here again / back and forth / here again { lex + helle | jb

Another year passes and, wrapped up in her own life, Lex Lionel finds it harder and harder to muster the energy to chide whichever idiot kid has chosen to throw their life away, not that it ever seemed to do them much good. On the fifth anniversary of the reaping that brought her to hell and then back again — murdered on a whim, resurrected on a lark — there's more than enough to reflect on, and she's sure she'll get around to it inside of a week when she's planing boards for the fifth annual anything-but-pine casket. But she's an adult. No more working through it at top-volume in the direction of this year's willing sacrifice. That's behind her.

Not that she's ever gotten through to anyone, anyhow.

Not that this year's volunteer seems like she's in much of a state for it either way.

If nothing else, she can at least size Hellemine up for casket dimensions. She's got business to attend to in the Justice Building anyway — despite technically being reinstated, work-travel authorization has been impossible since the lockdown eased after everything that went on last winter, and the last months spent caged between the maples and aspens have been impossible too.

She runs her thumb over the purple thread knotted around her finger, and sighs before she enters the too-familiar holding room.

"Alright," Lex offers, right to the point. No salutations, no admonishment, no name-calling. She leans up against the doorframe, too much going on for both previously-resurrected and soon-to-be-deceased to linger for longer. "You can get your survival advice anywhere else. But I'm District Seven's foremost expert on dying. Any questions?" She unfolds her arms but her brow does not unfurrow. "And tell me what kind of lumber you'd like. Y'know —" Year after year after year after year, there's still no point in sugar coating it. Surely the girl in front of her knows what she signed up for. "— to be buried in."