Maeve let out a faint moan, rolling over and burying her face in her pillow. She inhaled deeply, a smile crossing her face. She was so glad she’d bought that lavender plant. The fan from her AC blew the smell all around her bedroom, a soothing and calming aura permeating the entire room. She stretched out, her her legs fully extended and her toes pointed towards the door before she finally rolled over, letting out a yawn as she arched her back. The silk sheets tangled around her like a net, and she struggled to kick them off, finally opening her eyes. She blinked, sitting directly up in bed and looking around her room. The white walls were still intact, still in their pristine condition. But a few of the landscape paintings she’d gathered up had fallen, one of the frames broken. The lavender plant had spilled out over the sides of it’s pot, covering nearly a fourth of her small bedroom. No wonder the smell had been so strong. She shook her head, staring at it again and desperately trying to remember what had happened the night before.<br/><br/>She’d gone on a job… with Asian Barbie, Goody-shoes, Bratva, the pig, and Jungle fever… she’d never been good at names and had always used nicknames in her head. If they weren't too offensive, she sometimes used them out loud as well. They’d gotten the job done… but the details were fuzzy… except… something had happened. She felt queasy, her mind trying to wrap around what on earth had happened as she stared foggily at the lavender plant, knowing it couldn’t possibly be that big. She’d only been living here a week so far, and as spartan and neat as her apartment was, it just wasn't making sense. Shaking her head, she pulled herself free from her sheets and stumbled into the bathroom, trying to avoid the broken glass.<br/>Not even bothering with a cup, she stuck her head under the faucet in the sink and washed her mouth out before drinking deeply. She felt dehydrated, and desperately thirsty. But more than that, the skin on her fingers and arms were itching, brown discoloration around the nails. She grimaced, figuring she hadn’t showered when she’d gotten home last night. It was almost as if she was hungover, but she didn’t remember the job ending, let alone drinking. Just… a voice. But that was gone shortly after she thought it, unable to remember what it sounded like.<br/><br/>Once in the shower, the ginger haired woman let out a relaxed sigh, the steam helping to wake her up and clear her head a bit more. Aside from a few quirks coming from working with new people, and Goody-shoes not knowing that she needed to police her brass, she could remember enough of the initial operation, though only a few details. However, once they exited the warehouse… everything after that was… a fog. She couldn't shake the feeling that there’d been death. Some of them hadn’t made it back. She turned her attention to her hands, before freezing in place, water running down her body. The brown colors had spread somehow. Quickly, the arms dealer grabbed a washcloth and began quickly scrubbing her fingers, trying to get the grime off. But it wasn’t leaving, like a stain.<br/><br/>Finally emerging from the bathroom, she stopped in shock. The lavender plant had moved. She’d been so annoyed by it before, having to stumble through it to get to the bathroom. The pot was still in the corner but all the stems and blossoms that had spilled out over her floor were now using the hooks from her picture frames and coat racks to hold themselves neatly and cleanly to the wall, and it had expanded further. She shook her head, pulling a robe around her and walking into her living room. The first thing she noticed was how unusually healthy her fig tree looked. Normally she spent a few minutes twice a day picking up the leaves it shed. But there wasn’t a single one on the floor. Instead it looked fuller, happier. She reached out and touched one of the leaves, before instinctively kneeling down next to it and grabbing a handful of the dirt, horrified at her own actions as she began to frantically rub it on her hands, burying her fingers, than her hands in the soft soil. She let out a shudder, finally pulling her hands free and shaking them off, grimacing at the dirt that coated her skin and the soil under her nails. Rubbing her hands together as she tried to get the dirt off, the red haired woman stopped. The stains around her fingertips were gone.<br/><br/>“Coffee… I can’t deal with this… I need coffee…” she blinked, hearing her kitchen cabinet open up as she stood still. Someone else was in her house. Grabbing the pistol she kept in the tissue box, she stepped silently into her kitchen, stopping in the doorway as her hands shook. Vines from her ivy plant were currently popping the capsule into her Keurig machine, sliding a cup into place and pushing buttons. Riveted to her spot, she watched this in silent horror until the steady dripping of the coffee maker stopped. She returned to the other room and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the shelf, dumping half of the remainder into the cup and drinking it without sugar, still hot, burning her throat. Shaking, she walked back into the other room, sitting next to the fig tree and beginning to rub more dirt on her skin before she could stop herself.<br/><br/>The gentle chiming of a text arriving in her phone knocked some sense into her as she slid backwards on the floor and away from the rich earth in the large pot supporting her fig tree. Brushing the dirt off her hands once more, she shook her head, reaching out for her phone to see who was trying to get ahold of her now.