Neither of the two acknowledge Jack, but it's possible that they're just too absorbed in their discussion. Possible, but not probable, however agitated the guy is getting on the topic.
"A 'frame up' job is one thing, but he's got a bone saw in there, among other things. He's going to cut her body up into pieces!"
"...Yes? Because human authorities would be confused by the claw marks?" The girl glances toward the door thoughtfully. "It's a shame we didn't have any of this asshole's DNA to put between her teeth and under her nails, I think people should know that she died fighting."
The guy groans and presses the heels of of his hands against his eyes, falling backward to lay fully on the ground. "Aren't you here to offer me emotional support?" he complains. She snorts and rolls over to rest her weight on her elbows and look at him.
"I," she says loftily, "am here to chronicle the end of Stacia Highstorm's story. I will use your monkey mourning to enhance the tale, and everyone will agree that it is well-told and honors her in the telling." She considers him thoughtfully for a moment. He hasn't taken his hands off of his eyes. "You're upset. More than usual. Can you put it in words, or do I need to sit on you until some of the sad comes out first?"
He makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob and rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in his arms. She pushes herself up and clambers awkwardly on top of him, using her own body like a weighted blanket.
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"A 'frame up' job is one thing, but he's got a bone saw in there, among other things. He's going to cut her body up into pieces!"
"...Yes? Because human authorities would be confused by the claw marks?" The girl glances toward the door thoughtfully. "It's a shame we didn't have any of this asshole's DNA to put between her teeth and under her nails, I think people should know that she died fighting."
The guy groans and presses the heels of of his hands against his eyes, falling backward to lay fully on the ground. "Aren't you here to offer me emotional support?" he complains. She snorts and rolls over to rest her weight on her elbows and look at him.
"I," she says loftily, "am here to chronicle the end of Stacia Highstorm's story. I will use your monkey mourning to enhance the tale, and everyone will agree that it is well-told and honors her in the telling." She considers him thoughtfully for a moment. He hasn't taken his hands off of his eyes. "You're upset. More than usual. Can you put it in words, or do I need to sit on you until some of the sad comes out first?"
He makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob and rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in his arms. She pushes herself up and clambers awkwardly on top of him, using her own body like a weighted blanket.