Participants:
| Scene Title | Off Your Feet |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | New next door neighbors meet, greet and exchange bodies. |
| Date | August 28, 2010 |
The hallway outside of 502 and 503.
The occupant of apartment 503 is not necessarily elusive. By no means is this individual discreet or reserved. As any real time spent in the adjoining rooms will prove, 503's presence is felt. In loudly played music, in the wafting of acrid smoke, in the growl of feedback and the sound of a guitar being played, day in and day out. Respite comes during working hours, or whenever 503 heads off to do whatever 503 does when not disturbing their neighbors.
Eccentric, then, is maybe the impression one might get from observation-in-passing. Signs hang on 503's door, written in painstaking but messy script on scrap paper, offering services like 'My Two Cents - 2ยข' or 'Unburden your mind - all the change in your pockets', along with a double sided sign hanging from the doorknob that states either 'The Sage is IN' or 'The Sage is OUT'. Whatever that means.
But an actual sighting of occupant, beyond merely signs, is possible on this day as Sable, the troublemaker of 503, is leaving yet more markers. Trailing cardboard tubes, the dark haired girl is in the midst of taping a large poster depicting to big metal heads sitting in a field, recognizable to an appreciator of psychedelic rock as the cover of Pink Floyd's 'The Division Bell'. She seems to be having some trouble getting taping the top corner because, simply put, she's too short.
But don't point that out to her.
The occupants of 503's neighboring room are considerably more 'normal' for all listening purposes. Only on occasion can one here the their presence in either A) The form of a redhead's ill-timed, usually pointless, and loud outburst. Or, B) Isis's iPod playing a range of tunes from the Beatles' 'Hey Jude' to Lilly Allen's 'Fuck You'.
It's at this time that Isis is headed out for a trip to the bar… again. The redhead is dressed per her usual - skinny jeans tucked into black boots, a green halter, and finally a fitted leather jacket. She turns a moment to lock the deadbolt, peering aside from beneath the falls of crimson curls to take in her neighbor, as she turns the key. Hazel eyes sweep up and down the short frame before boots thud out an easy pace. At first, Isis walks right by the little damsel in distress. It's only when she turns to take a second look, that can't be helped, that she thinks the better of it.
"Here." Isis smiles, grateful for the additional height in her altered body, as she braces a hand to the top corner of the poster, looking down to Sable with a tilted smirk.
Combined with Sable's own common musical lineup, there may have been Beatles playing in stereo from time to time. Lilly Allen likely sings alone, but hey, no one's perfect. Except for Jimi Hendrix.
Sable looks surprised as anything as a hand appears overhead and a flash of red hair appears at the border of her periphery (she can only tell it's red after glancing, there being no color recognition in peripheral vision proper). And there is a moment in which Sable is grinning in a very specific, fond way but then Isis' voice, unfamiliar, goes from heard to actually heard, and the grin is knocked a little out of alignment, slanting to one side as Sable cranes her neck. Yellow eyes find hazel ones, then dart up and down the redhead. The new redhead.
"Jesus, 'm I that fuckin' lucky?" the dark haired girl says, eyes settling back on Isis' after their brief detour. "Thanks, hon. One sec." She reaches up and applies some tape to that corner, then make a hop to apply some to the other, easier now that the poster has been stabilized. Four applications in total fix the image in place, and then Sable turns, slipping the roll of tape in a cargo-pant pocket and properly facing Isis.
"What dream did you stumble out 'f, hon? How's it I've never seen y' 'round before? I know I'd've remembered if I had," Sable says, arms folding across her chest, smile still very much in force.
The redhead's brows dance between furrowing in humble confusion and lofted in amusement for the very manner in which the compliments are voiced. "Dream?" She chuckles and makes a show of fanning herself. "Don't flatter me so. Some think me a nightmare." Isis winks and combs her fingers back through her hair, a useless effort for all the good it does as the locks dance back around her pale face. "I'm a newbie," she admits with an eagerly growing smile. Her eyes drink up the pixie-like countenance before her, leaving a moment of awkward pause before the redhead picks back up the conversation, voice notably void of any place-able accent - practiced neutral.
"Just moved in next door, actually." She nudges her nose in the direction behind the tiny woman. "Hey, is that you I hear playing music from time to time?" She doesn't seem put off by the noise, instead pleasantly curious to meet the source of the loud tunes. She leans her leather-clad shoulder to the wall beside Sable's door, canting her head to the side like a curious feline as she crosses one lazy boot across the other left to support her slight weight.
"Hon, I won't judge y' either way, dream 'r nightmare, 'til I've got grounds t' say which," Sable says, grinning, some line surely coming, "so I'll wait 'til I spend th' night with y' to say." And there it is. At least Isis is getting to know Sable for who she is. Those yellow eyes seem to take no small interest in the dance of Isis' hair, and while the redhead's efforts may be useless, to Sable, at least, they are far from fruitless.
"Next door? Christ, I am that fuckin' lucky!" Sable exclaims, taking a lean on the other side of her door, giving Isis some space, a foot moving out to corral those cardboard tubes, surely containing more posters, the Floyd one just the first shot in a long campaign to convert the whole hallway. "'n' no, hon, yer mistakin' me f'r someone else. I'm th' one who's playin' music all th' goddamn time," her grin is quite crooked. She sticks out her hand, offering a shake.
"'m Sable. Sage 'f Gun Hill. 'n' I'm in a band." Just FYI.
Isis chuckles softly, cheeks beginning to hurt with the smile that seems impossible to remove under the assault of compliments. "And, here I thought I wasn't the blushing type," she quips as she feels a warmth flooding her cheeks with a rosy color that shows plainly on her pale complexion. She checks her control on her ability and extends her hand, offering Sable's little palm a quick, firm shake. "Joanne. But, Jo works, please."
"You're good," she offers her note of flattery to the little woman. "Where does you band play? I'd love hear you, you know… not through the wall." She shifts against the wall, made a little bit antsy under the cute woman's attention. Flirting? She's out of practice.
"Y' should try 'n' change that, then, hon," Sable says, giving Isis' hand a firm shake, "blushin' looks real fine on y'. It's a pleasure Jo. I hope I won't drive y' completely fuckin' crazy, you livin' next t' me. You need me t' quiet down, you just come knockin'. Hell, you c'n come knockin' if y' need anythin' at all. If y' need nothin', come knockin'. Consider m' door open t' y'."
Ah, but Isis has returned fire with compliments of her own. Sable wrinkles her nose. "We've had just one gig. Shit keeps happenin'. I just got m' good arm out 'f a sling, 'n' our bassist has this fuckin' habit 'f almost gettin' himself killed every goddamn month so," she shrugs, "best I c'n do is say that y' should come 'round t' practice sometime. Our keyboardist, Quinn, she lives in th' apartment just under me. She's way fuckin' cool," she grins, "I'd love t' introduce you."
Sable taps the door between them with her knuckles, "Wanna step inside, hon? I promise not t' make a pass at y', not unless y' give me a real clear openin'."
The redhead is blatantly grinning by this point. The rare expression looks nice on her angular features, admittedly. "Sounds like he has some luck of the Irish," she teases in regards to the death-wish bassist. "I'm jealous, you know. Never been much too good with anything other than piano. And, I don't sing any more. 'Bout all I can do now-a-days is make you a good martini." She winks and straightens up as Sable presents the invitation.
"What a gentle-lady you are," she quips, and nudges her head towards the door. "Sure, let's see how this rock star lives," she replies, hooking her thumbs casually into her front pockets. "As for making a pass? We'll see how much you can butter me up with those compliments, eh?" She waggles her brows and follows after Sable.
"Quinn's Irish!" Sable exclaims, "hate t' think how our boy'd be if her luck wasn't 'round t' keep 'im safe. Then 'gain, nothin' saves him from the punishment she dishes out. She's our enforcer y' see. Me, I'm too much 'f a softy, y'know?" Her lupine smile doesn't quite seem to back up her 'softness' but appearances can deceive. Sable turns the knob on her door, and pushes it in, bowing low and gesturing broadly with her arm.
"Enter," Sable bids, "'n' please f'rgive th' mess. Rock star livin' don't ever mean neat 'n' tidy."
The rocker's digs are pretty chaotic. The walls are festooned with many patterned swaths of cloth, converging and looping to enshrine images of great figures from classic and acid rock. The Beatles, Hendrix, Floyd, Joan Jett, The Who… all have representation. It's not cluttered, though, this room. The only piece of furniture is a large bed sitting back and center, pressed up against the outer wall, just under the window that leads out to the fire escape. The walls and ceiling around the bed are decorated with more cloth, and quite a few pages from 1960's and 70's Playboy magazines.
Sable leads the way, turning when she reaches the center of the room, hands on hips as she gives Isis a very considering look. "You better not be playin' with my heart, hon," she warns, though she's still smiling, a brow arched, "you look like y've got it in y' to. You know what y've got, blush 'r no. Y' know th' effect y' have on folks. Don't be cruel, hon, not 't least 'til y' know I deserve it!"
Isis nods, slow and approving, as she scopes out the lay of the studio apartment. "Hey, I put my bed in the same spot," she comments, pointing at the cushy mattress. She steps forward, though, spinning in place with the effort to take in all the details of plastered material upon the walls. In all honesty, most of the musical references in images are lost on her. She likes music, but has a horrible knack for placing artists to their appropriate music. She hears a song, she likes it. The end.
The redhead pauses with a grin as she faces back about to look upon the pixie-like girl. She rolls her eyes. "Oh yeah, I'm a lady killer," she offers sarcastically, making a theatrical motion as if plunging an invisible knife into her own heart. "No tease though, I got enough of it in mean to appreciate both worlds, Missy miss." She makes a gesture of swinging a bat in one direction and then the other before laughing aloud, honey-alto tones warming the atmosphere. "Nice place, though."
Sable's grin becomes appreciative as she watches Isis' pantomime. She gives a laugh at the bat-swinging. She gets it! Sable shakes her head. "More power to y', hon," she says, "I'm hard fuckin' pressed t' find much good in a man, but mebbe I'm missin' out, eh? Still, dunno that I've got much choice, y'know? Y' are what y' are, 'n' y' want what y' want. Figurin' out what y' want, who y' are, is hard enough in th' first place. 'n' honest," she winks, "seein' what I see in front 'f me, I ain't gonna ask f'r more. Girls," she presses a hand to her chest, in a swooning gesture, "what y' do t' me. Redheads in particular, lately. Jesus!" That she just can't get over.
"Glad y' like it, 'n' I mean it when I say y' c'n come over whenever. 't least, whenever th' sign out there says I'm IN, dig?" Sable says, motioning to the closed door, "Y'all c'n take a seat if y' like, though there's only th' bed. Promise that ain't a step t'wards nothin', either," she doesn't actually turn this into a tease, "y' smoke grass, hon? I'll roll a jay if yer game. Only thing I ask is that y' tell me how it is y' come here t' Gun Hill. Everyone here's got a story, 'n' I'm game t' hear yers, if yer tellin'."
"Grass?" Isis cocks a brow into a subtle arc. She looks around a moment before the corners of her lips turn down in a thoughtful, 'why not' expression. "Haven't in years. But, you know what? …" She gets a suddenly determined look. "What the fuck. I could use some unwinding." She shrugs out of her leather jacket and tosses it up onto the head of the bed before spinning about to flop down to sit at its foot.
She watches Sable. "Well, looks like we've both been struck by our weakness, chica." You're frickin' adorable! But, she doesn't say it aloud, leaving the statement to hang as she looks around again. "You're welcome over at my place, but … I have a really wonky roommate. He can be… uptight." She nods at this particular choice of wording and chuckles.
As the inquiry comes about her story, though, she pauses and watches Sable more closely. "You're here. Which means, I can be honest, right?" Semi-honest, anyway. "Got into a lot of trouble. Don't want to register. Dug a friend, the roomy, out of some equal trouble in another country, so we got back in with the help of some friends. They're letting us crash here for a bit."
Sable grins, stooping to reach under her bed, "I like," she says, voice a little muffled from under there, "th' way," she finds something, pulls it out, "y' think, hon," is said with Sable standing, upright, before Isis, a shoebox in hand. She hops up onto the bed next to the redhead, not being at all shy with how their thighs touch, and opens the shoebox in her lap. Inside are much as you'd expect. A pipe, some rolling papers, a few lighters and, of course, a rather sizable bag of marijuana. There is also a smaller bag containing what the experienced eye will recognize as psilocybin mushrooms.
"Uptight, eh? Jesus, I'll visit t' see you, hon, but y'll have t' keep watch on me, 'cause I sorta rub some folks th' wrong way," Sable says, taking out a rolling paper and, with skill born of experience, begins to prepare a joint, shredding some of the weed with her fingers and sprinkling it in the folded groove of the paper, "'course," she adds, grinning sidelong at Isis, "I rub plenty 'f others th' right way.
"'n' always be honest with me, hon," Sable urges, lifting the paper and licking the edge, rolling and twisting, the joint taking shape, "I'm one 'f y'all, like most 'f th' folks here. Ain't registered either, nor will I ever if I c'n avoid it. Tell me," she offers the jay to Isis, taking a lighter in hand, ready to ignite, "what is it you do, 'sides make me feel like pouncin' on y'?"
Those hazel eyes, and even the deeper brown they used to be, are not at all experienced in the recognition of drugs beyond any varieties of alcohol. The redhead watches the skill in rolling the joint with a half-minded attention before finding her gaze absorbed in the silhouette of Sables small, sharp features. Still, the smile finds reign over the soft bow of her pale lips.
"You really want to know?" Isis inquires, a fiery glint lending the hazel color of her eyes towards a honey-gold hue. These new eyes are only another reason she will never prove a master of lies - giving away her moods without any concern for their mistress. Isis reaches out, gently pushing Sable's wrist present a distance between the girl and the rolled drug for a moment. Banishing the smoke to the wayside, she holds out her hand.
So rarely does she get to let down the strong guard of control on her ability. She seems antsy for the oppritunity and holds out her empty palm. "I won't hurt you. Well, intentionally. I've practiced a lot. I can make it pretty smooth, now," she states, nudging her little nose down towards where her slender fingers are held out to her companion.
Well this… wasn't what Sable was expecting. She blinks, captivated by that glint, attention riveted, the jay forgotten even as it hangs between her fingers. She wets her lips with her tongue half-nervously as Isis promises 'I won't hurt you', which is a promise that is less comforting than one might hope. Still… Sable's not scared. She's excited.
Without further inquiry or investigation, in an act of simple faith and basic curiosity, Sable reaches out to take the redhead's hand. She smiles, lopsided. "…do yer thing."
With Sable's small fingertips poised like a dancer in Isis's palm, there is a long moment of silence and waiting. The young redhead holds Sable's gaze with a tilted smile before stealing a deep breath. Gently, like lifting a gate ever so slowly before the contained flows water, the girl lends her control to the natural will of her power. Vision, consciousness, the very world seems to quaver for a moment. Rocky and uncertain, there are a few jolts of pinches and twists within each girl's gut before the each mindset slips from its anchored body and flows into the opposite form.
Isis gasps as she looks back on her own body. She shudders abruptly as her consciousness settles into the frame. Never has she completed an exchange so kindly and … slowly. "That was…nerve-wracking," she whispers, on Sable's vocal cords. Perhaps she would rather endure sudden pains than feel her psyche slip away in such an disturbing fashion. Still, she adjusts Sable's pixie-like features in a reassuring smile.
There is really nothing in the world that could have prepared Sable for this. There is a moment's instinct during which she fights the shift, but she pushes that knee jerk defense down and just… let's it happen. And when it does, when Sable blinks with Isis's eyes, looks over to see herself speaking, smiling, using her voice but bereft of accent… she is rendered totally speechless. For a good five whole seconds. Which is pretty good for her.
"No, f- woah…" Sable begins, about to express her surprise but then surprised out of expression - it is so weird to speak with someone's else's voice. Isis sees her own full lips tug into an unfamiliarly awkward smile, as Sable looks down at her borrowed body, hands reaching to touch at herself, making some preliminary explorations. Finally, the smile becomes a grin.
"That's so fuckin' cool," are the first real words to escape Isis's lips under Sable's control. She lifts her hands up to run fingers through her newly acquired, long hair. "Jesus…" she says, laughing, a new laugh, not entirely her own, though not entirely Isis' either, "this could be fun." She bites her lip, mischief gleaming in hazel eyes.
Sable's eyes look back on their conductor's rightful body with a gleam of amusement. Isis chuckles as she watches the reaction to the body-swap. "Cool? I'm glad someone thinks so," she replies, even with a smile that becomes more and more easy to share in Sable's company.
At the mention of fun, however, Sable's tiny body sits up at attention, a little hand reaching out towards the redheaded frame. "Hey now," she warns uncertainly, but checks her instinctual reaction. "Sorry," she mumbles. "Just, believe it or not, I've had this used against me…" She chuckles and shakes her head, embarrassed by her own admission of having her body stolen from her. "But, yeah…" she admits after a short moment, nodding more encrouagingly. "It can be fun. And, it can be a pain in the arse." She grins.
"How's it feel?" she inquires with a more devilish expression, suddenly puppeteering her borrowed body up to its feet. Within a moment, Sable's body is lighting the joint, claiming a few puffs and passing it off. Only then does that little, elfish body bound up onto the bed and beginning bouncing around on the mattress like a spoiled child.
Sable takes the joint between Isis' fingers and takes long draw. She holds it, then goes a bit red in the face, and starts to cough. She doubles over a bit, coughs coming short and jerky, and she pounds Isis' chest with the borrowed fist, her other hand extending to offer the joint back please please take it back!
"Y… really haven't smoked in years, Jesus," Sable says, croakily. She blinks, "Woah… but y' ain't got so much, uh, like in th' way of tolerance…" she cracks her lips into a wide smile, and turns to see Isis taking liberties with her diminution. She half giggles, half snickers, stows the joint quickly in the box, stubbing it out, then dives across the bed to catch her own bouncing legs, tackling the body snatcher.
Reaching up with wonderfully long arms she tries to drag her rogue form down. "Come 'ere!" she says, grinning, "I'll show y' how it feels."
"Ah-yah!" Isis screeches on Sable's melodic tones in one of her truly rare girly moments. She fails a moment as her balance is upset, windmilling Sable's tiny arms before toppling over with a soft "Oof," as she bounces onto the plush mattress. "Lightweight? PSHAA! Look who's talkin'?" With the right mood, her words tends toward a truly New Englander accent - Bostonian, if one is able to place it. "Woman, smoke 'em all ya want. But, I betcha I can drink ya undah the table, ya?" She winks and keeps her hands carefully in check, tucking them up under a pillow to avoid any skin-to-skin contact. It's fun in this tiny body, after all, and a joy not to check the control of the ability still inhabited in her rightful body.
She looks to her body from behind a few choppy strands of hair. "So, what's your super power, hunna? I can usually tell - ya, know, setting something off accidentally and stuff." She untucks a hand, looking at Sable's fingertips as if trying to work out a puzzle that might be imprinted in their fingerprints.
Sable spent some time in Beantown, she recognizes that accent. She stalks up over Isis, a predator's advance that looks all the leaner and meaner for Isis's longer limbs. She hovers over the now-tiny other girl, hair spilling down off her shoulders and falling to frame her grinning face. "You a Boston gal, hon?" she asks, "how's it I spent over a year in those parts, never once saw you? Wasted time between!"
The newly-redhead draws back onto her haunches, and starts to examine herself as well, tugging at the haltertop, feeling the length of her hair, briefly weighing her chest in her hands. The question draws Sable's attention away from her new self, though, and she flashes a smirk. "What else d' y' think, hon?" she says, "I'm blessed with incredible musical genius. All you need worry 'bout is accidentally changin' th' course of music history.. f'rever!"
Only one hit, and her eyes are bloodshot, her smile sticking. Would you believe, though, that she's just as ridiculous when sober? She leans back over Isis. "I like you, gal," she says, "we're gonna at least be friends. That's a sure fuckin' thing, dig?"
Sable's eyes widen slightly as they take in the sight of the redheaded frame poised over her. "Mom lived the-yah. Went to visit her on weekends. It stuck," Isis admits on the matter of her accent. "Ya wouldn't recognize me know, anywho," she comments ambiguously, smiling that devilishly sweet expression that makes a fine fit for Sable's sharper features.
Isis laughs aloud as she watches the examination of her body. "Doncha feel wee-yad seducing yowah-self," she quips with a wicked expression as Sable puppets the redheaded frame back over.
After a long moment of giggles and smiles, Sable's features set to a more sincere expression of seriousness. "I like ya, too," she admits. "We ah going to get in a lotta trouble, ahn't we?" She smirks.
"I like a gal with an accent," Sable says, looming over herself once more, "Yer wearin' me well, hon. Y' like it in there? Make yerself at home, ain't nothin' I wouldn't let y' have at anyways." She adds a wink to this declaration, happily flirting, however extremely weird it may in fact be to flirt with oneself. The seriousness, however brief, is accepted with a single nod. Good. They like each other. That's a fine start.
"Hell," Sable says, biting her lip, "they're gonna feel like fools f'r ever puttin' us so close t' each other. I can't wait t' introduce y' t' my crew. They're gonna fall all over y'." She leans down, close, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. Isis's features.
"Y' know… how often d' y' get th' chance…?" the question trails off, leaving Isis perhaps temporarily in the dark. But the answer comes soon enough as Isis's own lips descend to find Sable's.
How often do you get the chance to kiss yourself?
How often? Isis has certainly had the chance a time or two. One of Sable's brows cocks up in a curious arc as the redhead body voices a curious statement. Isis tips the head of her borrowed body to the side like a curious cat, realizing only a moment too late what is to come. She brings up Sable's tiny hands, but holds them uselessly beside her head - contact is inevitable.
As each pair of soft lips finds a warm place against the other, the redhead's body does as it does best … Isis's consciousness does her best to slow the swap, but as unprepared as she is, each consciousness is yanking by the cord of their bellybuttons and hurtled out of their borrowed vessels. The collision back into ones rightful place is equally uncomfortable, slowed only a minute degree with Isis's help, until each mindset is wedged back in the proper fleshiness.
Isis's breath wavers quick and uncertain over Sable's lips, the contact unbroken for a long time. She waits, shifting a hand to tuck up against the skin of Sable's waist before pulling back to lick her lips. "Keeping contact will keep any more craziness from happing again," she explains as she catches her breath. Her own pain is waning, more familiar with this unnatural exchanging process. "You okay?"
Again, this is not what Sable had expected. Not by any means. She's used to a stomach-twirling feeling on a first kiss, the thrill of new lips, but this is not the same. Not at all. Sable's yellow eyes, hers again, are wide open rather than shut as she comes to in her own form, her own lips now the receiving ones. She…
Man, she hurts. Sable grimaces, shoulders hunching a little. "Jesus Christ…" she groans, "that sure ain't th' feelin' I was after…" she looks up at Isis, still in the grips of the shift's discomfort, "Sorry 'bout that. I mean…" she gives a weak smile, "I'm sorta sorry. Not entirely." She glances down at the hand on her waist, then lowers her own hand to touch against it. "Yer sayin'… we keep touchin', 'n' nothin' else'll happen?"
Her smile is regaining strength, "I think I c'n live with that."
Isis's brows, knit with a soft line of worry, ease back into place as Sable proves herself well enough to continue her flirting and jests. The redhead laughs her natural, alto warmth aloud. "I shoulda warned ya. But, don't ever say our first kiss nevah knocked ya for yah feet." She winks and entwines her fingers with Sable's, confirming there are no further surprises as long as the contact is maintained.
"Seems to be only the initial bit that sets it off. Besides, back in here," she gives her hips a wiggle to denote her rightful body, "I can control it." She grins and nips at Sable's nose before leaning back. She looks over the tiny frame wedged beneath her, peach-pale lips tilted in a mischievous expression. "I should go," she mumbles after a moment, accent carefully disguised once more.
Sable sits up much too fast when Isis says those last words. Ow. Owww… Sable grimaces once more, falling back onto the bed, forced to give Isis a reproachful look from a supine position. Maybe it will be all the more pitiable? "Do y' really?" she says, trying not to sound too wheedling, while retaining the definite timbre of disappointment, "y' just kiss me 'n' run off?" Because, you know, under some definition, Isis kissed Sable. Technically.
Lips quirk to one side as Sable examines Isis from top to bottom, once more. "If y' gotta, y' gotta," she concedes, judging that perhaps now is not the time to ask too much. She's pushed the envelop pretty far for a first meeting, "but you come back, y' hear? We got trouble t' brew!"
Isis's fingertips wiggle against Sable's side as they woman sits up, only to lay back down. "You'll feel better soon, I promise. First time is always the worst." She smiles encouraginly. "I'm not usually the kiss n' run type. Just have some things I have to do. You know where to find me, besides."
With that, Isis untangles her fingers and grabs her jacket, sliding of the bed and waving a quick peace-sign over her shoulder. "Stay out of trouble, Super Star. I'll see you around." She shows herself to the door, peeking through the crack with a smile before shutting it completely.