“Perhaps your lack of recognition stems from a dissociative fugue suffered in adolescence, say at a Siouxsie and the Banshees concert?” Spencer felt a warm feeling in his belly as Piper laughed. “You’re seriously trying to tell me you don’t remember rocking that look?” “You really didn’t change anything?” Emily asked, sounding rather sad. “Oh, Em,” Piper sighed, still grinning as she squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, no, pussycat, that’s all you,” Penelope replied, “Garfield High, class of ‘89.” “Well, you obviously altered it in photoshop or something,” Emily replied, “That hair?” “Do?” Penelope asked innocently and Spencer smiled, watching Piper laugh. The same jet black hair but much, much poofier, with dark, thick eyeliner that somehow went up to her eyebrow, matte black lipstick and a black leather tank top with fishnet sleeves. “What did you do to it?” Piper restrained herself from laughing out loud, clapping a hand on her mouth at the picture of a younger Emily. “All right, very funny, you guys,” Emily snapped, pulling the headshot from Penelope’s hands. A single dark hair tie hung on her wrist and her old leather watch with a hazy gold face. She was wearing a dark brown knit button-up, tucked into a beige plaid skirt that went to her knees. “What’s he talking about?” Spencer’s gaze flickered over at Piper and for a moment, he couldn’t quite hear what Penelope was saying. “So, there was actually a time when something like this was socially acceptable?” Spencer asked and Piper nudged Emily confusedly. “Yeah,” Penelope sighed desolately, “It’s like the monolith in 2001.” “Something like this makes you question everything you thought you knew.” “It’s remarkable,” Piper heard him saying as she joined Emily at her desk. Spencer didn’t notice when she walked into the precinct, too busy looking at the yearbooks Penelope had brought over. Piper wasn’t due to come back to work for another week or so.
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