Nothing But Bones

40: Jarring

After shooing everyone away from the bathroom so she can have a bit of privacy with her jar, her duffel bag, and her phone, Tiff takes a seat on the closed toilet lid, pulls out a couple of plastic jars she uses for this kind of thing, and, thanking the universe around her for that bit of foresight, reaches for her phone where she left it on the edge of the tub.

There's only one notification of note: a text from Bloodsaw that just says "Call me. Now." Tiff very much isn't going to do that, but it's nice to see that they're adjusting to the new phone just fine; she calls her aunt instead.

Esther's voice is more tired than it was before, which Tiff supposed makes sense. It's getting late. "Tiff, honey. I feel like it's been forever since I last saw you."

"Ha-ha. Hello to you, too."

"You didn't have to check in, you know."

"I know." She snaps on an extra pair of gloves and reaches for her wet specimen jar-making tools. It's one of the projects she brought with her, anticipating more investigatory downtime. "Jar time."

"Are you making another jar? Oh— Who am I kidding? Of course you are."

"You're going to hate this one."

"I don't doubt I will. I take it this means you helped that Elton person you mentioned? And you're away from the situation for now?"

"I did— and that situation is over. Don't worry about it." She lifts the specimen from the original jar and turns it over for a little assessment.

"I have questions."

"I may or may not have answers."

"What did you do, honey?"

"Uh— Well—" She pauses to look away from the flesh in her hands and the jar she'll have to rinse. "There's a lot of ways to answer that question."

"Give me a list, then." Esther pauses and, through her own evident fatigue, makes the observation that, "You sound really worn out. Are you alright? Would you rather tell me when you get home?"

"No." She isn't going to have time, she thinks. What if something goes wrong? What if she never actually goes home? "I guess I'm just kind of tired. And worn out."

"I guess you are, honey." She chuckles like she does when she's looking at Tiff with bewildered admiration. "I guess that makes two of us."

"I'm not sick."

"I never said you were sick."

"Good. Because I'm not sick."

"I believe you— and, yes, I know I should 'believe you because it's true.'"

"Good. Because it is."

"So what did you do, then?"

There's an expectation in her aunt's voice that she doesn't know how to parse. Tiff pauses, syringe still in the specimen's scrotum. "You know. Same old. A necromancer sent us to the Bone Zone—"

"Excuse me?"

"A pocket dimension. Got attacked by a bone snake. Portal went wrong. Pushed myself too hard on the third portal. Fought the necromancer. Kepler dealt his finisher. Cauterized the wound. Performed an urostomy." She shrugs. "Normal Tiff shit, I guess."

"I'm sorry, you—" Tiff can hear the gears turning in her aunt's head as well as she can hear the rustling of someone sitting up on the couch. "You— Is that what's in the jar? That poor man's dick and balls?"