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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[trolololdamsel]

Meet Maledisant. She's sitting in a common room somewhere, reading a book of children's fairytales. She's actually quite enjoying it, not that she would ever admit that.

[thatcherly]

Oh, this ought to be interesting.

"Aren't you a bit old for that?" Marlene says teasingly--but gently. She's intrigued by the people here, and can't seem to stop asking questions.

[trolololdamsel]

Maledisant doesn't take very well to teasing. Her eyes narrow and she looks annoyed. "Aren't you a bit old to be reading over people's shoulders?"

[thatcherly]

She raises an eyebrow. "It was merely a commentary."

[johnny_rockfort]

Here's someone you will hate, we're told, Marlene.

Though he's playing the guitar on a windowsill in some random corridor right now. Fiddling with it, as it were, looking for something new for the basement band.

Death and the Maiden. He still loves that name - fits so well, really.

He's calm and in a fairly decent mood, and is humming as he plucks the strings.

[thatcherly]

She sees him and sighs. Oh, good. A punk.

She almost doesn't say anything, but decides to speak anyway.

"What are you doing?"

[johnny_rockfort]

Oh, great, one of those.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Johnny drawls. "Harvesting radishes?"

[thatcherly]

She sneers a little.

"It looks like you're doing nothing useful, that's for certain."