Samantha can’t help but squint a bit at Marlene’s demeanor, tilting her head to the side as she gives herself a split moment to really observe the brunette. Bloodshot eyes. Flushed face. Black coffee. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist and all the magic of Merlin to conclude what’s wrong with her; a fact of which has the middle Podmore frowning as soon as she fits the pieces together. Not out of disappointment, or some other similar reaction most witches and wizards give her when she reveals her career choice or that no, she isn’t married (and doesn’t plan on being anytime soon, for that matter). Rather, it is out of a genuine type of concern that cannot be described aside from the simple empathetic tuition of its origins. “I think I’ll stick to tea for now,” There’s a brief pause as she eyes the younger witch once more before blurting out, “Have you tried drinking water? There’s this muggle study that says staying hydrated while you’re at the pub can stave off the possibility of a hangover all together.” Because when you initially meet someone, your topic of choice should always be what is wrong with them and what suggestions you can readily provide to help them better themselves. Although, she doesn’t seem to realize this, of course. Her brain to mouth filter tends to be non-existent when … well, speaking.
Marlene's eyes narrow into slits. It isn't that she hates people -- Samantha seems fine, from what she remembers at meetings -- she just hates when people try to teach her something. As if she needed more lessons she'd ever pick up; the professors at Hogwarts, her friends, her parents had all tried and failed. There was no use in teaching Marlene new things; she was stuck in her ways, and would do nothing to change them. Her spontaneity was only temporary; she'd change something up, and then as soon as it was done she'd put it right back to where it was supposed to be. It was why she hated all Slytherins, why she could never drink muggle wine without her best muggle friends, why it was so hard for her to learn when her parents would never accept her for who she was. "I don't bloody need water," she snaps, taking the rest of her coffee in one gulp. "m'fine with how I get rid of my issues. I don't need any nosy bird trying to tell me what's what, all right? I've already got a headache."
Her head falls into her hands, and she rubs at her temples. People should know better than to approach a hungover Marlene when she's only gotten through her first coffee. Then again, Samantha didn't know her as well as, say, Dorcas or Mary.
