[ the tales mean little to her. alisha thinks she won't be here long. she doesn't need to listen to this shit, of whatever it is the old resident is spouting about. while a part of her knows it might be helpful in the future — well, she doesn't have one, does she? not here, not there, not anywhere, really. it's with a sigh — aggravated, tired, listless — she rests her elbow against the sofa and leans her cheek into her palm. from the corner of her eye she watches jack with interest. it's not uncommon for her to see someone with a bullshit power doing something equally as bullshit, but, tonight, his doesn't seem all that bad. ]
[ until, of course, the cake plops right into her lap. she glances down, eyebrow raised, not at all too happy with this sudden turn of events. ] How about you don't do that? [ she wants to sound angry, but her voice comes out softly, and almost as if she's asking him what that was. ]
no subject
[ until, of course, the cake plops right into her lap. she glances down, eyebrow raised, not at all too happy with this sudden turn of events. ] How about you don't do that? [ she wants to sound angry, but her voice comes out softly, and almost as if she's asking him what that was. ]