A series of knocks drum against the apartment's door. Pain sears through Thea's temples, waves of nausea crash against her throat, and her head shoots up from its odd, crooked position over the arm of her recliner. She tries to force her eyes open, but her eyelids only flutter. Light from the balcony window stabs through her mind with every flap of vision.

She shields her eyes with a hand like a bad lookout trying to spot land from a ship's crow's nest. Whoever is outside raps three more times. Punctuating each knock, nails drive deeper into Thea's temples. Who in God's green earth is being so damn loud this early? She swallows down a bit of nausea, heaves in a breath, and pushes herself out of the recliner.

Cold glass brushes against the side of Thea's foot for a moment, then the empty beer bottle it belongs to tumbles to its side; it rolls across the floor to hit another empty bottle with a resonate clink. Lighting strikes Thea's ears, arcing through her mind in a painful web: she winces. Frank's going to get it whenever she sees him next, that bastard and his drinks. She claps her hands over her ears and slams her eyes shut.

It's quiet; it's calm; it's bearable.

Until the lack of sight and sound lets her nose take over: cranberry, strawberry, and yew flood her nostrils. Especially yew. Thea lets her shoulders fall and her lungs deflate. Without a doubt, that's the landlord coming to deliver the news. She cracks her eyes open again and feels around for her cane, waving her arms through empty air like a recently-made-glassless bookworm searching the floor.

Three more knocks none less polite than the last three.

With another wince of pain, her hand nudges the dense wood of the cane and she fumbles a hand around it. "Coming."

A soft, mouseish voice squeaks back from the hallway past the locked apartment door. "Of course. Take your time, take your time."

Ever patient on the outside. If Thea couldn't smell all the theft and deceit just under the surface, she'd think this woman was a saint. She undoes the lock and pulls the door open partway — the still-fastened door chain going taut. Despite her best effort, sarcasm tints her words. "Morning, Natasha. How may I bless your day?"

Being a head shorter, Natasha leans back and looks up into Thea's eyes before she lets loose a well-crafted laugh. "I never get tired of your jokes, Thea! You know it's noon, right? Anyways I had some paperwork I wanted to drop off for you and thought I should do it in person." She sweeps a stray hand through her blonde, waist length hair.

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The scent of mulberry steams off Natasha: she's not telling the whole story. Thea furrows her brow. "And what else?"

Natasha crosses her arms, tucking a furled packet of paper under her armpit. "You always know when I have more to say, don't you. Well, as an olive branch, do you think you could pay some portion of the unpaid rent? It'd really ease the burden I'm under right now if you could."

"What burden?"

With a smile, Natasha shrugs her shoulders. "Repairs to the apartments downstairs from that radiator bursting, replacing that one dryer in the laundry room, rising utility prices. All kinds of things that go into keeping this place running smooth for all the tenants."

Jitters rack Thea's heart, throwing it off beat. More mulberry. It's not the dryer Natasha's lying about though: that one absolutely sucks. Even Thea's socks won't come out of that thing dry. Thea shifts her eyes to the side with a couple shakes of her head. "I just don't have money to throw around right now. I'd pay you if I could. I really would."

Natasha's eyes light up, her smile tightens. "So you do have some? Are you sure you can't contribute then? I'd hate to have to pursue alternate paths to figure out this financial stitch."

Nerves send tremors down Thea's hand. Her fingers tremble against the cold wood of the door and her cane. "I—I wouldn't be able to eat if I gave you what I have. We both know state laws about this, you'd just be wasting money going after me. Right?"

Natasha's unerring smile falters for a blink. "I suppose you're not wrong." She uncrosses her arms and threads the furled packet through the gap. "Here's that paperwork then! If you have any questions, give me a call!" The landlord shuffles out of view with a wave.

Thea's heart drops: it's eviction papers, she doesn't need to look at them to know that. It's different actually holding them though. Thea yanks the door, but it jerks to a stop and the chain grinds against the wood. "W—Wait! I've got a question." She closes the door, undoes the chain with a clatter, and rips the door back open.

Only silence, not even footstep.

Thea sticks her head out. "If you wouldn't mind, can I ask a question now?"

The woman is facing Thea already, smile still there. "Go for it."

Thea's heart pounds inside her rib cage like it's trying to escape its bony prison. Regardless of how scummy Natasha is, this is still her home. She's made it her home: her first taste of independence. Freedom. Her first sanctuary against the chaos of the cold, uncaring world outside the monastery. Her home and no one else's. And she can't let it go this easy. "If I get the money before whatever date is on here, would I be able to stay?"

"Maybe! We can talk about that if we get there." She turns around and waves over her shoulder. "Have a good day, Thea!"

The papers are heavy in Thea's hands, rooting her arm in place like those weights pitchers wear on their wrists when they train. She has to get to Elia's. That damn mechanic is Thea's last chance to salvage this.