Iman is mostly glad she chose not to move herself to the ROMAC Base. She likes her little ill-gotten Greenwich Village studio and the knowledge that even if Satan drops in on her occasionally, she's not directly under the thumb and possibly well-hidden eye of her sketchy employers. There is not much to be said for the distance, however. It takes her an unacceptably long time to reach the building, where she's SUPPOSED to be anyway for work, but instead she heads straight up to the apartment level, moving right to Greta's door. By this time no amount of frantically checking her stupid traitorous piece of shit little phone
has rewarded her with any responses. Greta MUST be up by now, so either she hasn't managed to notice the texts yet, or... Well, she doesn't even want to think about that.
She takes a deep breath and knocks.
She waits, listening. Knocks again.
"Greta?" she says softly, nervously. "It's me. Can... can I come in? Can we talk?"
Nothing. Not even movement. Iman's frown tightens. This doesn't seem normal. Greta doesn't seem the type of avoid a problem like this, anyway.
She weighs her options. Should she check inside? She doesn't like the idea of just walking away, especially when she's not sure where Greta is
Slowly she reaches out and puts her hand on the knob.
She really, really, really hopes Greta isn't in there. If she breaks in while Greta's in there, she - she doesn't even know.
Whatever. She breathes out and-
-the door is... open? No casual transmutaion required. That's... weird.
She steps inside and looks around. Everything looks fine. Clean. The bed looks slept in and unmade, which is unusual, Greta is so incredibly tidy all the time, and...
Oh thank FUCKING FUCK her phone is on the bedside table
," she whispers to the divine mercy of whatever coincidence allowed this
to happen. She grabs Greta's phone, which prompts her for a passcode, good, so someone showed her how to do that.
Unfortunately Iman is really good at breaking passcodes. That's kind of her thing.
"Sorry, Greta," she murmurs under her breath, hacks the code, slides open the phone. Greta has an absurd number of horrifying notifications, ugh ugh ugh. She feverishly opens up her text and deletes the entire record.
Okay. That's done. She is officially the luckiest bastard ever.
She sets the phone aside gingerly and breathes out. With that distress averted, she now takes the time to look around. Where is
Greta? Why would she have left the bed unmade - her phone her - her door unlocked? Iman can see her keys hanging on a little hook by the door, chews her lip looking at them. Perhaps she's doing laundry? Shit, that would be incredibly awkward, if she came back up to find Iman here. But no, there's the hamper there with a few things in it.
Shit. Iman stands up sharply. Shit, shit. Where is she? What happened to her?
Is she gone? Was she sent home? Did something happen?
She thinks about Rashad essentially breaking into Rush's apartment the other day - and she thinks about how fucking weird this morning is, Daniel floating, Seth a cat, her phone... Something definitely could have happened, maybe something bad, and she has no idea
how to track Greta down.
She paces in a tight circle, not sure what she should do. Well, okay, she knows she should probably calm down, but this morning has been TOO EVENTFUL by half for that to happen. That ship has gone to sea. She is full tilt frantic right now. She has to do something
but she has no idea where to even start.
Well. There are plenty of people who might.
She pulls out her phone. She really, really doesn't want to do this.
She sends a text.