1963-10-20 - The Seer and the High Priestess
Summary: Scarlett once again encounters Marie, and generously saves the French girl from a snowy night.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
rogue marie-ange 

It's mid-evening in the city that never sleeps, and it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Even now with Halloween still at the forefront of many children's minds, perhaps even moreso this year with the Hellmouth that spouted in the middle of Central Park, stores have been trying to encourage their shoppers to look past the frightening and open their wallets. The kids might love it, but they're not the shoppers… and the shoppers are more likely to avoid the things that bring them trepidation. So what better way to do that by bringing the 'most wonderful time of the year' a little early?

The weather's cooperating as well, for once, as the temperatures have dipped low enough — at least once the sun's gone down — to allow snow flurries to start falling from the sky. Much to many children's chagrin, it's unlikely to accumilate and school will almost certainly be in session tomorrow, but it's a pretty sight, nonetheless.

It's also a cold sight, but one person minds this a little less tonight. Not far from where Scarlett had left her during their last meeting, a large down blanket is bundled up on the ground. Within, with only her head visible is none other than Marie herself. Sitting on the ground (or likely, on the blanket which is then on the ground), with her head tilted back and eyes on the sky, watching the flurries fall one by one. She was dreading the coming of the snowfall, but thanks to a generous soul, she's able to enjoy the wonder of watching the wintry weather instead.


Beginning to look a lot like 'consumer fatigue,' even if they do not have a name to coin with that fancy jingle for every syndrome. Give psychologists another twenty years, but they will manage it. The desire to rush out Thanksgiving dreams in the Macy's parade and the endless excitement over Christmas catalogues has the mad men of Madison Avenue already churning copy in feverish anticipation.

The most wonderful time of the year is not wonderful at all for Scarlett, largely because her increasingly pagan faith — and interacting with honest to goodness gods — takes away some of the lustre of the season. That and its traditions hold little meaning except to ape, the way children today light candles for special occasions without realizing that was once how homes were lit.

Snow that flickers down is another thing, though, and the young woman wearing a surprisingly modern forest green jacket of elegant leather twirls around in the middle of the sidewalk. Whyever not? It suits her well enough, and she draws through East Village, daydreaming upon the matters a girl might dream of.


While Marie was raised Catholic, the religion never stuck with her that well, in part because it all felt so… fake, from the people that surrounded her. Preaching one way, living an entirely different one. Telling her that the one thing that seemed to bring a meaning to her life was evil. It didn't rub her the right way.

Christmas was a bit different, though. It was the one time of year where things changed, where people were genuinely kind to one another for a change… although in the cases of some of the children, it was more out of fear that Pere Noel wouldn't honor their offerings with presents. It was the one part of the faith that Marie responded well to, even if it was just the secular portion of it that she liked. In some ways, it was as innocent as she herself could be.

Eyes cast upwards can see many things from the ground, and one thing she sees is a person, who's appearance causes her voice to ring out, along with a waving arm. "Mademoiselle Scarlett!" she calls out excitedly, in a decidedly good mood from all appearances.


Preaching and living are two very different things, as someone can surely attest to. Holidays and religious holy days, too, have a very different feeling to them, a different approach.

Scarlett's footsteps leave the meandering path of faith in a tailspin, a gyre cut into the accumulating precipitation on the cement. It won't last long. In the busy parts of New York it never does, made into grey slush or washed down the drain altogether too fast. Enjoy the snowfall while it lasts. She isn't quite up to catching flakes on her tongue but she halts long enough to hear her name in French no less, and that reduces whom might talk to her by a major factor. Lips curve into a smile. "Mademoiselle Marie! How are you?"

Forget English. She doesn't even bother, instead returning the wave after she figures out the direction the little seer approaches from. There is nothing about her that speaks to restraint.


Naturally, the French is easiest for Marie to keep up in… and Scarlett doesn't seem to have any troubles with it either, so she's more than happy to speak in her native tongue, as well. "I am quite well, thank you!" she replies merrily, form shifting around from under the blanket. She's working on getting up to her feet, though the process is slow even with the help of the nearby wall to stablize her movements. Joyful she is, but she's also visibly weaker than she was the first time she met the taller redhead.

Once she's on her feet she pauses for a moment to rest before reaching down and drawing the blanket up over her shoulders to wrap around herself like a cloak. Green eyes focus on her friend, lips formed into a smile that's not going away. "What of yourself, how are you? Is it not such a beautiful night?" she asks. She doesn't want to move /too/ far from her spot, at least not just yet… but she can at least present herself closer to eye level.


The bohemian wouldn't be much of a boheme if she were restricted to the nuances of English. Scarlett seems to welcome the opportunity to chew into that lovely language of the belle pays overseas. Slowly her approach dissolves the snowflakes, though she tries to keep several of the white patches present. "Come, come. You need a cup of tea or coffee, as you like, and I have no desire to be that person who drinks by herself at a table. It makes everyone think I am gloomy and forlorn when the truth couldn't be further from that." Her gloved hand is held out as a warm sort of gesture. Apparently the niceties are to be regarded long enough for her stamp on them, and that will be that.

"I think the night is full of possibility and that makes it beautiful in a special kind of way," she agrees, the warmth of her smile a sun in the night. "You did me a great favour, and I have thought much. This is overstepping a line, and you may be angry at me for it, but I can't bear to think of you sleeping or hiding out when the weather is so awful. Much less when you are a kinswoman in spirit, if not blood, for whom else am I going to speak of the cards and French poetry and statuary with here? In the language it was meant for, too? Please, let me do you a kindness without any expectations and put you up for the evening. Unless you want to be out here, but it's not safe to stay without a wall or roof around you."


Marie-Ange draws King Cups.


It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas indeed, even though it's two months early for the season of giving. Marie smiles wider at the offer, reaching down first to grab the pillow that was still on the ground, and then reaching out with her free hand for Scarlett's offered hand. "A wise woman never refuses a gift, and even rarer does she refuse pleasant company." she replies, moving carefully along the pavement now. She's not going to move all that quickly right now, so hopefully the taller woman won't mind. "Should any try to besmirch your reputation in such a way, I'll be happy to correct them." she adds; Scarlett, gloomy? No. Lost occasionally, but not gloomy.

As for the second offer? Marie considers for a moment, but only a moment. Her response is swift. "If it would be no great inconvience to you, Mademoiselle Scarlett, you would honor me with such a gift. I cannot imagine refusing such a kindness for any reason, let alone being angry!" Marie responds; she's not the begging type, but it doesn't mean she's particularly /happy/ with her situation. She just tries to make the most out of it. "The snow… it is pretty, but given the option I would be far happier watching it through a window. Please, mademoiselle, lead the way."


The Christmas season has its own goodwill and kindness, a spirit that may well move either Scarlett or Marie-Ange. "A wise woman can very well say no thank you, and mind your own business," murmurs the taller of them, though she certainly approaches this with an air of calm and frivolity mingled for the right balance of humility. This comes as an important counter. "I have no worries about what most others think of me, as long as my friends speak well and respect me. They know the truth, then I am satisfied. No one can control the entirety of what other people think, after all, and it's like trying to lash the sea for rising and falling."

Let Marie-Ange take whatever time she needs. It's not about to be rushed, in any respect. Scarlett happily meanders along through the streets without any hint of direction. "You are, however, not about to put me out. You deserve to enjoy the season without worry of freezing or finding another meal. There must be better shelters but New York is expensive. There's a language barrier. I have a room and a garden, as you might need it."


"She /can,/ yes." Marie agrees, inclining her head. "But she would not be very wise should she refuse an offer without good reason, and the cards tell me yours comes from a generous spirit; nothing to fear." the shorter girl replies. Pride? It's not her way. She was raised with humility in spades, and while she's been treated much better in America than she was in France… that kind of upbringing doesn't just go away. To the matter of opinions? Marie quirks a bit of a grin. "It is important that your friends know who you are, yes, but good friends would defend your honor from those who would besmirch it, despite how much or how little those opinions might matter."

With that said, she focuses on walking. The words Scarlett speaks themselves seem to give the little seer energy. Promises of better things to come, and not in the distant future, but in the very near term. "I… have no words to express how grateful I am, mademoiselle." Marie replies, "All stories intertwine for a reason; and it seems fate has guided us together to better one another's lives in kind. You will not regret this decision, and if there is anything else I can do for you, please, simply ask."


"The only fear you may hold from me is an abundance of enthusiasm and trying to do the right thing, somewhat energetically, when it may be wiser to sit patiently. It can be difficult to do that." Why ever does she believe time runs away from her? Scarlett's behaviour encompasses a liveliness and sunny disposition, steeped in the honey of hope and vision. "Would you like to dine before settling in, or would you prefer I raid my cupboards in search of something edible? It makes no difference to me; it only falls to time, taste, and temperament. The restaurants about here can be quite good, and they cater to several different tastes. There is a Hungarian pastry shop down towards the university which does absolutely splendid sweets, if that suits your taste better than something from a deli or a big bowl of spaghetti. Choose what calls best to you. It's my treat."

Snowflakes dance around her, twirling on the updrafts emitted from the sewer. Not always the nicest of smells, but at least that offers some warmth and prevents any freezing from the pipes, though it's a far way from the real depths of winter. White sparks melt away on her hair, leaving no trace.

"Marie, you do enough by being yourself. I genuinely have enjoyed our company, and hope it will continue in the future." Her tone soft for a moment, it bends away from the intimate to find a happier balance, more conversational and breezy in keeping with her bohemian spirit. Nothing to tie down another, obligations are ephemera as far as she is concerned in relation to her, though she herself holds many to others.


Marie-Ange draws Three Wands.


Rogue's words bring a grin to Marie's face, "The cards have spoken to that regard, yes. I pay close attention when they speak, and not just when they speak to me." Because sometimes the best insight is gained by an 'overheard' conversation. Questions are asked that she wouldn't think to. It's one of the many tenets the girl lives her life by, along with her attempts to stay optimistic in the face of otherwise troubling situations. Today? Today it's being rather easy. "My decision, then?" she considers for a moment, then pauses her gait to glance towards the floor — but more specifically, towards that little velvet pouch which has found its way into view from her blanket. She really doesn't make a decision without consulting them, it seems.

The Three of Wands. Feelings of strength going hand in hand with success after hard times. She /does/ feel a bit stronger than she did earlier. "I think… I would like to do my walking while I have my strength about me, if it is no different to you." Marie responds, her tone laced with her gratefulness. "Especially if I may take the opportunity to tidy myself prior to eating?" she adds, emerald eyes looking over towards Scarlett; what some might assume, Marie will almost always request, and the French national knows she can use it.

A blush rises to the pale girl's cheeks at the last, eyes moving downcast as she walks again. "You honor me with your words, mademoiselle. I am glad to provide a light into a person's life, whether it be a guiding light or the warm light of friendship." A pause. "I, too, hope our paths will continue to align." A mental note is made to check into this question at a later point.


A grin warrants a smile in turn, reflections cast in varying magnitudes that mirror the same candor and depth of emotion. Scarlett raises her hand to her cheek in a hopeless attempt to keep a drooping chrysanthemum from falling away from her thin braids, eased out by a pinch on the stem right where it meets the burst of petals. "Indeed, your decision," she confirms, leaving no hint of impatience or trickery. Instead, she casts her look around the street to better orient herself to East Village's particularly confounding layout, mentally navigating the options up and down the street in an age before even freestanding maps became commonplace. Pity; the tourism board for the city could stand to put a few up in locations beyond Times Square to help the glut of new locals learn their way about the borough.

"Very good, let's take a walk. We can wash up and see whether this snow intends to break or stay. I didn't think to even bring a scarf," though with the gloves and the fascinating belted leather coat, why does she need such? "And given this," she holds up the flower, "I think I ought to pull the blooms out of my hair before I end up shedding petals from here to Union Station like some fading flower faerie." Her lips pucker, rather than sacrifice a smile at her own expense. "My place is this way, then. Fortunately not so far, though we might catch a bus over to Greenwich if you feel the chill too much in your feet. I admit winter is not for everyone." Superhuman durability helps immensely, too, to put up with the extremes of temperature.

"I live in the middle of Greenwich Village, at least thereabouts. By night it's much more active than here, so you might find it a little easier to navigate." She points to a gap between the buildings where a larger thoroughfare digs through the endless rank on file brick buildings. "Take East 8th and it will connect the two. You could do East 4th, which cuts right past New York University, but the traffic tends to be much heavier. They call 8th St Marks in East Village, and there are a few good landmarks. Once you get to the large square, Washington, that's the dividing line and carry right on into the heart of it. You'll see, it's not too hard once you know head for the university and look for the big green park."


Marie-Ange draws Four Wands.


"If you are cold, you are welcome to borrow my blanket." Marie offers helpfully; even for one who has little the spirit of generousity exists alive and well it seems. Is Marie superhumanly durable? Not so much, but she does have a small advantage in that she's been able to acclimate to the lowering temperatures day by day, all night long. It's one of the positives of the situation, the winter's bite will chill, but without the extremes of the effect of one used to warmth. Part of her wonders if that's why the cards had her leave France during the Summer, when the temperature she'd arrive to would be much more palatable. snapping herself from her thoughts, Marie's gaze moves from the ground to the flower that's held aloft, "Flowers make everything prettier." she muses aloud, a content expression on her face. "The city would be fortunate to be covered in petals such has those, I think."

Another question! The choice is consulted with the cards. The Four of Wands. A promise of fun, though importing a need to remain grounded. "If it would not be trouble, I think the bus?" she asks more than suggests, eyes once again considering Scarlett. "Not far is good, but not walking would be divine… and I have not rode upon one of your city's busses. It seems a unique experience, to sit and have the world pass before you, rather than only its people." The directions are mentally jotted down; she's becoming better at finding her way through the metropolitan maze, but hasn't quite grasped everything yet. "Head for the university, look for the big green park." she echoes, "I will remember as best as I can." She suspects their paths will continue to intertwine, after all, so knowing where to find the other even without needing to consult the cards seems wise.


Scarlett shakes her head to the kind offer, happy to reflect the benevolence back. "No, you need it more than I. My own fault for not thinking ahead to look out the window. I barely believe it can snow here in October, but here we are. The thunderstorms are more volatile, though I look upon them warmly anyhow." Is it better to be soaked than frozen? Apparently she's a coat dripping wet sort of girl. Family ties and adopted connections surely influence her view, though at the end of the day, death by ice might be nice. A little death, at least.

"The city becomes covered in petals in the spring, at least where the cherry trees are. You can see whole drifts, and someone out there using shovel and rake to dig them up. It's quite the spectacle, I assure you, however short lived. I hear that Washington has even finer displays of pink and white, like something delightfully frothy and girlish."

She keeps pace with Marie, letting the shorter woman set what suits her best. In the end, all is fairly easy to manage. "The bus would be no trouble. They both go on loops up 4th and 8th, but the in between streets are too broken up. Let's hop the M8, it shows up enough." Her hands tucked deeply into her pockets, she nods to one of the bus stops on the much busier route. "Have you not ridden the bus? They are nice enough around here, though too many people think they can smoke in the back seats. Middle near the doors are my preference, especially if I have to stand." How often does a soul thief take the bus, if not wrapped up like she is? "As they like to say, let's save your shoe leather. It will not be too long, now."

No sooner said than done, a pair of round headlights cut the gloom and there goes the bus. She's already fishing out coins from a small purse, and drops them into the front machine while the driver fails to bat an eyelash. He's seen everything short of demons.


/Is/ it better to be soaked then frozen? Marie considers this. She's been the first. She's avoided the second for the most part, and hasn't been out in a significant snowfall since she's been streetbound. The first had it's positives and negatives, to be certain. "I think you may be right; when Winter comes in earnest I suspect I will mourn the days gone by of Summertime showers." …and then talk turns to Spring, and green eyes widen in awe at the suggestion of what happens. "I would love nothing more to be here when this happens. It sounds positively stunning," she swoons wistfully, the pictures bright in her mind of what the scene might look like. "…or perhaps this Washington, it also sounds lovely."

Marie's pace is definitely a slower one, with the occasional pause, but she soldiers on regardless. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and she's heading straight for it. when the bus arrives? She follows Scarlett aboard, dipping down into a curtsey for the driver before following her companion along. "I have not, no. I have ridden a boat, and on occasions in a car, even a wagon once… but never a bus." she takes a moment to look around, observing people and place equally. "It… is large. I approve." She'll let her more experienced friend choose where to be on it, suspecting they'll head towards the middle as was mentioned before. "So you simply drop coins into that box as you enter, and that is that?" She /has/ practically lived under a rock most her life, afterall.


Instructions on how to ride a bus are not so strange for Scarlett as they could be; she nods. "The fare is listed there, see? Drop in the coins and ask for a transfer paper if you need to get on another bus. We won't, however, so we just sit and ride until we come to our stop. He will call it out, especially if you tell him where you are going. Not always, but on a night like this, of course." The bus sputters and rumbles to a start, engine throwing a long jolt through the vehicle. She grips one of the rails and easily sways, the years of yoga practice giving her a tight, taut command of every limb and core muscle. Swaying slightly, she carries on to a seat just opposite of the doors. "Here we go. See the cord up there? You pull that before your stop so the driver will halt, otherwise. I know this bus has to make a stop at Waverly Place and the rail station though, so someone else probably will. You can make a game of who pulls first, very exciting." Nothing like a little game of chance! Her heels slip back, dashing against the space under the seat. "Thus have you discovered the great mystery of the city bus. They post the schedules on the cylinders at most of the bus stops, and they have schedules up there in paper brochures. Otherwise just wait, and there you go."

The ride isn't long, punctuated by stops as longhaired students and actors pile on or pop off, measuring the economics of the area. Stuvy-Town and East Village aren't as lucrative as Greenwich, and the signs show in all the eateries, the cafes, the fancy dives and the bars where men and women to shape a revolution sing their hearts out night after night for three bucks and a sandwich.

Scarlett points out the university as they get into the thick of Greenwich, and there the bus halts, and she steps out after the doors fold open. "Here we go. A short walk past Washington Square, and we can hit my building." It might be faster to fly to the top, but not so easily done with a guest unprepared for that surprise.


Marie bobs her head along with the instructions; craning her head around to see the various bits and pieces that are pointed out as the story goes on. The continued thought of coins brings her hands into motion once again, as they withdraw a little bag from somewhere under the blanket that jingles with the motion. It's opened up briefly, peered inside, and tucked quickly away. Eyes observant enough to notice might see coins inside, with enough detail and knowledge they can be identified as a couple francs and several centimes; or if eyes paid attention to the outside, the name of the convent where Marie grew up might be spied; she isn't careful to hide it, mind on other things at the moment. Like making sure they were still there

"That was very educational, thank you." she offers at the conclusion, expression radiating contentment. Today has been a good day for the seer and only promises to get better. Other than words, the scenery on the outside is what Marie pays the most attention to; much as she did during the walk. Trying to memorize the sights before her to use as guideposts for later travel. Each stop of the bus draws a look from Marie to Scarlett for confirmation, to see if this is where they should depart — but it's only when she gets that confirmation that she stands.

This time, she's walking a little faster — the enclosed structure of the bus was warmer than the streets she usually sits upon, and sitting is always good for recooperating energy. "Where you lead, I shall follow. I trust your knowledge to guide us there safely." …and yes, it might be a shock. Flight itself might not shock her, but the /High Priestess/ flying? That's simply not how it works! … of course, neither woman knows of the other's airborne abilities at this point.


Scarlett might be forgiven for overlooking such details normally, given how close home is, and the thrill of the electric landscape around her positively inducing a surge in her bones. Here and there are the exciting venues full of possibility, overwhelming strains of music warring for attention, and ideas pouring forth from every bookstore, even radical cafe, and even the green itself. Many students dwell here, and a good many people drawn from across the continent converge to make their future out of fertile soil.

"No need to thank me. Now, there is the station," she points to a cluster of lights over a sign, "and there is Washington Square Park. The best place for a picnic and you can fit right in. Half the girls are probably studying French literature, if they have the skill, and the rest go for English or teaching when they picnic in the afternoons." It's a mild tease on her part, not intended as unkind, and then she continues moving in the direction of the station. "My building is that tall one there. Not many here are above five floors; that one has nine. So a good landmark, if you can see past the rest. It won't take us long." The tree-lined one way streets are a marvel of terrible parking, bikes wrapped up, and art at everyone's leisure. She can't avoid walking over a chalk drawing of a man with a guitar, and bypasses several bats by going up onto the planter there. Albert Chambers makes for a pleasant enough beacon in brick and dreams. The foyer has several people loitering about in conversation.


Again, Marie's paying attention to the appropriate landmarks. It's important for people who do their own travelling — and for Marie, even when she doesn't, as the Chariot and others still follow her command, not their own. "It sounds like a place that I will visit more often. My English is… well enough, but it's so much easier to express myself clearly in French. I'm sure you feel the same of your native tongue, no?" she asks, her words a guess based on her own experiences. When the building they're going to is pointed out? Marie's eyes follow it all the way to the top. "A magnificant building," she comments, though it's a thought shared for many here. The city's skyline is truly a majestic sight to be seen, afterall.

As they walk, Marie's definitely quick to keep up, having to weave and hurry on occasion when she has to avoid the pedestrian traffic, as well… something that's far easier once the destination building entered. There's a soft sigh of relief from the Frenchwoman, as she peers around the lobby. "Many people live in this building of yours, then?" She's seen a mix when it comes to the buildings, apartments and hotels full of people, businesses that have housing above or below the shop, and various other combinations, as well.


The guess of Scarlett's native language is probably accurate, though she earns a smile for the asking from the bohemian. "Sometimes I wonder if it might be better I spoke a simpler language. I've been told too many times I am confusing, but that might be because I am wordy. Loquacious. The nice way of saying it." A minor note among the nice little harmonies, nothing to stand out too much. Leading the way through Albert Chambers brings them into the daunting impression of switchback stairs, headed up. If there is an elevator, it's usually corralled as a painter's studio, an impromptu music venue, or a place to store the newest couch stolen from some alley, in a lovely form of crowd cycling long before anyone had a name for such things.

Her gaze flits upwards and she points. "All the way to the top. Have no shame if you need to pause on the landings, though the art around the fifth is particularly good. Someone painted the walls and the floor there, though I doubt the management will let it stay for very long." The perils of progressive ideas and a lack of progressive thought, clashing together. What can a person do? Their light footed ascent can halt or not, but eventually she reaches the top. "Ah, yes. The population is fairly large compared to others, if only because we have more apartments to let here."


Marie shakes her head rapidly at the suggestion that Scarlett speak simply, "No, no! While some may not understand the concepts behind the words, language itself is important." she insists, grabbing the railing of the stairway firmly as using hand as much as feet to take her to one step from another, again and again. It's not an easy climb, but the scrawny girl is determined. "You speak eloquently, even in my language there is… a music about your words, they please the ear more than the boorish shortcuts some take with their own. You should never cease to be you."

Being ashamed of the need to stop and rest, in fact, on each landing is not a problem Marie has, but it's certainly easier for the pair to expect the occurence rather than for soft-spoken Marie to have to try and call after Scarlett. It's not an endeavour that would promise to end very well at all. Stopping has its own benefits, getting to admire the art — including one piece that Marie finds is still fresh as fingers graze over the paint and come back green, rather than the alabaster they normally sport — as well as keeping her from over-exerting herself and collapsing. It's something she's done before, and it's always harder to get back up than it is to rest and not fall in the first place.

"It's a shame that they would want these artworks gone, but such is the world we live in. Everyone believes themselves the owner of this, or of that; truly, none of us own anything, we simply borrow it for a little while. They must make things their own, rather than sharing and making them better, instead. It was the very same way in France."


Stopping means to explore, peer down the hallways where doors open and shut to mysterious worlds occupied by people with not enough money, too many dreams, and a surfeit of ideas. The dim bulbs are brighter on the fourth and the sixth floors than the third, and charming five has its painting. Seven has a pair of plants with googly eyes on them, the ficus facing a rubber plant. "Sometimes they wear hats," Scarlett points out while they rest a little, and she rubs her thumb over a leaf. "I thought about making them a scarf, but that doesn't seem entirely right. Maybe a bonnet." Right. A bonnet for a tree in a big ugly plastic pot that continually wears different knits, made in a rainbow of suspiciously exuberant colours.

"A little longer," she tries to encourage Marie while they climb, pointing up. "Truly it won't be too much further, then you can sprawl in my tub and have a cup of something. Tea? I think I have coffee of some quality around, and that may take the edge off. As to the paintings, they were done without permission, therefore they must be treated accordingly as vandalism. We like them and a few people don't; they've spoken about it and there is no consensus. So here we are."

Here: the ninth floor, or a Limbo with painting. The door facing towards the staggered skyline is hers, and she produces a key to open it, unlocking the bolt to allow them access. The jingle of keys finds a place dim, but not entirely dark, one light on at the hall to lend some shades of copper illumination. "Voila! Maison Scarlett. Not very thrilling."


That stop of the seventh floor takes a bit longer than the others, as the sight of the plants — and the explanation that follows — results in Marie bursting into a fit of giggling. It's a melodious sound coming from her, and not one that has come often in her life. Once she's recovered her composure, she's still grinning as she adds, "A stately monocle would have a positively charming effect, I think." Why? Perhaps when it comes to such things, the better question is in fact why /not?/

She's grateful for the encouragement, too, as it makes each landing look like possibly the last, and the sights to be seen distract from any disappointment that might have panged otherwise. "A /tub./." she echoes, practically swooning at the thought. From the looks of her, it's been a while. From the sound? Even longer still. "Tea would be wonderful, I think. Coffee… tends to keep me up longer than I might care for — not that I would object /too/ much given the company!" she's quick to point out, trying to quash any offense she may have inadvertantly caused. Overly apologetic, the symptom of a downtrodden life.

Then finally? They arrive. Marie stands in the entrance way for several moments to let her eyes adjust, and to take in the sights before her. "Au contraire, mademoiselle. Most thrilling indeed. Your home is beautiful." For one? It has walls and a roof; these are necessities that Marie can't admire enough. Automatically better than where she's spent the last few months; the boat she travelled on was no luxury liner either, nor was the convent owned by wealthy nuns. No, she'd have to go back to her family's home to hold a candle to this — and that she barely remembers, and considers to lack the warmth that this abode does, if only from the welcoming of its occupant.

Once she's had her view, Marie steps inside and near the door sets down the pillow she carried, followed by the blanket which is carefully folded; never let it be said that the girl treats things roughly.


The happiest of realities are dressed up plants. "A cane and monocle. Maybe a top hat, but definitely a cane, as if they were to possibly start dancing and excitedly bobbing about. I like to think that we could stage them, and plug in a fan, allowing quite the whole stage show." A smile forms on Scarlett's lips, her flashing eyes slanting green as a tiger, and then she draws a line under her chin as she starts to slip herself free from the heavy jacket. Unbuttoned and undone, she slithers out from the elegant forest green leather with a sigh of almost radiant satisfaction.

Her home, which has its own lovely description, glitters as a sylvan pool, a swirl of textures and belongings fitting the space. Photographs and portraits and paintings hang on the walls, greenery abundant. Herbs dry in the kitchen, a bouquet of cut white blossoms nodding in the vase on the tabletop. She gestures widely towards the hallway. "Through there, second door to the left. The first leads into a closet, so you will know you have reached the wrong place," she merrily notes. The redhead of greater height veers into the kitchen, going for the kettle to put on the stove top, letting it build up to a wail and a song for them. Cups are brought down, a selection of teas taken out from labeled cupboards. Her choices are purely exotic, utterly so in cases, blends of black and white, herbals, tisanes, and green or rooibos—name it, she might have it.

"You are welcome to go and pull down any of the soaps or shampoos you Iike. I have enough. Nothing possibly will trouble me, truly, I have far too much. The balls in the dish are bicarbonate with flowers and oils; if you break them up or pour them into the bath, they make the water very pleasant indeed. I've extra towels there, and a robe I can fetch up." Then the butterfly goes fluttering by, tugging open a closet, snatching out a terrycloth one, and an Oriental silkscreen one, and then she drifts back in holding both. "Have you a preference?"


Marie makes no bones about it, she's headed straight for that bathroom; there would be time to take a longer evaluation of her friend's home later, to let the eye of a genetic artisan take in the sights and sounds. Right now she had opportunity to correct something that has bothered her for a long time; probably the worst part about being homeless, in some ways. By the time Scarlett returns to her with the teas and robes, she's only been working on setting out her belongings and starting the bathwater to run; the little velvet pouch is there, as is the bag with her coinage.

"Hmm… this one, I think." she decides, reaching a hand out for the terrycloth; it looks warmest, and warm suits her best for the moment. "You… have quite a selection of teas." she comments, looking over the selection. "Surprise me?" She's pretty sure she won't be steered in the wrong direction, and it wouldn't be a bad opportunity to try something new. With that selection made, she's pre-emptively pulling down some of those shops and shampoos, setting them to the sniff test before deciding on one of the other. Then it's just a matter of getting out of her clothing and forcing herself to fold them up /before/ getting into the tub. Because no matter their condition, it's only proper.


The washroom may be a bit small by any standards but New York, but it does feature a proper sized tub with a spigot adorned by a ring of thick, fragrant wax intended to scent the air as it heats up. An inexpensive and innovative way to add to the bathing experience, perhaps. Scarlett has plenty of lotions and potions, some of them possibly the real thing, fed upon the myriad flowers, herbs, and plants of her rooftop garden. Such a verdant sanctuary accessible only through her ceiling access hatch lends its graces to a good many aspects of the apartment, from the herbs in her cupboards to the trailing graces of greenery on a sidetable. Her only lacking bit in the bathroom might be cosmetics; not many are in evidence, but anyone looking for a witch hazel wash or a mud mask need look no further.

Scarlett hands over the terrycloth robe; made for her height and possibly someone a little taller, it will satisfy anyone under six feet just fine. "I am something of a fan of teas, to say the least. I know a good place importing directly from Britain, and another from India, and they see too much of me and my wallet." Her eyes glitter, gathered at the corners, her curved mouth full of simple delight. "Let me prepare a sampler. Do you want a cup for the bath, while I straighten up out here?" Straightening up is probably a byword for something else, because the place has its own brand of order separate from the Scandinavian minimalism used by some.


Even if it had been simple water and nothing else to relax in, Marie would've been happy. As it stands, the girl is overjoyed. Settling into the water is a rapturous experience for her, and it isn't long at all before she adds the bath ball to the water to relax into; taking the opportunity to soak before she gets to the more difficult work of scrubbing. Skyclad, it's easier to see the fact that she hasn't had this opportunity in quite some time, but that much is going to change by the time she's done. It's also easy to see that she's malnourished, but in relatively decent condition otherwise. Skin and bones is an apt descripion!

"Then your judgement would be most welcome in aiding my selection," Marie replies, the relaxation in her body carrying into her voice, "…and if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would love a cup for the bath, please." The suggestion of straightening up /does/ get an odd look from marie… but some people are even better organized than she, so she lets it slide without much further thought for now!


Hot water piped up with the pressure being on the top of the building gains, imagine! Such luxuries can be important and Scarlett, if she were to say anything openly, might commiserate to the pure opulence of the experience after being on the street. La Boheme she might be. That doesn't preclude other life experiences, some scarcely recalled except as transparent echoes imprinted on a battered, broken corner of her mind. Business to attest on another day when the politeness can fall away, a worn tidal barrier, and the seas of veracity rush in to fill the void. Familiarity might permit a transgression of that scale, but not quite so now. Instead she whisks the kettle from the burner before it screeches its plaintive wail a little too long, pouring out the water into two pots; one takes the infusion of a black tea laced by lavender blossoms by the bushel, the other left to steam under a cozy until Marie can choose for herself. Preparations quite well suited, she adds a pair of pastries obtained from one of the bakeries in the Village which are nearly as abundant as watering holes.

The sound of the fridge opening and shutting follows. Busied by throwing together a rather tidy affair of sandwiches, it might beg the question whether she is English by proxy. Cucumber and tomato slices line one brown bread, and she neatly dissects these into triangles before moving onto the other. Nothing too offensive; finger-foods, truly. They'll go on a plate, set on the table, there for the taking. The tea is finished steeping, made strong, and she carries the cup in all its decadent promise with two sugar cubes on the side, and a tiny ceramic cistern for cream shaped like the happiest and most ridiculous of cows, painted with a traditional Danish design in red and sapphire bands. Happy cow is happy.

"Knock knock. This might be my favourite of the lot, and more than suitable to the task of good company." The redhead won't bat an eyelash squeezing into the bathroom, carrying said cup and saucer. Skyclad is what her people do, such as she has people, steeped in the counterculture movement. "Here you are. I have a few snacks laid out if you're hungry, and let me see whether I can fetch up any of my sweaters. That weather out there is fit for misery and I would be remiss if you caught a cold bounding around after me."


By this point, Marie has sunk herself under the water and has a far more drowned rat look to herself. At the moment? She's scrubbing like a mad woman, arm after arm, leg after leg. Intent on restoring the porcelain of her skin and leaving the dirt of the streets to go down the drain with the water; she may be far removed from the wealth in her family's history, but there's certain sensibilities that don't quite go away. The need to be clean is one of them, and provided the opportunity, well, she's taking it.

It's because she's so engrossed that she doesn't immediately react when Scarlett returns, but after that minute or two when she realizes that she's no longer alone in the room? Eyes go wide, arms shift quickly from cleaning to covering herself. A cultural clash — Marie may be from the country where the bikini was invented not-so-long-ago, but it doesn't change that she was raised by nuns. It's sinful! "I- I'm sorry, I did not hear." she apologizes hastily, sinking into the water just a bit more. With a cleaner face? It's easier to see the reddening of her skin, too. Poor thing. Of course, arms used to cover herself also mean trying to figure out just how she's going to get to the tea that was brought in, which does sound delightful, while sparing Scarlett's eyes from the sight of her. It's the thought that's almost visibly crossing her features at the moment.


Scrubbing away with all those flower- and nectar-infused soaps will do more than add a scum to the water, they give a very nice fragrance in the aftermath. A fresh washcloth joins the loofah sponge, purely natural, that belongs on a coral reef in Harrod's London surely. "This works wonderfully to make your skin sing, though be careful," Scarlett says, still in French. "Too vigorous the first time around, you'll lose the top layer without even noticing and that is less attractive than it sounds. I have a good green bar around here that mixes up wonderfully with it. Rosemary." The longing note haunts her voice, mingled with the indiscriminate pleasure brought by that simple garden staple. Rosemary's clarifying power must not be underestimated. So tasty, too!

She also manages to do this without looking directly at Marie, and perhaps it's a sin but also a measure. She stops for a moment, and then puts her hand to her lips, edging for the door. "Forgive me! I am altogether too used to the communal bathing in the Cote d'… Ah, it doesn't make any difference. Out I am going. Promise!"


Marie's terribly torn. Scarlett didn't /seem/ offended, so maybe she didn't do anything wrong, but at the same time… oh, it was a tricky decision to make. Why did her cards have to be over /there/ and Marie herself have to be wet? Eventually, it's the concept of not offending the oh-so-gracious host that wins out. Being dirty and starving and cold and having an option to prevent these is a strong motivator. "Scarlett!" she calls out, haste obvious from the lack of the honorific attached to her name. "You… do not have to leave if I do not offend in this state." she explains, eyes cast down towards the water.

The nuns were almost certainly wrong about her cards, so they could be wrong about these things as well, she supposes. There's part of her that wants to explain, but she's unsure how much she should say… and with the cards over /there,/ that's not a risk she's going to take, unlike the one motivated by the three basic needs. Instead, she takes another angle. "Many customs are new to me, mademoiselle, and you have been so… unbelievably kind, that I did not wish to do the slightest thing to upset you. I know 'attractive' is far from my state." What with so many bones visible and all, and she still hasn't quite gotten her hair taken care of — that's a job in itself.


Not in the least is there offensive, only that exclamation point of a shared cultural trait entirely absent, and a realization that an invisible line is crossed. On the other hand, such an offense done against another only shames Scarlett and not her guest. She can call through a door; they're not made of oak, but rather pine and light enough for some sound to pass through. Greenwich is not the Upper East Side when it comes to building materials. "I'm sorry! You are entitled to your privacy and here I went rolling through. Think nothing of it, Marie, truly. I can wait until you are done and stay out here. My experience is based on my own background, but I should not automatically assume you share the same customs and traditions as I'd find in Dijon or Montpellier."

Redheads, when they blush, blush hard. If only splashing a bit of cold water over her cheeks would help. So much for that, though Scarlett runs the tap in the kitchen sink long enough to splash her skin tidy. Down you go, awful blush of revelation, and adorn some other penitent with the cardinal's robes. "You are not obligated to me, mademoiselle, and certainly not to jump beyond the realms of your comfort and upbringing to satisfy me. I would be a wretched person to put down any such conditions on the company I keep. No, never. You are quite safe, honestly. And speak not so unkindly about yourself. Attractive…"

A sigh swirls up towards the ceiling, her head tipped up to the portraits of cities and landscapes hung highest on the wall. "Beauty is very much a personal measure. If it's any consolation, one of my teachers is possibly the most beautiful woman in the world. Literally that. Stay around her a few hours and everything feels somewhat tarnished and diminished." Even distance carries a coloratura mark of recriminating amusement, a wry smile imprinted on the words. Worry, too, an unfixed thing. "I revere life. Life is beautiful, people are, as are sunsets and trees, all in their unique way. You're quite safe, mademoiselle, I won't turn the harshness of my longwinded tongue on you."


Marie-Ange draws 14 Temperance.


Much as Scarlett shames herself, Marie does the same to herself as she sits in the water. Hands in motion once more, she works to untangle her hair and get /it/ clean, too. Not the easiest process, but at the moment it's almost a form of self-mortification, and welcome in that way to distract her from the thoughts at hand. For her part, Marie is quiet until she's finished, lost thoroughly in her thoughts and in taking advantage of the situation. Once she's done? She drains the water and dries, although her hair is left a little on the wetter side. Then into the bathrobe she slips, and the very next thing she does? Consult the cards. To determine her approach.


A need to look at one's deeper personal issues and determine if they stand in her way. There's a soft, almost bitter laugh from inside the bathroom as the card is reinserted to it's pouch, a moment of introspection… and when she comes out? It's with the cup and saucer, but without the bathrobe, after ensuring she's thoroughly dry. The guidance of the cards is always to be followed. On the plus side? It shows she's clean for a change! Oh, she's definitely as red as her hair, but she walks with determination.

"Mademoiselle Scarlett, we are neither obligated to one another. Where I grew up…" she pauses, biting her lip a bit. It's not a comfortable subject. "…they were strict. They were unkind. I did not like it very much, but it is all I knew. /You/ are kind. I would have preferred an upbringing such as yours, in order to make me a better person." she forces a smile, now. "Perhaps you can tell me more of the customs that made you into the woman that you are?"


"Scarlett, please. We needn't fall back on titles, or else we might be here all day." The young woman who owns the apartment is still in her kitchen, not so much out of protection from anywhere else, but because wiping down the counter and mulling over a sandwich does deserve some care. The tea sandwiches lack real proportions to satisfy hunger in any deep way, anyhow, but they can make a dent. And too often she forgets to eat, so Scarlett nibbling on something is in fact a good thing.

Going without the bathrobe does warrant the mildest arch of her coppery-red eyebrows, however. How not? "Of course," she murmurs. "Your clothes need a run through the wash. We've machines in the basement and you cannot go as you are." Conclusion drawn entirely too easily, she presses her hands together and her lips touch the knuckles of her index fingers, giving not the slightest bit of unease for someone walking around her apartment unclad. "Come, then, let's fetch up something. You can stay within the robe, and not catch a chill entirely. Be glad we aren't at ground level or you might give some poor gentleman a nosebleed for the sight of one of Artemis' nymphs emerging from her pool. You know the old myth, when she would strike mortals blind for looking upon one of her favourites?"

Isn't that a tad damning? Perchance and not, leavening the situation with a particular kind of warmth. "You have every right to ask how I came to be as I am, though I fear my answers are piecemeal at best. I've adopted those which seem the most natural through practice and observation, discarding the ones I could live without. Some seem natural, and maybe I picked them up earlier in life. It's a desire not to be so bound up in many laws and expectations society holds."


"Scarlett, then, if it pleases." Marie responds easily enough. With Scarlett in the kitchen, and the sandwiches unguarded, the sight that greets Scarlett is not just a skyclad Marie, but a skyclad Marie with half a sandwiched stuffed in her mouth in a truly unladilike fashion. A fact that turns the poor girl even redder still. Hasily, she chews and swallows the oversized bite, bowing her head demurely. "I'm sorry, they just looked so good, I could not help myself."

The next offer brings eyes wide again. "You have a washing machine? How marvelous!" Not going as she is, though? "…you're probably right, not all may be as," she pauses, considering the words. "Openminded as you are." …but at the moment her attention's definitely on the sandwiches. Between the cards issuing their command, and her stomach issuing /its,/ her present state of undress isn't something she's nearly worried about as much as she normally would. Especially if it doesn't bother Scarlett. "Well, yes, a ground floor would certainly allow other eyes to interfere., so I am quite happy to be where I am."

The latter explanation brings a thoughtful glance from the shorter girl, who uses the moment to eat once again. Once that's down, she's speaking again. "You know, the cards can shed light into the past as much as they can the future." she offers, her lips curving into a more honest smile. "If you're interested, perhaps I could try and light /that/ way at some point, as well… though I would not fault you if you wished to leave the past there." She sure would, for the most part.


As it pleases: tea, of course, liberally dosed by good conversation, and the rhythms of a normal state returning to the disturbed ripples upon a pond. The meal laid out may be simple by most standards, but there are at least two whole sandwiches chopped into pleasant little triangles and rectangles, worthy of the name. That such a tiny faux pas against manners happens seems not to bother Scarlett in the least, her bohemian thoughts swept away on a buoyant cloud.

"The building has machines, yes, down in the basement. They rather had to. We cannot wash our clothing in the sink and put it out on a line, as you might in the country." Scarlett muses o the thought, and she gestures behind her towards the table. "You can eat as many sandwiches as you like, think nothing of it. But yes, the availability of the machines is wonderful. I believe one of the previous tenants managed to convince the landlords it was the best new thing, so here we are. Of course, one day to have such a thing in my own apartment would be wonderful. All these timesaving things free us up to do what we want, instead of being slaves to our chores." She heads for the hallway, at any rate, twitching open the door into the main bedroom she calls her own. Somewhere in there is a box for autumnal clothing, labeled such, and the riotous chaos of her world is painted plainly there: books in a rather wide spread, several textiles depicting rather elaborated and aged designs impacted by Teutonic, Norse, and Celtic cultures; plants; photography. Portraits here are rarer breeds, more intimate, than those otherwise.

"Being this high has its advantages, not the least for the view. I have to agree upon that." A closet door pulled open, she draws down the box and then peers inside, coming out with a pair of soft skirts and sweaters of different weights. "Would either of these do for you? The copper one is quite a bit lighter than the other. "My past might hold some keys, though in a way, is it wise to unlock a door that seems to have vanished into the mist?"


Marie certainly doesn't have to be told twice in order to continue eating — finishing up the first sandwich before she's going to open her mouth again for any other purpose. "I had considered washing mine in the tub, after my own bath." the French woman admits, laughing softly to herself. "The c-place where I had stayed, back in Lyons… they were very old fashioned, and clothes washing was certainly not something they looked to modernize. It built character." she recalls, crinkling her nose at the thought. In truth, it was a useful skill to have back then, but perhaps antiquated now.

The idea of having a machine in her apartment? "Perhaps should you win the… 'lottery'? That will happen." …Marie's aware that the machines exist, but the idea of having one in the apartment itself seems awfully expensive. While Scarlett's certainly better off than she, her down to Earth demeanor suggests that she's probably not a milionaire. If Marie had to guess, at least.

When Scarlett moves from room to room, Marie follows. Her movements, now that she's feeling refreshed and fed — another sandwich in one hand, the teacup in the other — are notably graceful, like a dancer's. Her balance is excellent, too, as not a drip of tea spills with her movements, or the occasional sip. The only wavering? When the bohemian offers even more hospitality. She looks like she wants to just run up and hug her friend — but, with both their hands full, thinks better of it. Still, she's getting misty-eyed! "You… would even give me your very clothes?" she asks incredulously, those emerald eyes slowly blinking as if she's trying to determine whether or not she's dreaming. "Either would be absolutely wonderful, they are both very pretty!" …and in truth? Marie would be beyond grateful to have clothing that /isn't/ her old school uniform to wear. New clothes, better memories attached to them.


Eat all one will, there's probably an entire loaf of bread going stale in the cupboard, begging for someone to love on it. If bread alone could ease hunger, then Marie-Ange would be no doubt round as a plum, groaning in satisfaction. Scarlett subscribes to the 'visit the market daily' methodology of most Europeans, and the whole notion of stocking her kitchen with perishables for a week is somewhat alien. Let's also face it, she enjoys shopping. Also, hearing stories of lives and foreign places, her attention most certainly rapt even if she is still assembling a comfortable outfit in the mind's eye. "Oh, I have heard of plenty of people given only a plastic or metal tub, and a look they might as well have a washing board. Or those roller presses, I've seen them and wondered if they would not be better in a museum. The perils of modernity." Now imagine that poor redhead in a Magdalene laundry, no doubt on account of her flaming tresses, and the likely path to evil within a number of days. The Devil isn't only in her, she's a soul thief cursed by God in the eyes of Christ's brides.

Laughter lingers upon her lips, at any rate, and she shakes her braids. "Much that is difficult or trying we describe as building character, and on that front, I might agree. But I am not sure how doing more chores instead of productive work that you feel called to is meant to refine your personality and aptitudes, many as they must be. Had you a chance to consider what you want to do in New York? Art, perhaps, or are you drawn to music, the performing schools, or not school at all? There is no shame to come here to find a husband; goodness knows, many of the girls about want some exposure to life before they settle in to the future of a home, children, and a husband. You'll find that second skirt a tad longer, it reaches the knee. I admit I follow more of the English fashions in going rather short." Slim fingers pinch her own minidress; it's not a common sight on the streets, any more than the Beatles are on the airwaves. "And yes, I would give you those. You need something to wear, and I've a friend who exists to make clothes, to be sure. I can probably… You know what? Let me make a note to pen her a line, and see if she wants to go out for coffee and have a lovely look at you. French is very chic, and she will have you in more dresses and skirts than you know what to do with."


Marie-Ange draws Seven Wands.


"I have used a washing board, in the past," More character building, especially before Marie retreated inside herself and didn't try to press the idea that she might be right about things and the Church might not. "Needless to say I am no stranger to such chores, although, as you said… I would prefer more productive tasks to spend my time with, or if my time be spent doing chores, at least to have a proper purpose behind them." Mental note: before she leaves here, she's going to make sure everything's done. Because Scarlett's been so good to her, it's the very least that she can do in return. Karma must be kept in balance, when one does favors, they must be returned. These are thoughts that go through Marie's head as she nibbles on another bite — before holding one finger up, scampering back into the living room to set the cup and sandwich remnant down, and returning empty-handed. "I think this one I shall try on first," In a move that may surprise Scarlett? Modest little Marie chose the combination with the shorter skirt.

Yes, she consulted her cards on that choice, too.

Hands go out tentatively in order to take the garments from Scarlett — in this way, her movements are more like a scolded dog. Expecting the offer to be rescinded at a moment's notice. Once she's able to take them, though? She's quick to start dressing — she doesn't opt for privacy, as frankly every movement will take her closer to a less-reddening state of dress! "I have not." she admits, pulling the sweater over her head… and blowing in vain at the hair that fell into her face before using a hand to tuck it behind one ear, and then the other. "The cards told me that my future was in America," she admits, moving to the skirt, next. Skinny as she is? It's certainly not hard to shimmy into. "Beyond that, they have been hesitant to tell me more of my path. They guide me in the moment, but not in months, weeks… I am fortunate to know what tomorrow brings, if I ask for myself. Still, they guide me well as they do." Literally, she hasn't given what to do here any independant thought at all. She hadn't felt the need, believing that things would… more or less fall into place. She hasn't been wrong so far, admittedly. The thought of a husband draws a girlish giggle from Marie, "There was one man I met who thought himself a suitor. Handsome, I will admit." There /is/ a bit of redness returning to her cheeks as she recalls Roberto's romantic overtures. "The cards did not play well for him, however." Once she's dressed, and yet /more/ generous offers are made? Well, she's not going to hold back any longer — unless Scarlett stops her? Marie's going in for a hug. "Thank you. Thank you so much Scarlett. You are a most wonderful friend." is offered softly; yes, she /is/ crying, now. Tears of joy.


Chores are abominable, to be sure. Scarlett moves over to the small desk, pulling out a dish from a drawer. She sits and starts to pull the chrysanthemums from her braids, an activity that takes considerable amount of time, more than enough for Marie to dress and grow comfortable with her surroundings. The purple flowers are impacted heavily by the cold, wilting somewhat, the tiny petals needle thin and drooping inwards. They have short stalks remaining to them, enough to fit among the thin, tight plaits that dress her fox fire hair. Scarlett smiles as she builds up a rhythm of feeling for the flower, pinch it free, and extricating the bloom with minimal breakage or fuss. "Time well spent cleaning is not a bad thing, but unnecessarily spent time is another matter altogether. I would like to pursue a worthwhile balance of work and lifestyle; enjoyment precludes scrubbing all day long. That I believe is true for everyone. Though that makes me a futurist in some eyes." Her eyes crinkle at the corners, the deepening reverb of her good mood returning after several skipped stones. "Go right ahead and try the fit. I've some pins if they aren't quite right, and we might be able to take things in at the waist or the like. I'm not very good with a needle, but clipping or pinning should be easy enough."

The comfort of the confessional booth of her own room allows the laughing student from Columbia to speak of such things freely enough. Surprise may exist, but encouragement is there, too.

More flowers fall into the dish, and she hums a little under her breath while she works, a very old song indeed. "You have good reason to come, I'm sure. Though should you find yourself free to daydream, you might be allowed to imagine which route you would prefer to take. Do you dream of dancing on a stage or pursuing a job in a shop or returning one day to France? Perhaps they cannot guide you fully, your cards, until you have at some level determined a little of—"

Let's say right there is when she gets a hug, wordy even though she is, and a laugh meets with a whisper of internal alarm, her intuition flaring on the soaring light of green-copper. Scarlett opens an arm, long sleeve wisping, and she curls it around. "Ah, cherie, no tears are needed. You are a good person, and I would be a terrible one, if I let you sit outside alone in a world that need not be cold and cruel."


It's fortunate that by the time the hug happens, Marie's dressed — and, as the girl /is/ on the underweight side, most things that would fit a woman her height are still going to be baggy on her… leading to extra skin coverage, although at the moment the skirt's only held up by the fact that it's pinned between the two girls. "You barely know me, Scarlett…" the same could be said in reverse, but Marie doesn't /quite/ feel that way thanks to her cards. "…but you still open your home, and treat me so kindly, and, and…" the little French girl is officially at a loss for words, now. So she just stays in that hug for a few moments more.

Eventually, though, she /does/ pull away… and no longer aided by human pinning, down goes the skirt. Which Marie's quickly to pull back up. "I think… I will need some adjustment." she admits with a bit of a blush, holding the garment in place. As for the future? There's a bit of a shake of her head. "I have always followed the cards, ever since I was little girl… I dare not choose something so important without their guidance." she admits, then closes her eyes to ponder for a moment. "Besides… I still have so much to learn of how America works, of what opportunities lie here. I an sure there is so much that I do not know…"


It is indeed fortunate for the state of affairs, although Scarlett possesses a sliver of control such she does not inadvertently start foreseeing her own future with an unconscious woman at her feet. "Have you felt ever that you know someone much longer than you have? It happens sometimes to me in New York," says the taller redhead, her voice and eyes soft, thought written in the watercolours of a Monet rather than the vibrant contours of a Picasso or the deep, sultry oils of a Velasquez. What flat brush sweeps her countenance does so favourably, imparting a trace of gold shadow, a glance of apricot consideration. "Then others stand out like warm chairs suited for a good book, beckoning at some level I cannot resist, and prove to be as familiar and comfortable at every level as I could hope for. They are equally valuable. There's an old saying I learned somewhere about new friends are silver and the old are golden, but the truth is everyone brings something valuable and insightful."

The corner of her mouth teases higher, another of those little smiles. All the same, she does return the embrace, nothing much hinting at the ferocious strength she possesses. Oh, the truth of her years-long practice of yoga gives her an ideal form, but not the inhuman horror she can be.

"Let me fetch up the safety pins, shall I? A belt might not work. If we cross them, they will actually be fairly fashionable." She has a look through the desk drawers, coming up with a plastic box and peering inside. "The cards give you insight, and valuable direction. May they do so when you are uncertain on many fronts? And there is a great deal to learn, but not all at once, so if you want to start with something about America, just ask. Immediate concerns, general inquiries?"


It's fortunate for them both that Scarlett has her control, both over powers and strength… perhaps even more important being the latter, with Marie being especially frail. "I have not… but I believe I am beginning to understand the feeling you speak of." the seer replies, one hand moving from holding the skirt to wipe those tears from her eyes… and to fidget with her hair again. Loosened from the tangles, it definitely tends to fall over her face more often than it did before! It might be a bother, but it's one she's happy to deal with, relieved at looking far more normal than she did prior. Oh, time in the mirror would be a must!

Once that's done, she stretches her limbs out, causing an audible pop here and there — and she has to grab the skirt back up again when fingers come unlatched from the material. Whoops. "Yes… the pins would be a good thing to have." Because anywhere else? The skirt falling would mortify her. But the cards gave her strength here. "…and I do not know." she admits, laughing softly at her state of lost-ness. "Have you ever been in a situation where everything remains to be learned and you wish you could simply learn everything at once? That is how I feel right now."


The control over one is vast, the other limited. Experience has not been fair in either sense. All said, though, she indulges in the possibility to bestow generosity and compassion upon others when so few in this city, at least her set, do so freely. Scarlett is a complicated individual, with a plentitude of them locked up in the crystal corridors and forbidding towers of her psyche. "Here, now. Do you want to poke them through so nothing pricks you, or would you rather I situated one for you? I do not want to assume." Assumptions can be dangerous otherwise, a lesson she has been told forgivingly.

The question causes her to pause for a moment in thought, and then she draws a circle with her hand in front of Marie, sketching a general shape trailing off to the left. "Every moment of my life, none so much as these last weeks. Were I capable of opening the greatest library of creation, and stepping in to somehow absorb the tomes several at a time, I should count myself blessed indeed. There might be only one thing I wish more than that, but it would be a near thing. Your difficulty is especially familiar."


"Please do, if you would be so kind. I would rather ensure that it fit properly, even if the cost is being pricked by the pin." Pause. "…besides this, I trust your hands." Which may be the first time Scarlett's heard someone day that! Granted, Marie has no reason to think otherwise about her friend, and she herself is deliberately avoiding showing off the /other/ side of what she can do to the other woman… she was simply too good a friend to risk losing, and the cards hadn't said to go for it yet.

The latter words, however, bring a curious glint to the emerald in the seer's eyes. There's definitely something she doesn't quite understand, there. "You have entered a situation with overwhelming potential for knowledge recently…?" she asks, tone clearly confused until… "Oh! Your friend." That must be it, Marie decides. The very same situation Scarlett asked for a reading about. It makes all the sense, now. "…and what would you wish for more than the capability to learn in such a fashion?" A pause, quickly followed by, "If I may be so presumptuous to ask?"


The point of safety pins, they can be worn safely. Hopefully. Scarlett takes one in her fingertips and pops the point from the rounded latch, easing it out. Her choice from the box is a bit larger than the others, still not the size of a kilt's. It pierces the heavy fabric of the skirt with a touch of force and Marie probably feels the steel sliding over her skin, though the point grazes the material rather than her body. Checking the pinched contents for proper fit, the taller redhead sets it at an angle, then secures the point into the forked notch waiting for it.

Repeating again takes very little time, and the other, shorter pin intersects the first at a bit of a jaunty X. "There, now give a little twirl and pinch the skirt where you think it feels comfortable but not too snug." Scarlett rises off the bench, giving the seat at her desk up. "You may want to try that, and assure the fit will be good. I will find two more that ought to match. There should be a pair in here." A finger stirs up the buttons, bobs, and various fasteners a girl collects over time. "Yes, my friend." Uncanny how some people can draw the right conclusions.

"The knowledge goes with my friend, in a parallel line, but better to have the lasting and meaningful connection than all the knowledge."


Marie has always been the obedient type, especially when either a) she's beaten down, or b) she likes the person giving the instruction. B is in play this time around. So, Marie twirls around elegantly, the skirt fanning around with the movement. When she stops? Well, those emerald eyes are practically sparkling with the joy contained inside the girl right now.. but her hand's moving to point to a spot where it didn't feel quite snug enough, pulling the fabric between her fingers.

"Right… here." Marie states, holding onto the spot as Scarlett rises, and moving towards the newly opened seat — she doesn't quite sit, but instead props one knee on it, to keep the spot away from the ground in order to better deal with it. The fact that she was right about her guess? That has her smiling a bit wider. Any time she can get more meaning than expected out of the cards is a win, it just means she's getting that much better at interpreting. "Aha, I understand now… and yes, I certainly agree."


Scarlett, on the other hand, is obedient only to a point, a mistaken point at that. Too many confuse her reticence to risk everything in one go for being meek and quiet, which anyone spending time with the taller redhead probably knows she is not. A chatterbox and obedient, she is not either. The twirl happens to her satisfaction, anyways, and the bohemian produces a pair of smaller bronze tone pins different from the steel ones. "Here, let's add these two, and we can make short work of that. Best yet, when someone gets their stitches in, you will still have a functional garment." It helps, alas, to have hips only in certain situations but the joys of Twiggy have not yet hit this shore and she still starves on the other side of the Atlantic.

Two quick pokes of the steel through fabric, and the pair of pins are placed as before, a cross over one another. The effect meets with approval, and she flashes a smile at the handiwork. "There. Now is that not a little better suited for a walk outside? You will want to find a good pair of tights, the heavy sort, to keep your legs warm. Mine are going to be too long for you without darning, and sagging down off your poor knees. Nothing so bad as elephant wrinkles, as…" Who would say? She looks quizzically off into the mirror, then shakes her head,


Once she next set of pins are in, she tries the twirl again… and this time, she claps excitedly at the end. "Wonderful! Your work is fantastic." Clothes that aren't full of holes, /and/ fit? She wouldn't have even thought to ask for so much; she's fortunate that Scarlett offers such so freely. With that done, she's scanning the room for a mirror… if that fails, she practically hops back to the bathroom to check herself out. Either way, when she finds a mirror?

She /squeals./

Then the taller girl had better be on hug alert again, because the shorter one comes a'running. "I love it! Thankyouthankyouthankyou~" This is probably the happiest she's been in years. Things are falling into place — the cards said they would — and she feels like she can be herself; there's still traits that are ingrained that aren't likely to go away… but she's definitely a happier Marie than the one Scarlett first met. At least here, where she feels safe.


Scarlett has a mirror behind the vanity, and the bathroom has a sizeable one. (+detail here/bedroom) All the same, the redhead of the deflowered braids shakes her head at the sheer charm of the Frenchwoman restored to her proper place in the world: clean, dressed, mostly groomed. Now to add fed to the equation, and all might be right in the world.

"You need a second cup of tea at this rate. The water should still be hot." This is her response to a squeal, rather than laughing and being assumed to laugh unkindly at another, especially in a place designated as a sanctuary to all of team redhead. Prepared as she rise, the launch should knock her over. Marie is not a complete lightweight. But Scarlett doesn't even fall, she simply remains where she is, wrapping her arms around the French girl. "Oh, the very least I could do for you. I have the feeling your cards put me in place to receive you."


"Oh, yes please!" is her response to the suggestion of another cup of tea. "I can serve, if you would like, and can get you one as well?" Again, it's in Marie's nature to be the people-pleaser. It's just a part of who she is, really, and one of the small things she can do to return the many favors given tonight..

She doesn't particularly pay /much/ attention to not knocking Scarett over, figuring it a lucky coincidence and thinking she's just overall that tiny. Truthfully, she would've been a bit mortified to cause a tumble — but only a bit, because she /does/ feel safe. Almost completely. "I think you are correct, Scarlett. I am very pleased that they chose you for such an important role in my life."


"Oh, you needn't serve me. Making tea is a special pleasure," Scarlett insists, heading for the door with a light step. "I have cupboards full and the kettle rarely has a time to cool down except at bedtime. Can I make you a different cup or did you enjoy the one that you had? The black with lavender is a particular favourite and struck me as something you might like, but you could prefer rose or an orange citrus blend for all I know. Making a dent in that collection simply allows me to have more." Pragmatism in the face of an addiction is a rare quality, one she possesses in earnest.

The kitchen is still warmly enough lit from the lights left on, and seeing no need to add to them, she fetches up the kettle to test whether the water inside is sufficient for another two cups. Pouring out the contents into an awaiting pot, she adds more water and sets it back upon the stove. "You must be starving still. We were to go out to eat, but if the bath made you sleepy, we can whip up a proper meal here. No need to reckon with the chill and exhaustion simply to cram into a booth and wait to eat."


"Well, I would certainly not wish to deprive you of such a pleasure." the shorter girl replies — the fact that Scarlett /enjoys/ making tea makes it easier for her to accept not doing the work for her, so instead her arms swing out and back, locking behind her back. Body twisting from side to side in a lazy, contented manner. "The same would be wonderful; I enjoyed it quite a bit." she replies - it's true. Marie's not particularly the most picky of people, but at the same time… it /was/ really good.

As the bohemian walks, the seer follows — although another one of the little sandwich triangles is snatched up as the living room is passed, too. The point where she's taking a bite is when the suggestion she might still be hungry is made — so it's not until after she chews, and swallows that the reply comes. "The bath itself did not make me sleepy…" It was more invigorating than anything, really. "…but food often does. Which would you prefer?" Marie's not great about choices — but she /is/ prepared to consult the cards if Scarlett wants her to make the choice.


The world has order and chaos, rhythms and rituals, sacred tenets and sacred activities. Scarlett no doubt finds some patience and calm out of the familiar actions of making the tea, the patience required to see it brought to idela fruition as meditative as sitting in lotus position on the floor to watch the sun rise. She can take a particular pleasure, too, in the creation and transformation performed under her magics. There's a certain sort of magic to it.

A craft that sings to her soul, even if she is but a child in the art, as it were. Marie's contentment satisfies another fissure in her soul, and she goes about the mundane tasks of portioning out loose tea, setting the tea balls into water, and bringing over another cup. "You can probably pour out the hot water right now. It should be enough, though if not, I would be happy to heat it back up.

"Whatever makes you happy, mademoiselle, will satisfy me. I am the guide, you are the on to decide the destination of our nocturnal adventures. Would you prefer to stay in or wander out, and if you wander out, what direction calls you? Go ahead and choose, and I will act accordingly."


Marie stands witness as Scarlett works her craft, idly humming a tune that's not native to this shore as she waits — not impatient, simply observant. It's a difference, and a big one… patience has always been a virtue for the one who must consult with cards for her decisions. Once the call is made for her to step in, however, she's not about to hesitate. Legs carry her forward so that those slender fingers can handle pouring out the hot water, as she's instructed, still humming away merrily.

Once she's done with that, and the onus is placed upon her to decide? Marie pauses, holds up one hand and the index finger of it, and scampers on into the bathroom to take care of something very important.

Consulting the cards, of course. The Two of Pentacles is the answer.

A card calling for balance, but also suggesting that multi-tasking is the moment's enemy … the latter being the stronger indication to her at the moment. Pouch tucked away, she returns and offers. "…I think staying in would be the most prudent idea, tonight. If I were to get tired, I do not think you would wish to carry me back here." she replies in a teasing tone. How little she knows, indeed!


"Staying in? All right. Let me consult with my refrigerator and cupboards to see what might be worth eating. Do you have any particular tastes to be fulfilled? I have more for the sandwiches, though admittedly they are not terribly filling." Opening the fridge door, Scarlett peers into the covered dishes and the various supplies, her mouth compressed in thought. Delicate lines drawn about her features come into higher relief from the light bleeding out. "A beef stew with vegetables, beef bourguignon, and a bit more of my chicken a la king. Mind you that might not be good enough on its own. Some more crusty rolls to go with the latter, I think. Oh, and the fixings for a salad. Or I have soup, tuna in a can, a few others."

Her nod follows, a glance back to see whether any of the options strike a particularly bright note with her guest. Marie deserves the choice, of course.

Choice is such a dangerous thing, except in matters of food.


Marie-Ange draws Ten Pentacles.


Choice /is/ a dangerous thing, and especially when it comes to Marie. Food seems like a slam dunk. Her stomach immediately makes suggestions… but her mind overrules them. If she chose the wrong thing, she might somehow offend her host, or pick something with a spoiled ingredient, or invite a murder of crows to invade the apartment and steal all their food. /All/ the food. Marie has a problem, but it's not one she seeks a cure for.

So she draws, motion swift and eyes downcast for a moment… a smile coming wider to her lips at the sight.

The Ten of Pentacles. A sign that material wishes will be met. Which means go with the stomach on this one. "The beef bourguignon sounds positively scrumptuous — truly, /everything/ does, but I would be remiss if I ate you out of house and home." …as small as she is? That's likely more worry than reality, but other than the sandwiches… it /has/ been over a day. She'd make a good run at it if manners didn't stop her.


Food takes many forms. Cheese and crackers for appetizers, more of those cookies laid out along with the finger sandwiches in cucumber and tomato or a fine lacework of egg salad. Scarlett can be a whirlwind through the kitchen when she wants, though she still tugs and pulls through the cupboards and drawers to prepare dishes; plates, cutlery, small glasses. Not everything matches, but a good portion of it will serve. "The bourguignon I thought might appeal to you. It's quite good though I think I will need to reheat it in the oven. The stovetop is just too slow and inconsistent." These small facts aren't truly necessary to vocalize but they do explain the delays.

The oven happily buzzes as she brings it to life, the twist of a dial setting out the command to kick up to 400 degrees Fahrenheit and go from there. A paper bag of buns follows, and she sets three aside to toast lightly, though they already tasty enough. "Food will never be a trouble. I've more than enough for myself. So please, devour what you need. It strikes me you might have been without a proper meal, given the many cafes and pizzerias about here serve good food, but not especially wholesome food, if you can imagine. There is a balance to be struck."

If she were Jewish, Scarlett might well be stuffing half a deli down Marie's craw.


Marie's certainly not hard to impress, so any inconsistencies in the dinnerware are going to easily pass by the French girl in favor of what is on, and in them. She stands in the kitchen ready should her assistance be called for, patient as ever — though this time it's due to the earlier sandwiches, as they helped with lowering her hunger enough that she wouldn't be /too/ ravenous while it reheated. "I like a great many things, there are few foods that I do not like… though perhaps many, still, that I have not tried." Considering that she's new to the country and hadn't been out of France before then, that makes sense enough to her.

"Careful, Scarlett, if food is indeed never a trouble you might find me waiting at your doorstep more often than not." Much like a lost puppy looking for scraps at the door of a friendly kitchen. "Yes… I have had some of the city's cuisine," Pizza's a particular love, especially given the likelihood for leftovers to happen. "and it is tasty, but it has been forever since I have had a home-cooked meal."


The kitchen table sits outside the kitchen, a habit of fact the kitchen is too small to contain it. Apartments in New York are generally not known for a generous floorplan. Sticking the casserole dish in the oven, Scarlett carries over the plates to the table and lays out a trivet or two in anticipation of the meal. "Do you dislike broccoli? I thought to reheat a side, though I have carrots, peas, and other such vegetables. The Chelsea Market sells fresh produce at reasonable prices, and the selection is quite good even this late into the season. Besides, I find the colour and excitement of all the different vendors to be a rather thrilling distraction from the noise of the city. A different kind of noise down there, but you might find it to be welcoming rather than overwhelming."

The teapot is refilled with hot water, and all those routine acts of setting the table performed with an effortless ease demanding nothing of Marie. Scarlett merely doubles her habits, and helps to maintain that semblance of normalcy. "'Tis not a bad thing. Sometimes I forget the enjoyment of cooking and seeing others enjoy a meal is a special satisfaction in and of itself. No?"


"Only when I was a child did I dislike it," Marie replies, laughing softly and shaking her head at the thought. "as I grew, it was a presence that would not go away, and I grew a taste for it as well. Especially when covered in cheese." Appropriate for the girl from a country where fondue was quite popular, really. "It sounds like a place I shall certainly visit as my fortunes improve." This seems a forgone conclusion to her, they /will/ improve. Today's gone a long way to solidify that thought even further into her mind, to be certain.

With little else to do but wait and sip her tea, by the time the teapot is refilled? The seer is ready for more, moving swiftly to refill her cup. Being waited on isn't an entirely new experience, but it is one she hasn't experienced since the last time in her life that she was fairly happy. "I will certainly keep this in mind, then. What kind of a friend would I be should I deprive you of such an enjoyment?"


Scarlett leans against the counter, glancing every so often at the clock to measure how long the dish has been in the oven. "Something to do with children tasting flavours stronger and differently than adults do. Pity to think of all the fine meals prepared and cast aside because Robert or Jacqueline no longer want to eat anything not covered in cheese. Though cheese is sinfully seductive when it comes to brightening a meal." Her fingers curl around the end of the counter, allowing a comfortable balance. The comment of Marie's enjoyment brings out a laugh. "I see! I am a charitable case, so you can spread happiness by keeping me to a normal schedule. Is that how it is, young lady?"

Waggling her finger is patently ridiculous when they are almost an age, but she is not prone to complaining too much. "Is it rude to ask how you obtained your deck? I imagine some corner shop, dusty, full of golden light on an afternoon where you first saw it. Though I am particular to stories, I admit."


"That makes sense, I suppose. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, thought as a child and reasoned as a child, but when I became an woman I set aside childish ways." A bit of the influence from her upbringing shining through, even if it's a misquoted verse. "…and it /is./ It really, truly is… but it is one sin I will commit gladly every time." Laughter is contagious, and though Marie reddens slightly, the shorter girl echoes the laughter with her own in turn. "Yes, that is how it is! I must take care to ensure that you are kept happy, and if this is what I must do to do it," she tries to force a grim look onto her face, but it's threatening to break even as she forms it. "Then it is a responsibility I humbly accept." …and then she devolves into a fit of giggles.

Once she recovers, the question is asked, and Marie pauses for a moment. It's not exactly the happiest of stories, and she doesn't want to bring down the mood… and she's certainly feeling positive herself, so spinning the tale is well in her wheelhouse. "They were a present from my Grandmother; they were her cards," Maybe even older than that? She doesn't remember, and wasn't told, but the condition does show plenty signs of age and care alike. "She taught me how to read the cards, to keep me safe… although I believe my abilities have come to exceed what I knew of her own." Marie admits, bowing her head in deference to the memory. "…but she was a wonderful person, her abilities widely respected by those who knew of them." Other than Marie's parents, at least. She's still unsure if her Grandmother could make the cards come to life as she can, but sometimes she wonders.


"Threatening to break down my very door with the possibility of food, appearing before me ravenous and demanding that I produce some fine spread of food! O woe unto me, not to be endowed with the feast hall and kitchens of Louis the Sun King!" Scarlett presses her hands to her breast, tilting backwards as she bends her knees, sliding down the counter, losing inches and more from her height. "What cruelty and unkindness. You must be the Mother Church, requiring a tithe of your poor dear subject, even if I am anointed by right and purpose to make as little or much as I want, is that not right? I am at a loss! For there shall be this imperious maid seated at my table, armed by her fork and napkin, beckoning. I shall live in absolute terror of these futures altered by the new burdens and debts I am obligated to, aware I shall only enjoy a remote prospect of blessed culinary sainthood as I toil to perfect my bourbon and chocolate chip cookies."

What _woe_ there is there. Even as she slips back to peer into the oven, pulling down the door to look inside. Of course, she is listening, but there can be no doubt the floor is now Marie's to share. "Ah! A family heirloom, that is lovely."


Scarlett's display of a flair for the dramatic have the giggles boiling over again, one of Marie's hands moving to her mouth to try and stifle them, even as the other works to keep her tea from spilling over at the same time. The latter's doing a better job than the former this time around, but she's not at all upset about this, au contraire, she's having a wonderful time.

"It is! She taught me everything I needed to know about reading them, and told me that they would guide me in my life going forward. She was not wrong in the slightest about that." That's a happy thought right there. She likes it when these things are confirmed, "I don't know what I would ever do if something happened to them… but I'm fortunate to have not had to worry about this."


The redhead of the taller variety opens up the oven and pulls out the casserole dish, easing back the foil to check the contents have not turned into a bubbling mass ready to introduce itself. Apparently the contents are quite safe, sufficient she will gladly dish out the beef once safely transporting it to the table. Serving spoons forgotten in the drawer have to be reclaimed. "Oh yes, cherie, I can talk and keep people in stitches. Dramatic and wordy, and not one bit of sense the good lord granted everyone else." Her smile means no harm, sweet as it is. Or full of mischief.

"I like to think that your grandmother, like many grandmothers, was full of wisdom and experience of a life well led. No doubt she had plenty of stories and her own way of passing them down," she says warmly, and Scarlett drops into a seat opposite of Marie. "Tea, beef and potatoes and broccoli, and … oh, drat, the buns! I hope you don't mind waiting for me to heat them, or we can eat them the way they are."


"It is a wonderful talent to have, Scarlett, and surely one that I, and many others could use more of in our lives." Marie replies, now that the giggling has subsided some and her voice is settling back where it needs to be. Able to speak cleanly and not have words broken in upon. Yes, this is clearly the type of person she's needed in her life for years, and for many reasons at that. An utterly positive influence, even if it was she who had worried about her ability to guide her friends… she's serving that role well for the seer tonight.

"Then I believe you to be living proof that sense is far overrated.. and I think you are quite right. The gift of aging, even though we might prefer to resist it." Marie returns, grinning fondly until… oh no, the rolls! There's no falter in her expression, everything just… /smells/ so wonderful right now. "I do not mind waiting, no, nor do I mind eating them cold. This time, it is my chef's choice how they will be served."

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