(no subject)
Mal is in the bar, perched thoughtfully on a chair near the fire. Every couple of minutes she glances at the door to her right, possibly a door only she can see.
In one hand is a pair of scissors. In the other, a brush. Her hair is loose, and hanging down in her face.
She bites her lip, then raises the scissors to her hair. She's already in uniform. It's nearly time to go home.
But first, she needs to change who she is, and she doesn't want to. Doesn't even know if she can. It's amazing how a few short weeks can change you.
She doesn't look very talktive right now, but you can try.
In one hand is a pair of scissors. In the other, a brush. Her hair is loose, and hanging down in her face.
She bites her lip, then raises the scissors to her hair. She's already in uniform. It's nearly time to go home.
But first, she needs to change who she is, and she doesn't want to. Doesn't even know if she can. It's amazing how a few short weeks can change you.
She doesn't look very talktive right now, but you can try.