Twenty four hours.

Not supper long. But Long enough.

Notes are noted and handed to Foxes as the weekday tells her Cabal that she was off to somewhere. For a while. Don't wait up.

Also. Don't worry. She'll be back. Promise.

it was even in writing. Because notes. Were totally noted.

The go bag...wasn't a problem. Old habits. She still had hers. It was just off the blanket fort. And she had another one in the always creepy Ronaldo House. For reasons.

So with a bag on one arm and a unicorn on the other she stepped from Here to There.

And....

....oh my fucking god.

Slack-jawed. Not something that would ever describe Tuesday, but here she was, and is.

Glittery hazels turn to Avis, karping it up and shaking her head.

Wonder. Amazement. All them synonyms.

"Space. Fucking. Space."

Gotta get some.