[Tonight was promising to be a quiet night in the dressing room. The Tykis may be lounging in the miscellaneous bars and pubs, and the Allens are probably curled up in piles of blankets. Who knows where the Crosses are, but that's nothing new. And Lavis? Well... they're probably head-first in a book, drooling and getting ink on themselves. Yes,
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[Except, the handle is going to be hot. Scorching, almost. Still going to open it?]
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[But there's the unmistakable smell of apple pie wafting through the threshold.]
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[The voice seems to come from everywhere in the darkness, and yet also seems to come from the very end of the table. It's soft and smooth, almost like velvet. Silky and playful. Should sound familiar, and yet not, at the same time.]
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Who's there?
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[And since she's at the end of the table, the voice is coming from right in front of her. Something warm slips over her hand; a large gloved hand. It isn't menacing, but almost a comfort.]
[I'm hurt.]
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No. I don't know who you are. [But something tells her that she should know who the person is.]
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[And the hand over hers comes up to touch her cheek, bringing with it the smell of cigarettes -- and blood.]
[At all, Love?]
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