The contact with Emma comes like an icy wind.
The image of Emma is dressed uncharacteristically, when she answers, wearing a heavy woolen gown trimmed with fur. She is, it appears, in her own townhouse, and she looks cold and tired. "Yes?" she offers into the contact.
To the image of Emma, Gilgamesh is framed by fire, a strange counter to the icy feel of the trump. While not actually full flambe, he does seem to be smoldering. At least, it looks like Gil under all that soot. If that's not Gil, he's going to be awfully mad someone is fireing his gun off-sides. WHUMP. "Emma!?" He almost screams. "Could use a hand out of here, please!"
The image of Emma's coppery brows lift, when she realizes just who it is - and she makes a very quick assessment of the situation. "Seriously, Gil?" she asks, exasperation in her alto. Nonetheless, like a good ex-fiancee, she extends a hand, expression remarkably patient.
Gilgamesh falls through the connection, stumbling, breathing hard, and smelling strongly of cordite. The hand-cannon gets flipped, the butt now acting as a club as he turns towards the direction he came...but of course, nothing else came through with him. He relaxes a tad, blinks.
And Emma extends a hand to help steady the larger man, perhaps silently glad that she's not managed to get herself a cup of tea yet. "No guns in the house," she chides, when he's about ready to club the thin air. Once she's sure the man's steady enough, the redhead takes a quick step back, giving him space.
Gilgamesh turns to hug the redhead, thinks better of it and looks down at himself. "Umm. Sorry. I'll get someone in here to clean after me. Stupid exploding clowns."
She holds her hands up, before he can even get too close to hugging her. "A thank you will suffice. A thank you, and a bath, if you please," Emma says. She pauses, then asks, in the tone of someone quite sure she's going to regret asking, "Exploding clowns?"
Gilgamesh says, "Exploding zombie clockwork clowns. Don't ask." The big gun gets holstered. "And thank you. If you hadn't answered...."
Hands move to rest on her hips, in what's likely not an unfamiliar gesture from the redhead. "If I hadn't answered, you'd be clown-food. I know. You're welcome." Emma spends a long moment looking him over, then.
Awkward pause. "You look good." This is said in a tone that suggests the real wording should be 'Thank you for getting up since I've obviously disturbed your sleep/day off/fill in the blank with yet another item to add to the list of Things Owed. Especially since it's not easy to get burnt smells out of the upholstry.'
"I do, don't I?" Emma replies, cheerfully enough. "Miss me yet?" She bats her eyelashes at him, making her possibly one of the only women around who can bat her eyelashes sarcastically.
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gil_karm's journal
amused
Smoldering
slapdoodled
recumbent
enthralled
accomplished
weird