The rain is warm but lapping and insistent, catching metallic reflections from street signs and guard rails when she makes her way to Mami Tomoe's apartment. Her soul gem is clutched and bulbous in her hand, etching temporary reddened welts into the still-soft parts of her palm. As deliberate as her existence, Homura pounds the side of her fist against the door. Her soul gem is present, felt, jostling with her fist until she gets an answer. Rainwater seeps up through her stockings.
The chain rattles and she catches a glimpse of Mami Tomoe's eyes, wide and bright with constantly startling naivete. Homura huffs out an impatient breath while the door falls shut and reopens, this time without any restraint.
"Hello, Homura," she says. The lack of formality is as stiff as if she'd gone out of her way to do quite the opposite. Homura senses the tension, but she can't be bothered to care. She doesn't have time - she...
"Man, you mean that's not my pizza?" Kyoko Sakura's loud, unmistakable voice complains.
A polite huff of a chuckle follows from Mami who grips the edge of the door and rubs it up and down.
"We didn't order any pizza," she corrects, patronizing in a way that Homura is surprised Kyoko remains lying down for. Literally, as it happens. She spots her lying on the floor by Mami's low, triangular table.
"Yeah? And why not?" Kyoko sniffs.
"Do come in, Miss Akemi," Mami says after tugging her attention away from Kyoko who is currently holding an empty teacup far above her face without obvious motivation.
"I came to talk," Homura says, establishing clear and firm boundaries even though she sets foot inside the door.
"So talk. That'd be a change," Kyoko remarks, little clank of porcelain setting down against tempered glass.
"You're drenched," Mami insists. It's an exaggeration. "You can at least have some tea," she continues airily, trying to coax her closer to the little table. It is spread with half-emptied plates of cakes and cookies and a stray bag of crumbly potato chips that Homura knows must belong to Kyoko.
"You look like hell," Kyoko says, the only indication that she has spared her a glance. It sounds like a wry, barbed compliment more than direct insult, but this is more background information that Homura doesn't need. Another variable.
"I'm fine, thank you," Homura says, eyes falling shut for a little longer than the duration of a blink. This is trying her patience. Every second that ticks by is maddening, and she cannot wait any longer to move on. She wants to get to the next step, the next part of the plan, the next day, the next, the next, the next...
The next that she anticipates will never come. She knows that. The next that involves waking up to the familiar smell of clean, sterile air - finding glasses, a new student guide, and a calendar marked by a hand she hardly remembers - the next that means seeing Madoka Kaname's face for the first time, the next time, the last time. That next is all used up, and when it dawns on her completely, yet again, in this moment, it takes her breath. Her heart gives a sick little flutter in her chest and it feels tight, and for the moment she forgets to simply fix it again at the cost of a slightly darker shade of purple in her hand. Her knees weaken, and it is the only practical course of action to follow their lead. She lowers herself down right onto them, fingers splaying out and bracing her right along the unoccupied side of the table. In through her nose comes a deep breath, but it's not enough. When Mami Tomoe pours an uninvited cup of tea for her, she takes it and downs it in one swallow, the warmth too hot for her throat.
Her own porcelain cup - it's hers now, she's accepted it - clicks down against its matching saucer. And just like that, she's consumed her first cup of tea in more than six years. It's unremarkable and strange, feeling the little responsible gurgle from within her belly. She glances down at it, frustrated more than concerned.
"Y' sound hungry," Kyoko remarks. There's a big flop of red hair, and she's up on her elbow, peeking across the table at Homura.
"I've come here to discuss wraiths with both of you." Homura is deliberate in her task and does not meet Kyoko's eyes. Instead, she looks to Mami because she knows this Kyoko still listens to Mami. She chooses the path of least resistance. The world isn't worth protecting, but she has decided to. She does not think she will be able to protect Mitakihara on her own over the next two weeks or so. Quite simply, they need to plan. "There is an outbreak of a strong strain of influenza, lots of new hospital admissions, and that's just today."
"So get your flu shot," Kyoko mumbles, sniffing and itching at her nose in what Homura determines is a sympathetic gesture.
"Kyoko," Mami shushes softly, a gentle scolding meant for her ears alone. She nods at Homura. "I understand," she says, and then she gets up to retrieve something. When she returns, she sets a sleek white piece of equipment with a plastic speaker grill running across its front on the table. It's a little clunky but modern enough, and it surprises Homura to see Mami this prepared. Mami depresses a button and when she lets go a green indicator light winks to life and, after a momentary hiss, a flood of crisscrossing signals spits into the air around them. Mami tunes something with her fingers, and one clear conversation comes to life, rattling out the details of a minor traffic accident. Mami's eyes are only a little dimmed. "We do listen for potential threats, you know."
"A lot of people might die," Homura warns, appealing to sympathy and compassion that sound like a pretty poem in a language she doesn't know.
"We'll be ready, Miss Akemi," Mami insists with a little impatient bob of her head, perfectly exaggerated curls bouncing along in response.