearly teasing. “Though, what you could do-“ with her good arm she tosses the TV remote to Sarah, “is choose a movie. Apparently Ponyo is only on Canadian Netflix.” “You were bit by an alligator.” Yet Sarah is returning Kitty’s grin, perhaps smiling at the absurdity of what she just said and who she said it to. She doesn’t make a move to catch the remote, only sets her cocoa down once it lands in her lap to pick it up instead. “I don’t know if I watch movies enough to really pick one. What about TV? Ever seen Schitt’s Creek or Anne with an E?” Kitty hums as she thinks, taking a second to enjoy the hot chocolate. “Uh, Schitt’s Creek was a bit too cringe for me. Anne, though, I haven’t.” She pauses thoughtfully, comes back with a sage conclusion: “I could do a little Green Gables binge.” “It’s very bingeable. And the cast is perfect,” Sarah assures her, clicking through the search menu. “A lot about it is perfect, I think.” Suddenly, she giggles. “Is that too much hype? I don’t know. It’s just a really calming show. I like to have it on when I make bread.” Once the flyover opening shots of Prince Edward Island begin to play, she leans forward to place the remote on the table, grabs an apple slice or two before sitting back. Kitty just watches Sarah for a moment, a soft smile on her face, before grabbing an apple slice herself. She takes a deep breath, humming along to the score, as she settles in. It’s several hours of adorable turn of the century Canadian children later that Kitty finally extracts herself from the couch. “Just let me use the bathroom real quick, *then* the next one,” Kitty says, waving at Sarah to stay sitting. She makes it about five steps away from the couch when it happens. There is hardly a warning, just the faintest hint of a headache before Kitty is blown over by pure grief. It knocks her down- she falls to her knees, tears streaming down her face though she could have sworn her eyes were dry less than a second before. When she can speak again, her voice is choked and tight. “What the hell was that?” No immediate answer comes from Sarah. She’s shrunk into her hoodie, knees pulled up and inside against her chest, both hands covering her mouth. Her only initial response is a stricken stare, eyes too-wide and face pale. “I don’t... I don’t know,” she answers in a trembling whisper, once her fingers have finally parted. “Are you okay?” It takes a moment for Kitty to get back to her feet. Her eyes are dry again, but wide with fear. "I'm okay," Kitty says, but there is a tremor in her voice now. Bathroom forgotten, she climbs back onto the couch, beside Sarah now instead of opposite her on the couch. Her phone on the coffee table is buzzing - Kitty turns it over. Almost instantly her face drains of colour again. She scrolls frantically through the texts and her Twitter feed - the results don't change. Her voice is tight when she finally shares the news: "Dawson's dead." Sarah leans into Kitty when she sits down, pressing their shoulders together. Her hands peel away from her mouth, arms moving to wrap tightly around her knees while she worries at her bottom lip with her teeth. She seems just ready to speak when Kitty beats her to it and she pulls away like the words are a slap. “What?” she croaks, before shaking her head. “No, I just... The other day, he was getting the mail... What?” “I-“ Kitty gives up. The video of the incident is looping on her phone, but the phone falls from her hand onto the couch. She leans back into Sarah, lets out a short, wet bark halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Fuck,” she says. “I just started going to game night.” No audible answer comes. Sarah only moves to place her arms around Kitty in something that is part hug and part cling, wet green eyes staring down at the violence looping on the phone screen.