Second Floor Common Room; Friday Evening.

[ecirpnellehada]

In a strange and startling turn of events, it would seem that Adah Price crawled from primordial depths (well, her bedroom, anyway, which, while quite dry and warm and nice, seemed to be taking on a murky, swamplike visage in her head today) to emerge herself once again on the front of possible socialization. She wondered if she should be

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[cantjossme]

Coming back from patrol, Mel really had no desire to go to her room let alone her floor in case he was around and settled for entering into the second floor CR.

"Hey," she said dropping some of her gear on the floor. "Mind if I watch TV?"

[ecirpnellehada]

Her mouth working around a exceptionally large slice of peach that she didn't bother, couldn't bear, to break in half with her fork, Adah shook her head slowly. Her mandibles masticated in a particular slow half circle, the left side of her jaw clearly leading, before she also, in case the slow back-and-forth of her head weren't enough, gave a small nod toward the remote control sitting beside her on the couch, abandoned for the sake of much more important things, inviting the other girl to if it she'd like. And then her wide, deliberate eyes drifted to the gear deposited on the floor, looking it over as she chewed and idly pondered exactly how much of a bovine impression she was leaving.

[cantjossme]

"Keen," Mel said flopping on the couch, grabbing the remote and flipping through the channels. "You don't care if I leave my stuff on the floor do you?"

[ecirpnellehada]

Adah considered the question once it had been asked, her eyes drifting away from the stuff, from the girl, toward the wall, as if expecting, like some damn Biblical story, to find the answer written there. To be completely honest, she would have imagined it would matter if she cared or not. She wondered what kind of person would care. It was a public space; she had an opinion in the matter? Of course, if this were Africa, leaving it there would also entitle Adah to take some of it. Somehow, she didn't think that notion would go over too well, here, but the idea was entertaining. So was the idea that her opinion on something like this should matter, and she played around with possibly pretending like it did, but realized she didn't have the energy.

Her eyes drifted back, away from the wall, and she shrugged, ducking her head slightly as she fished her fork around inside the can, swirling the remaining slices with the murky, sweet juice.

[iseewhatyoumean]

Cassandra had finished off her bag of marshmallows and had returned to the common room for more. Unfortunately her habit of eating all the marshmallows but never replacing them had finally resulted in there not being any when she looked.

But look! Another person! Maybe she had the marshmallows. Cassandra leaned over the back of the couch to look at Adah, searching for sugary deliciousness.

[ecirpnellehada]

Adah, slowly emptying the contents of her can of peaches, had been watching Cassandra as she went through the cupboards in search of, clearly, something particular that was not to be found. It was interesting, she realized, that she recognized the Prophetess of Tragedy not as herself at first, but as, instead, River's constant dance partner, and her head tilted as she ruminated at the more powerful association. This was until she leaned over the couch toward her, leaning in, one step away from sniffing around Adah like a dog for whatever it was she was looking for. She settled her eyes on the other girl, mostly staring, because if was peaches she was looking for, she knew there were at least a few other cans in the cupboard, and Adah had worked that can opener very tediously. She wasn't sharing when the Prophetess was completely capable of working a can opener easily enough.

[iseewhatyoumean]

No marshmallows were in sight, but it could never hurt to ask. "Do you have any marshmallows?"

[ecirpnellehada]

Adah looked at the Prophetess for a moment, and then she looked away, her eyes sliding as if to some invisible entity beside her, relaying the question down a chain of knowledge, before looking back. She moved her hand, the good one, the one holding the fork, out to display her complete lack of anything but crooked self and her meager lunch, and tilted her head in its own question back. Did she see any marshmallows?