[Some time ago, before a long stretch of mun-absence,
this happened. Pretend it wasn't a year ago.]Today, in the salon in her room on the 12th floor, Hedwig is fiddling with the music selections, considering just putting it on shuffle, but preferring a little more control than that
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Hedwig (dressed in jeans, boots, and with a t-shirt the design of which is hidden by her cherry-print apron) glances up from the music system and smiles.
"Come on in, honey. Can I get you a drink?"
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She gives a gesture that encompasses both the regular salon chair and the more comfortable waiting-chairs near the obligatory table with magazines.
"You look a little lost."
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"Hello there, honey."
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A Welsh corgi peeks around the edge of the door, too, then trots to stand beside Ed.
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Hedwig smiles, from over by the minibar. "Hiya, honey. What can I do for you?"
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