well this is a depressing excuse for a party

[onthebusagain]

[Mid-day on Sunday, Heather goes around and slips notes under dressing room doors.

If you don't want to be alone today, there will be snacks and people in the Ballroom today

--Heather

She's even dotted every i with a little heart! How cute.

The dining hall is a way better location for a party (or whatever this is) with its close proximity to the kitchen, and more intimate space- but Heather doesn't want to be anywhere near that place. Not for a while, at least. True to her word, Heather's brought snacks- finger sandwiches, a few bags of chips, and a big pitcher of lemonade. There isn't much else set up, but the piano is still there, should anyone want to play.]

Comments

[solomonjihad]

...For several years.

[Ever since---no, no, don't think about it.]

Its...gotten worse as time has gone by.

[dechagny]

...I am terribly sorry, Miss Astarte. I do hope it does not happen to you again.

[He can't imagine how it must feel to have gaps in your memory like that.]

[solomonjihad]

...Its all right. Its...

[She closes her eyes.]

...its something I have to live with.

[dechagny]

[Yeah, he can't really say "no it's not", because it is. He gives her shoulder a soft squeeze, removes his hand.]

At the very least, though...you are not alone.

[solomonjihad]

...Yes...

[...She...oh.]

Here, I'm...not alone.

[It sounds so strange. She's not...alone. Not. Alone. Not.]

[dechagny]

That's right. None of us are truly alone, so long as we stay united against the management.

[solomonjihad]

...Its nice not to be alone, anyways.

[To have support and...not just being told of the weight of her destiny.]