The Perk; Tuesday Afternoon.

[stocksgrrl]

In a rather nice change of pace, Turtle Wexler had found herself in a good mood this morning. She'd slept well and she'd slept in; she'd noticed that the market had made a hitch, albeit small, upwards, and the time she'd spent with Jeff yesterday before radio had firmly shaved a good twenty years off the whole thirty-five-and-pushing-a-midlife-crisis thing to remind her that, yes, she was a self-made multimillionaire entrepreneur fledgling lawyer, but she was still, at the end of things, still fifteen. It changed her prospective quite nicely, for the better, and, as she went to the coffee shop with a backpack full of forms and tax documents and business papers, spreading them all out over the table and settling in happily to work on them over a very large cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, she was even thinking that everything had worked out nicely with the store after all and perhaps she wouldn't even bother with making a deal out of it to Misters Cable and Deadpool, just sort of sweep it under the rug a little for the sake of petty differences.

Assuming that something of the like never happened again, of course. She let out a slight sigh, shifted in her chair, and got back to work on the wonderful sea of papers spread out on the table in front of her.

[[ open for all your afternoon perkly needs! ]]