to say what you feel is to make your own grave [introduction]

[thatcherly]

All right, so people--namely, Mrs. Kidd and her husband--were upset about Marlene's promotion. So what? If Howard Kidd had had a heart attack because she got promoted, then he could die, for all Marlene cares. She doesn't have time for niceties, particularly with men who looked down upon her

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[doomofatreus]

Clytemnestra has not exactly settled in. To say that would imply some kind of peace or relaxation that is wholly alien to Clytemnestra's nature. However, she has largely accepted that this is no dream or spell, and however she has come here, her daughter is here, and while that may mean that Atreus stands without a leader - and she has lost the hard-won power and self determination she fought to gain - she cannot truly count it as a loss.

Not truly. However, she is still troubled by the lack of organization, of discipline, that seems rife in this place. She wishes, almost, that she had enough resources, a firm enough hand, to create some order in some way, but there seems hardly anything to even begin with. It is frustrating.

But nonetheless, she has her daughter. She can count that as a blessing, and one she never expected to have.

Sitting in the common room, Clytemnestra is currently reading through a scroll in her native tongue. It appears to be a play, though the subject matter seems somewhat tawdry to her. She looks up at the call, however, eyebrows creeping up, and stands as Marlene enters, taking her in with an expression entirely unimpressed.

"If I might offer aid or succor, it would be my duty to do so. What do you require?"

[thatcherly]

Marlene practically jumps in the air--she really hadn't been expecting anyone to answer.

"Oh, God, you scared me!" she says, putting a hand to her chest. She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Oh. Um. Where am I? I mean, I've got to get back to work."

She looks around again. Crazy. Insane. Batshit. Marlene's certain that she's all of these things, and the woman sitting there looking like...well, like she doesn't come from modern-day London doesn't help that belief.

[doomofatreus]

Clytemnestra folds her hands on her lap. "It is my understanding that this is a strange realm outside of the bounds of the mundane world," she says, with perfect calm, though she is really anything but, and yet another barbarian with no manners. Clytemnestra hopes that someday she will meet someone who knows how to show proper courtesy, so she does not have to ignore their transgressions gracefully even as they itch at her skin. "I know not where you hail from, but it does not seem that there is a ready connection to the everyday world." Not that Clytemnestra, personally, looked very hard. Personal power was an ambition of hers, of course, but she would rather have her daughter.

[thatcherly]

"So...did someone slip something in a drink of mine?" she asks, still confused. "I mean, this is a little bizarre."

She sighs, rubbing her forehead. "I just need..well, I need to not be here."

[doomofatreus]

"I am afraid," Clytemnestra says delicately, trying her best to be polite and not impatient with this woman, who seems to her rather foolish, "That I cannot aid you with that. What is it, so urgent, that awaits you?"

[thatcherly]

"I have work to do!" she exclaims, looking a little frustrated. "I just got promoted in a very important way, and..." A sigh. "But if you're right, then I really am stuck."

[doomofatreus]

Clytemnestra can sympathize with that, at least. And feels a little prickle of interest. A woman of ambition, then, perhaps. She has not had such a kindred spirit since she and her sister were parted. "That is indeed a pity," she murmurs. "I myself had only just reached my goal when I found myself here, though the...joys have made up for any disappointment."

[thatcherly]

"Oh?" Marlene notes that Clytemnestra doesn't exactly look like a career woman. Hmm. "What sort of goal--if I can ask, that is."

This could be interesting.

[doomofatreus]

The look Clytemnestra shoots Marlene is briefly sharp, but she is not ashamed, and will not blush to state what she has done. Before no one, barbarian or Greek, and will argue her right to anyone who asks. "You may. My husband Agamemnon lies dead for the crime of his murder of my daughter, and for the crime of waging a war that cost ten years and hundreds of lives for the profit of few."

[thatcherly]

She's a little stunned.

"How did he die?" Marlene's pretty sure she knows the answer to that question, but a part of her can't help but ask.

[doomofatreus]

Clytemnestra's smile is thin and sharp and sure. "I killed him," she said. "With an axe wielded by my own hands, as he marched in triumphant, he and his barbarian whore, I struck him down. As was my right."

[thatcherly]

"Christ," she mutters, looking away a moment. "You didn't get caught?"