maude could count on her hands the few times she'd been cornered in her life. one: a dance teacher when she was nine; two: her father yelling at her for something she didn't do and now, the third: casper, with a dish rag in hand. her dish rag, but she isn't about to play semantics on a topic that seems nit-picky to begin with. it was dishes, after all. who seemed to care that much about them? their room was clean, in most ways, and if maude left it on the side … then, it would be done later. “ if the mess is left, casper, it usually means i'll do it when i'm back. ” back from class, back from an endless schedule that never seems to stop. when the early mornings and afternoons all bleed into one another: and when, in particular, maude doesn't know when she's going to get home. “ which, by the way, isn't even that bad. ”
the three mugs, two plates and odd fork beg to differ there, but maude makes no rush in correcting herself. stands there, ten toes down, while her arms remain occupied with textbooks. 'uniting arts and audiences in the 21st century' being her choice of reading for the day. “ you could've left it. ” she insists, once more — because apparently, the first time wasn't enough — and places her load down, now resting on the side. talk seems to drift one way, and while maude is set on accepting defeat, holding her hands up to the accusation ( and rather, the truth ) of the dishes, the way it slips from the other's mouth: something about… conversations and behaviours, sounds almost deliberate.
as if casper wants maude to take the bait, snip it from her hand and digest it. but, unlike someone who falls into a trap of admission, maude is quiet. she assesses, then with a toss of her hair over her shoulder, there's a nonchalance that exudes. shrugs, then fingers flex themselves. it's laughable, because most of the time, these things were spoken directly — not while facing away, and definitely not when another person is folding a dishtowel over the shared oven.
“ oh come on, casper. you know they deserved it. ” they is vague, as is the comment. who deserved what, exactly? a freshman that caught maude on the wrong side of the bed, or was it the senior girl who looked at her funnily on a bad day? either way, noticeable events ring in the blonde's head, all while she stays situated fully, head cocked to the side and a gaze so narrow it's reading casper's minuscule actions. “ if you have a problem with how i speak to people sometimes … just, i don't know, stop listening? ”