[The closet is one thing. She's woken up way worse places than this closet. It's practically cushy.]

[The problem is what's outside the closet.]

[The 80s were a weird time for her. Big highs, big lows. The kind of shit she's looking at right now, these were lows. The colors make her wince, turning her head back towards the closet instinctively as though she's seriously considering going back in there and shutting the door. It's not not tempting. If she doesn't see neon ever again, it'll be too soon.]

[But one cannot live in a mall closet for fear of the neon outside. So, ultimately, she lets go of the doorknob and steps out into the wilds of the mall.]

[It doesn't take long to get the feel of the place. She doesn't bother asking for food for free. Instead, she walks the perimeter, getting a feel for what stores are available, who looks friendly versus not so much. There's this one place that looks more promising starting on her second lap around the mall: it's shift change, and the girl with a jaw set like rock in pure minimum-wage resentment is replaced by a kid who probably isn't legal working age, but what does she know about the rules in weird robot 80s throwback mall land, anyway? Doesn't matter. What matters is, he doesn't look fucking broken yet.]

[So Kris wanders into the toy store. Strolls up to the counter. Points at the pint-size guitar hanging on the wall behind the kid. Makes a proposition.]

I can't pay for that now. But if you let me borrow it for an hour, I'll get you double asking price. I won't leave your line of sight, even. Right outside there. [She thumbs over her shoulder.] C'mon, you know nothing else interesting is gonna happen today.

[And that's how Kris Pulaski ends up leaned against a glass display window, a teeny-tiny crap-ass guitar with a tinny ten-watt amp tucked against her. Before she taps the amp on, she tests and finds, inexplicably, that it's in tune. So, you know. Life is weird sometimes.]

[A few moments later, a power chord cuts the air, and the neutral mall music is summarily drowned out. Her leather jacket's scrunched up by her feet, waiting patiently. Toss a coin, why don't you?]

[As it turns out, the mall was better than whatever's going on out here. Not the information overload, although it is ridiculously overwhelming. No, it's the looks that start getting to her almost immediately. There's an edge to them she can't put her finger on. She's used to living on the fringes, but this is something else entirely, and she hates not understanding. It's dangerous.]

[Somebody's a busybody, though, bustling up to her with an armful of pamphlets, and that relaxes her. There's always one person who wants to help-slash-wants a front-row seat to your problems.]

[With moderate grace, she takes the pamphlets one at a time, scanning them relatively quickly before tucking them under her arm. The longer she looks, the more puzzled her expression.]

Kind of improbable that none of these have an extra head, huh?

[This seems to stop the helpful citizen in their tracks. Noticing the silence after a moment, Kris looks up, blinking.]

. . . Well, it kind of is, isn't it? All this variety and only ever one head?

[ok lmao]

[She probably shouldn't even bother. But sometimes, she's the one who just has to know. Sometimes she's the dipshit.]

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