They're heading back to the morgue from the station when Ravi pauses and puts a hand on her elbow to stop her. “Hold up,” he says.
Liv tears her arm from his gentle grip and dusts her elbow off with a scowl.
Her scowl deepens when she (her real self,
buried under the dickishness of a movie producer who apparently thought he was the salt of the Earth and anyone else was unworthy of touching his highness--why can't she ever eat a nice,
normal brain? How about a kindergarden teacher?) That would be lovely). She places a hand gently on Ravi's arm in a friendly gesture to compensate.
“Over there,” Ravi says, unfazed by Liv's alternavitely cold and hot movements. His head tilts thoughtfully as he peers at a fashionably dressed woman talking to the officer at the front desk.
“Limp, dirty blond hair. Pale as the dead. Definitely a zombie, am I right?”
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