Maladicta had showered after patrol and a round or two of boxing, gone to the basement clad in a towel, and fished a robe out of the box so she could put her clothes of the day into the wash. She sat up on the dryer and toweled her hair off, and considered going down to the Times office, or upstairs to the IPD office in her current state and just
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"Hello," she said, lingering in the doorway and smiling.
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"Hello."
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"As things should be. Hopefully nothing news worthy occurs in the next day, I don't want him to have a stroke, if mostly because it would mean you'd be doubly as scarce."
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"Well, I'll do my best as a member of the IPD to suppress any information that would be either sufficiently noteworthy, or upsetting," she teased in a drawling sort of way.
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She paused then clarified. "In my article. The girl who lost the fingers warned it would be better not to swim, now the fish've got a taste for human flesh," she said dryly, "but William won't hear it."
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"Not nothing. That's sad, about the girl's fingers," she added, with a small frown. The idea of losing a limb was perturbing. Maladicta was used to them growing back. Still looking thoughtful, she drew Sacharissa's hand up and pressed a soft kiss along the backs of her fingers, between the tips and the knuckles.
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"Oh, we need to find you a swim suit, then?"
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"Let's look."
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"All right," she echoed quietly, and then smiled, then turned to start over for the box of tasteless doom.
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