((Set immediately after
this rage-o-rama.))
[there's a resounding SLAM as Eunice returns to her room, and the journal picks up her breath, heavy and angry. she sees it sitting there, then stalks over, heels pounding on the floor, and SLAMS it shut.
... that won't stop it from flipping open a few minutes later, though, as she's sniffling away the last of her emotional aftershock]
Don't you get it, you fucking bastard, you're all I have left.
[a moment later, she'll look up ... catch that open journal ... and scribble out what it transcribed beyond recognition. anyone who happened to HEAR her when she said it can, indeed, poke the badger]
[York]
Got time to meet me at that shooting range? I want to shoot something, and the bigger the gun I do it with, the better. And don't you say a damn word about motherfucking penis envy, either.
[/York]
[Filtered away from Villains, Murderers, and Anyone Who'd Assist Them]
Okay, Paradisa. Give it to me straight. Who're the troublemakers, here? I mean, the big ones. The killers. The cheaters. The bastards. I want a list.
[/filter]