Ryslig: Inbox

[grivences]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, malinovka.

FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 42.12.201.237

*** malinovka has joined 42.12.201.237
<malinovka> Hey dinguses, I'm not here. Some of us have better things to do than sit in front of our computers all day waiting for a message.
<malinovka> ...Who am I kidding? I have nothing better to do.

Comments

shows up to my own inbox 15 days late with starbucks...

[grivences]

[ Robin is awake when the sun comes up, but she's not in her apartment. She's out at the conbini, in line to purchase some weird flavor of fruity soda that they never would have sold in Hawkins, that she's actually gotten pretty fond of since she arrived here. When the spell breaks, Robin finds herself in a bit of a daze, with the cashier snapping to get her attention so she can fork over the solars for the soda.

Afterwards, she steps out of the convenience store and back out onto the quiet Bavan street, not really sure where to go. She should be going back to the Palazzo. That's where she lives. But it's not where she's been living, this past week. She knows that, but she can't quite remember why. It's like she was sleepwalking for seven whole days, only remembering bits and pieces of her motivation for doing the things she did.

She has to get back to the Palazzo, she knows that. But a stop at the 38-8 first, to pack up her things.

By the time Robin arrives at the apartment complex on foot, a familiar pair of headlights pulls into the parking lot. Great, now she doesn't have to call Max and beg for a ride back. She shoves her free hand into the pocket of her jacket— the late nights and early mornings are starting to get colder— and waits for Max to park and get out of her car. ]

I feel like I owe you an apology, but to be honest, I can't entirely remember what for.