Pick Your Poison, Monday Afternoon

[joan_of_bark]

A few-- was it months? -- ago, the lamia had been in her organs, in her brain. But it had retreated, leaving Pam alive, for now, occasionally nipping at her bones or crawling over her flesh. Fine, for the time being. These days, she preferred not to be actively dying.

But it was still growing. And so, rattled from that morning, she retreated to the bathroom of the little laboratory-apartment above Pick Your Poison with a razor. She'd bundle up the chunks of lamia from her thighs and sides with the remains of the fungal creature and dispose of it later.

For now, she let them lay on the shower floor. She went downstairs, cracked open the front door to let some fresh air in, checked in on the garden-- and then found herself approaching the back, where the inventory sat.

If she was going to stay here for a while, she might as well clear out all the crappy 'eco-friendly' chemical bombs the previous owner had left her. Pam found a big trash can, put it down behind the counter, and began to work her way through shelves of shampoos and bath bombs.

It kept her mind quiet.

[[ open ]]