A Doll's House (PoW: Angelina Tarrant x Madeleine Citronelle)

[Malkavia]

Ya gotta boot her.

She was so...earnest. Big round eyes. Shoulders hunched in. Like a puppy scared of being kicked.

Madeleine couldn't suppress a snort. Really? Charlotte? "Ange, sweet...I don't think—"

"I did NOT snitch to the fuckin' cops, EVER, you absolute cunt."

Madeleine flinched. Christ. She squeezed Angelina's hand.

"Good to know you're so fuckin' scared though, Angie. Explains why you keep dodging me left right and center, ey? Afraid how it might look if—"

"Quiet Charlotte."

She rounded on the Countess. "Stop fuckin' callin' me that!"

Madeleine raised her eyebrows at Charlotte, holding her look. One Mississippi, two Mississippi. There were so many questions.

How did she get in. (Again). What did she actually want. (This time). Was she ever going to grow up? But, really, none of them mattered. Not for this weekend.

Her eyes slid to her red-haired kitten.

"Charlotte is...someone who means a great deal to me." Charlotte groaned and scoffed, but Madeleine ignored her. "I told her a long time ago that my doors are always open. And...that's how it is. But I promise, sweet pea..."

As she took in another long, tired breath, she leaned against her kitten, nuzzling her neck and shoulder. "You're safe when you're with me. Always. OK?"

That should have been the end to it—the deft stroke that kept her kitten close, her word unbroken, the night pristine. But no. Charlotte could never let corpses lie.

"Fuuuuck me. I mean, I should expect it by now, but fuck. After all I told you about Thistle, and like. A WEEK LATER, you turn around and make Angie your sweet lil kitten. You just do not give a shit who they are if they'll lick your toes, do ya?"

[Monsy]

You absolute cunt..
OK, suck-meister who can’t plan a heist. Might as well have.

Angelina shrunk with her shoulders coming up. Her face tucked towards Madeleine’s shoulder. The eye closest to Shimmer scrunched shut tight. She squeezed the hand in return. Eventually, she wasn’t even looking at either of them in particular. But away entirely towards the floor.

"Quiet Charlotte."
YES.
Thank you, Madsy.

Once she sensed her cue to return attention, Angelina gave Madeleine her eyes. A worried look consumed her, like she was that helpless date at the horror movies, wanting to come in closer to steady her nerves on the walk home. When Madeleine came in, Angelina put her chin down on her shoulder and began to smile again.

Then the pipe up. Sequel. Angelina wanted to groan. Instead, she stood straighter and defensively. She kept Madeleine’s hand close still, but down lower towards their abdomens. Why does Shimmer know what she calls me?

“I don’t know shit about a Thistle. Whether it's code for somethin’, an object, place or person — it wasn’t me. I only tried to be nice and she just won’t leave me alone. Is she.. like..." Angelina chewed on her bottom lip when she said this and leaned in so Shimmer couldn't hear. Although the volume she used was all but that. A loud whisper.

"…crazy?”

[Malkavia]

Charlotte — still sprawled out on a chair at the dragon's left foot — was seven paces away from Madeleine, but she covered the space in four. Charlotte squeaked, flinched, and then Madeleine had grabbed her blouse and yanked her out of the chair.

"Ey, Mads—"

The Countess's free hand arced through the dim light towards Charlotte's ear.

"Hey—HEY–!"

When Charlotte tried to lift her fist and block Madeleine's slap, Madeleine grabbed her and twisted her arm around into the small of her back.

"Fuckin' shit, that HURTS—"

Charlotte stumbled over the polished wooden floors of Joets D'Ors. Click clunk, click clunk went her stupid, oversized heels. Madeleine steered her, making sure she didn't go lumbering into any of the displays. Then, with a push, she sent her rolling onto her face.

"Angelina," Madeleine said softly, "Charlotte would not have the competence to hurt you if she had a loaded gun and you were five paces away in a narrow hallway. You don't need to pretend to be afraid of her."

Charlotte flinched. As she rolled onto her back, she stared at Madeleine, open-mouthed. It really had been too long since Madeleine had reminded Charlotte of her boundaries.

"As for Thistledown." Madeleine crossed her hands behind her back. Shrugged. Frowned as she looked down at her ex-partner. "If you lost your birthday rabbit, in a fair fight, I don't see why that's my business."

espite the pink hair and seven layers of over-intricate sedimentary makeup, Madeleine could make out actual emotions on the child's face. Hurt. Finally.

"You are not the most important person in the room, sweet. I have a guest." A guest who had just watched Charlotte say horrible, petulent lies about Madeleine.

Madeleine could see Charlotte caving, one second at a time. She stared at the ground. Cheeks red. "...I'm sorry."

Madeleine breathed deep and let the anger sift between her fingers. She offered a hand. "It's alright Char. Hug?"

Charlotte took her hand. Stood. Squeezed her tight.

I'm so sorry Madeleine. Of course you're right. Wasn't using my brain. Of course, of course, it's just fine sweet pea. Sssssh. She patted her back, and she didn't see the way Shimmerlace glared over her shoulder the entire time at Angelina.

When they pulled apart, there were tears in her eyes.

"...You didn't mean whatcha said about Thistle, did ya?"

"Char..."

"I don't wanna fight. But I mean..." She wiped her snout on her sleeve. "He was our pet, Mads. You can't just let her..." Her eyes slid past Madeleine to the girl hiding behind her. "She can't just have him. Can she?"

Sigh.

Was she in the wrong, though? Obviously her methods were...childish. But.

"Your heart's in the right place, sweet pea." Madeleine pushed with her toes so she could reach Charlotte's forehead. Gave it a light kiss. In spite of everything, she hated seeing the girl cry. "No, you're quite right of course. We'll get Thistle back."

[Monsy]

This was better than porn.
Charlotte. Shimmer.
Getting sweet comeuppance for her misdeeds against all things beautiful and pirate. Angelina stayed very much still watching, ankles together, hands in front, grabbing the wrist. Almost like she was uncomfortable with the display, but also content with it. Then when Charlotte hit the ground, Angelina jumped, put a hand on her steady heart and made big eyes.

“There’s no pretendin’...” Angelina mumbled.

She wanted to move towards Madeleine and get behind her as the script demanded. Shimmer, even when laying there, was still a danger to the red kitten. Someone who could lunge and she’d be helpless from being trampled into a bloody husk. Shimmer was a biter. A disfigure-r. A savage.

So Angelina took the first step across. A side step.
She was unmoved by the apology and found it more boring meaningless drama than anything. But, going off script, Madeleine accepted it. Huh?

The two embraced. Angelina received a glare. She turned her head away, too preoccupied with the dragon chair than to meet the fae child's eyes. It went on and on about Thistle. Something that didn’t exist any more. She wanted it out of the conversation. This was her weekend -- and this pink puke bitch was attempting to ruin it, just like she ruins everything.

She can feel her skin tighten. A slow boil of blood in her vessels. Her fingers twitched with an ache to see those pink eyes right in front of her spill onto the floor. She flexed them, tried to get the itch out of her through mental processes. Use your voice. Not your actions

"Your heart's in the right place, sweet pea."

“Bullshit it is!” Angelina stomped her heel. Tired of being called out. And tired of being not believed. Her arms folded up, hands spread like she was giving up and saying the obvious.

“She’s makin’ up so fuckin’ much and it makes me SICK! It’s ruinin’ everythin!” Angelina huffed out her mouth, put a glare on Shimmer and said bluntly, “I bet ya sold that lil shit.” Then she growled, “And ya know what?! Good! If ya suuuuuuuuuuch a little drama queen BITCH about it, then maybe ya don't deserve shit!”

She thrust her finger at Shim, and likely the both of them. “So go fuck yourself.”

And off she goes.
Where?
Gone. Into the depths of Joets D’Ors

[Malkavia]

Now the kitten is throwing a tantrum.

Several scripts flit through Madeleine's mind. Chase, cajole, flatter. No. Step on her throat. Tug the leash.

Mmm. No. No, Madeleine decided, as she sighed and rolled her eyes. Best not to give that display any attention. Instead, her eyes rolled back around to the catalyst of all this mess.

"Our evening really was going so well before this. I'm a little annoyed at you."

"Yeah, well, guess I interpreted as much from the wristlock." When Madeleine's eyes had snapped to the pink-haired little girl, there had been an unpleasant look on her face. A smirk. A gleam of triumph in her eye. It slipped away as soon as Madeleine made eye contact.

"I suppose you think you won."

"Eh..." Charlotte glanced at her boots, as she picked her teeth with a thumbnail. "You just gonna let her have the run of the place unsupervised, then, Mads? You...do realize that girl's dangerous. Like real fuck you up serious kinda bad news, yeah?"

Madeleine sniffed and shrugged. "Naturally."

"But you think you can handle her, of course."

"I know I can. Char."

"Right, right. Yeah. Sorry." Charlotte looked at her thumb, then flicked whatever bit of viscera she'd picked from her mouth away into the dark. "Well, if we're just gonna wait for her to steam down, then—"

"Tea?"

—

One of Madeleine's sisters — Francine — had invested her time, talent, and fortune into a company specializing in niche tea and coffee brews. And that brand had a booth at Jouets D'Ors: From Wonderland Brew Company International comes every child's mother's favorite Starbucks alternative, Imagination Infusions.

As with all the outlets in Jouets D'Ors, the toy-decor dominated every aspect of the scene. The center of the cafeteria-style room was dominated by a ship—a galleon from the olden days, shiny and gleaming and plastic. It was captained by an otter and manned by a crew of animals. Foxes, rabbits, bears. All with sewn-in button eyes and mouthless faces. Some tended to the sails, others aimed cannons. All of them held a Joets D'Ors branded collectible coffee mugs in their plush paws.

Madeleine and Charlotte sat at one of the booths, the only two customers in the deserted cafe.

(Naturally, Madeleine wasn't supposed to access company stocks during closed hours. But if she paid the register and cleaned up after herself and adjusted inventory appropriately, who was going to fuss?)

Charlotte was sharing photos on her phone with the Countess.

A rabbit with a birthday hat, nibbling at a cake baked from a plant-based paste.

"Of course I remember. I baked the cake."

The very first magic show—and the long-eared star of a showstealer. Chewing up the top hat's rim, cheeky little munchkin that he was.

"If I knew where this was all going to lead with you and your...career..." Madeleine muttered, forcing her smile to remain small and demure. "Pft. I'd have brought him home all the same. It's not poor Thistle's fault you have bad taste in gimmicks."

Each photograph was a time capsule. It was strange to see herself from those days—and stranger to see Charlotte. Back when she was blonde and wore jeans.

Charlotte downed another gulp of her drink—hot chocolate, of course. Char and her sweet tooth. Her eyes were sparkling in a way that reminded Madeleine of a time when the name Char didn't risk a fight. Though — thank God — she seemed to have abandoned that fight for the night.

"Damn straight you would have. Thistle was the best fuckin' rabbit east of the Seine river on a round globe." She wiped her chocolate moustache on her costume's sleeve, and Madeleine was nudged once again to remember just how much she spent on Charlotte's wardrobe each month. "You ever miss seeing her?"

Madeleine snorted, sipping her decaff citris herbal tea as she stared cooly over the steaming cup at Char. "You're not subtle, sweet."

"The fuck have I ever been subtle about anything, Mads?"

Touchee. Madeleine blew on her cup, sipped, and sighed. "If you really want him back that badly, you should file a report."

"Maybe I'd rather see you handle it than the police."

"Oh, and why — oh sweetest and dearest of mine kittens — would that be?"

"'Cause it'd be sexy."

And there was the patented Charlotte-inspired spit take. She didn't quite spray tea all over Charlotte's face, but she had to purse her lips together and take a moment to swallow. "Ooooh, yes, it would be...sexy, I see, of course. It all makes sense now."

"Yeah. It would be." Charlotte leaned way back in her booth, lifted her boots, and rested them on the booth beside Madeleine's lap. She gestured at the Countess with her mug. Cheers! "I know it would be, 'cause seeing you ream her asshole 'til she was screaming your name is the hottest shit I've seen this fuckin' century."

"How romantic of you." It never even once occurred to Madeleine that Shimmerlace might be lying about that detail. The flashes back to the ring — the heat, the feeling of the strap around her waist, the sounds Angelina made — put color in her cheeks.

"So you'll try?"

"I already said that of course I'd try—"

"Mads. You have her eating kibble out of your fuckin' cat bowl. Please. I'm really, really asking. For something we both care about. Please?"

Madeleine sighed. Charlotte asked for a lot of things—a lot of money. A lot of props. She got a lot she didn't ask for as well, like free reign of Madeleine's kingdom, and forgiveness for her...mouth. But it wasn't often anymore that she begged.

"...Yes. Yes of course I'll get him back for you, Char."

[Monsy]

For half a second, Angelina felt SOME sense of boiling with needs she couldn’t quite put a finger on. She stormed away with it. Down the toy-clad walls of this toy-themed wonderland.

Then it was gone. And Angelina was left with blank. So what now? Go back? Cozy up to Madeleine? That was… The exact same place she left. Charlotte… Shimmer… Wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. And she KNEW, right now, the pink snake was over there poisoning her image.

Just like everyone did. Story of her life.

… Meh. Fuck them…

So she walked around the plaza. It just got bigger and bigger. She ended up staring directly up from beside an escalator. There had to be at least four floors here, all under the piercing glass arched roof that was now a dark violet. The walls were designed like a trail of playtime. Bright blue, then a thick green tall trim coming out from the wall that went up and down like a rolling hill. She felt it with her hand. Fur. Then in each wall, there was at least one stuffed animal of some kind. Bear. Tiger. Even a snake in its very own coil. She pulled on that. The bottom was fixed to the platform. As expected.

Well…
Strangling Shimmer with this WOULD be slow…
And therefore, pleasant. Soo…..

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrip!

She took it with her. Put it a headlock, then let the whole thing uncurl and drag across the floor as she went into a booth, leaving behind a trail of white cotton.

—

The inside was like an extension of the main wall, but painted. The ceiling was a great big blue sky, dimmed from lack of lighting. She didn’t see any LED or clear light source, but a vaguely outlined bit of glass on the ceiling in an ambiguous square shape. Her attention went to the till.

She hopped up on the counter, shook off her high heels to hit the floor and stared at a wall of pre-made stuffed animals and toys for them. There were tiny cups, tiny clothes and even a hat, sectioned to one side for accessories while the pre-mades were on the other. She pursed her lips together, reached out carefully to pick one, then got herself a tiny cap for her new snake.

As for the rest…
A mischievous smile formed as she started smacking the stuffed animals and accessories onto the floor, making a sound with her mouth like… “Whapssh..” and “Pa-Pow.” After each wrist-flicking slap. She made her arm long, started at one end of the counter and then ran on-top of it, knocking down a whole shelf-worth. When she reached the end, she hopped off and landed on a target.
The rest of the small place had two main selling points. There was a huge standing rectangular-like brown machine. A seven foot sitting beaver was right beside it, with a belly like a touch-screen, resembling old teletubbies. The screen was off, though. She had a guess of what this was by the sign beside the beaver.

MAKE YOUR NEW FRIEND
GET A FREE PICTURE

Angelina looked behind her at the opposite wall. And there enough, a photobooth. She smiled, petted her snake, then began looking around the machine for some sorta on-switch. She did find the panel, which was six inches from the wall. Just enough for a technician or employee to come in with a key.

Which. Was missing…
So she tried the door to go into the backroom.
Locked.
“Fuck.”

Next up. The register. Electronic. Probably needs ANOTHER key or code.
But there was a solution.
She walked around the counter to pick up one of her high heels, then went back to the counter. She set her snake down to hold the heel with two hands, then looked at her snake’s goofy googly eyes. At long last, she considered the consequences of her actions and the bad influence she leaves behind. It was difficult, challenging. And all around: disheartening to continue.

So she turned her snake around so it didn’t have to watch.
Then she slammed the edge of her high heel shoe between the gap on the register. Over and over. And over. Wham-blam, open-up ma’am. Once she found purchase, she wrenched that thing like a motherfucker and filled her cheeks with air like a chipmunk. And just before she went red from holding her breath, there was a snap. The till opened.

“Fuuuuuuuuck yeah! I’m the best!”

No money, obviously. But there was a funky looking small key that she knew had to be for the machine. She picked it up and went back to the gap. The panel was opened and she shoved her hand in there until she found a switch. Click. The machine started to glow with all its moving parts and the central conveyor belt made a whirring noise. The touch screen lit up too and the beaver’s mouth began to move.

“HEY THERE. ARE YOU READY TO MEET YOUR NEW FRIEND?!”

Wh-
“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

“JUST TOUCH MY BELLY TO GET STARTED.”

Angelina’s face started to beg and plead with this thing. “Shut the fuck uuuuppp!!”

“PROFANITY IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE INPUT IN THE STUFFED ANIMAL KINGDOM.”

[Malkavia]

Madeleine hummed along with Bennington the Builder Beaver's jingle as she strolled across the Jouets D'Ors central plaza. Bright, brassy orchestra bounced and honked and trilled the merry Build-a-Buddy March. Though muffled by the distance, Bennington's voice blared through the empty center. "C'MON, WHAT'RE YOU WAAAAAAITING FOR? PRESS MY BELLY SO WE CAN GET STARTED!"

Charlotte marched along beside her. She smirked. "You seem awful pleased."

"Well, my second-favorite kitten just found one of our loveliest attractions. My plan had been to let her pick a stuffy from my collection, but then again, you know. Maybe she'll appreciate the opportunity to..."

What...was that on the ground. Madeleine had kept the lights dim — she enjoyed the sense of mystery that the night's purple gave the store — but there was something. Something that didn't belong. She squinted at it. It looked like trash. But it was so big. If her staff was leaving piles of trash on the floor...

As she got closer, she realized that what she was looking at was pure, ethically sourced, breathable...cotton. Torn spindles and swabs of white cotton. And there were more—a trail of them.

"Er. Mads..."

Madeleine ignored the pink blabbing mouth. Her eyes darted from one bit of carnage to the next, following the trail towards Bennington's Residence. Angelina. Then she retraced the path, back, down the hall, towards the wall of beasts display—

Where, in the booth where a snake should have sat, there was viscera. It looked as though Angelina had simply—pulled. Yanked until the skin along the bottom of the snake ripped from the staples securing it to the platform. His eviscerated insides clung to the strike of snake skin still clinging to the staples.

"Poor Sylvester..." Madeleine's hand grazed over the plastic rock Sylvester had called home. She felt dizzy. Sick. Her throat tightened.

"Ey, ey." Charlotte's arms wrapped her waist from behind. "Mads, c'mon. You're OK."

Madeleine's mind flipped a switch. She pulled away from Charlotte.

"Whoa, hey, let's talk. Mads? Let's talk."

But Madeleine didn't have time to talk with her little pink blabbermouth. She marched after the trail of cotton.

—

Madeleine appeared in the doorway of the booth. Alone. She was smiling, thinly. The light from Bennington's still ongoing electro-mechanical dance lit her face and cast shadows into her dimples and eye sockets. She clasped her hands behind her back.

The rat had slipped away into the slimy dark. Naturally.

Madeleine stepped into the room and peered around the shelves. She scanned the now-damaged register. Took note of all the disheveled plushies. All the mess.

"I'm not in the mood for games, Angelina." Meanwhile, reds, blues, and golds danced from Bennington, whose cartoon-metal fingers were a thousand times more nimble than they first appeared. They spun on rotator sockets and unfolded to reveal sewing needles and stuffing-dispensing tubes in the sheathes of his metal fingers. As the "river" (assembly line) floated pieces of the stuffy in front of Benny, he picked them up, sprung them around, and sewed them together. He was among the most advanced animatronics of his kind—a lovely jewel, gifted by a Japanese robotics partner.

But Madeleine had no time to show off her toys. She raised her voice just to the edge of shouting without going over. "Come out."

"ALLLLRIGHT, NOW WE'RE ALMOST DONE!! SAY HELLO TOOOOO..."

The beaver spun the stuffy it had been building around and dropped it onto the platform in front of old Bennington.

"UHHHH... GAWRSH, I DON'T KNOW HER NAME!! WHAT SHOULD WE CALL HER?" His head swiveled to its "thinking" angle, paw to beaver-tooth-covered chin. Then, an idea: "WHY DON'T YOU PICK!" he exclaimed with sudden enlightenment, thrusting one of his robot fingers at Madeleine's chest. Even though she wasn't directly in front of the booth, the AI could sense she was nearby.

Madeleine sighed and stared into the black marble eyes of the plush.

"HEY ARE YOU STILL THERE? I ASKED YA A QUESTION—WHAT SHOULD WE CAAAALL—?"

"Thistle," she said, christening the white rabbit in the silky black tophat, whose suit had long coattails and a red cortage along the lapel. She could only assume that, somewhere — probably very nearby — Angelina was having a giggle.

[Monsy]

Angelina was on high alert after the thing started talking.

It was always like this, I swear.
Wow, your employees really just left this thing running.
And they forgot to clean up. AND they destroyed your till.
I’m sorry this happened to ya, Madsy. Is there any way I can help get the ones responsible?

Was her script she played in her head. And once it was written, she clung to it in her consciousness above all else as she heard Madeleine’s footsteps close the distance. The process was too far along to just cancel now. But not far enough to complete the choices, get her stuffy and bolt. So she hurried through the modules.

All the choices:
Rabbit.
Rabbit.
White.
Tophat.
Rabbit.
Go-go-go!
Raaaaahhhh!

It’s not fast enough. She can practically hear both of them coming in. So like a typical spouse when a child spawns, she ditches. Into the photobooth. It was dark and had a bench behind the velvet curtain. There was another screen just right there. Black. Obviously off. But she had a key that might unlock the panel. Though she couldn’t let Madeleine know that, even when the jig is up.

God, why is the universe just not cooperating…

She heard Madeleine’s shout.
Angelina was sitting on the bench. She already had her script. So what was holding it? Well… She wanted to see if Madeleine would leave eventually. Or if her mood would simmer when she saw the rabbit on the river. No… God no. She just got fuckin’ louder. ALRIGHT, she told herself. Guess it's time to tap here.

Angelina opened the curtain and beamed. Her head was tilted, with the curtain mostly covering her body so it was only her head poking through. “Yo-yo!” She shouted with confidence and a particular innocence like it was the first greeting. “Wanna take a photo? I dunno how ya turn this thing on but… If you know how… Then maybe we can?”

[Malkavia]

Once Madeleine confirmed the spelling of "Thistle" on Bennington's terminal, the certificate and code for a free photograph printed from a slot at the front of the conveyor belt.

Unfortunately, this did not mean the end of Bennington's jazzy fanfare or his demands for input.

"LET'SSSS GET TO CONSTRUCTIN! PUSH MY BELLY TO BEGINNNN!"

The more Madeleine looked around, the more she deflated. She knew where the shutoff key was supposed to be...but — and this was less of a surprise than it ever should have been — when she found the register, she found its door had been forced open. A new wave of frustration made her rub her temples. She couldn't begin to think how she was supposed to fix that before morning.

And then there was Sylvester. She finally found him. Poor snake, lying on his back with his torn belly turned to the ceiling, just another casualty in a room full of disorder. Madeleine picked him up. A swathe of cloth had been brutally torn from his chest, and he'd lost enough stuffing that his skin began to sag, to look more like a half-empty sack than the body of a snake.

She wanted to say something to him. Don't worry, Mister S, Mama will have you looking brand new before the sun's up. But when she tried to find the words, all she felt was a growing pit of exhaustion. She still hadn't had her nap to recover from that match...

She lay the stuffy down on the river in front of Beaver Bennington, then with a stroke of her finger opened the admin access modal on the bright LED touchscreen, and keyed in what she thought was her password, until the login screen blinked red.

That's when Angelina decided it would be appropriate to jump out of her little hidey-hole.

“Wanna take a photo?

Madeleine's lips pursed. She had an instinct to throw Sylvester at Angelina—followed maybe by a fist, aimed to blast the air and maybe part of Angelina's esophagus out of her mouth. But Madeleine was not a creature of instinct. She ignored Angelina and continued her work.

"I dunno how ya turn this thing on but… If you know how… Then maybe we can?”

Madeleine pulled out her phone and opened her password manager. Scrolled through her various logins, until she found Bennington. Punched in the key. Then opened the text-based terminal and typed in a command: MAN_MODE. The beaver went to sleep.

"I'm busy, sweet." She did not look up. Instead, she pulled one of Bennington's hands towards her, like a doctor adjusting a tray of tools.

With a quick twist, she unscrewed one of Bennington's fingers, from which she pulled a plastic tube. When she pushed a button on his finger, she blew replacement stuffing into the hole in Sylvester's stomach. He began to reinflate, losing his emaciated look as life crept back into his eyes.

Madeleine pulled a handkerchief from her purse, which she used to dab her nose. Dab her eyes. She wasn't crying, of course, but seeing one of her favorite little buddies so...disheveled, hurt. Especially since, if she was honest, she doubted she could repair him to look as good as he had new.

Angelina had scarred Sylvester.

"This room's a mess." She began to unscrew another of the caps over Bennington's long, cartoonish fingers. This one exposed a sewing needle...which was spun with white thread, for the rabbit. Oh...God, how did you direct this thing to change color? "Why don't you clean up. We'll talk when I'm finished here."

[Monsy]

When it came apparent that Madeleine wasn’t giving her those two lovely eyes, her smile faded. What a waste of happiness, she thought. My happiness. But the moments after gave her some recollection into more pleasant times: five minutes ago. Now that was stimulating. Knocking stuff over felt like a game. Getting the register open was another game. Then turning Bennington on was like activating the villain without even knowing it.

The Epochs of Angelina Tarrant. Episode: Cotton Catastrophe!

The only thing she regretted was not being able to get the catharsis of their reaction. That wonderful gold currency that would’ve made this moment a true memory from the moment her lips said Rat.

“Ooookay.” Angelina opened the current and stepped out in her bare feet still. The chill of tile underneath made her toes wiggle. She went to collect her high heels. One was in the middle of a floor, between a cat and dog. The former orange, the latter dalmatian. Her second one was behind the counter right by the broken register. She put that one on after bending over and putting a hand on the counter, which had the key. She flicked it underneath the till as silently as possible, then turned around.

“The robo'” Angelina started as she was finishing with her shoe.
“It’s fuckin’ cool how ya got this. And for it to work. With all those options for accessories and add ons too… I only took a gandah, but…” Angelina walked over and hopped on the counter. Just with her butt to take a seat, lean over and watch Madeleine fiddle.

“Fabric, thread, cotton. It’s all so squishy. Light and loose. Just one depression could screw up the algorithm that makes the magic. If it was fixed on a certain script and timin’. Unnnless… ya got some real intricate sensahs to change and optimize the dynamic path plan in real time.”

Her elbows went on the top of her knees. Wrists together. Chin on-top. Her cheeks were cupped. “Tell me about ya bot?”