the moment marisa first heard of the gathering, she'd painted a clear picture neatly in her head of it's outcome. something presumably dreary, with bleak - tongued scholars and nothing of note to be heard beyond names, greetings and farewells worth little in the grand scheme of things. interest lain in fickle acts of war hidden behind grandiose implications, a subtle war in tongues over funding or worth in the workplace. in another world, there would've been broken ambitions at the door, sly smiles and tedious conversation, and ideas stolen while others were reclaimed with a temperament akin to schoolchildren. in another world, this would have been a battleground.
strangely, to her surprise, it was nothing of the sort. people were spry this evening, bright - eyed and bubbly in a way she couldn't swallow as they queued behind a table shrouded in roses, a large sign that read "take one!" overhead in light of valentines. some silly idea she would quickly understand was pitched to raise morale in the building, because apparently it had been someone's job in this world to ensure such a thing. she can't help but to admit her disappointment; a primal want, to have seen an inexperienced optimist eaten alive in a conference hall, bones spat out for her entertainment. she can't help but wonder where their teeth have gone at all.
she combs the crowd for misery like blood in the water, cherry picks an instance where this idea hasn't worked and she can partake in snide mockery of the ordeal with her daemon. at the end of the trail she finds doctor Payne across the room, and a dark bite of humour lodges in her throat when she sees him attempt to exchange conversation with a woman they've both deemed him incapable of courting. she debates the temptation of deepening his plight, how easy it would've been for the monkey to slip over and cause him further trouble, when she's met with the familiar sight of copper hair in the gathering. oliver seamlessly melts into a sea of uninteresting faces, and a silent string of criticism bleeds into marisa's train of thought before she watches mary return to their table.
what she doesn't notice in the midst of her still appraisal, is the rose in mary's hand ready to meet her.
she doesn't know what to do, in the beginning, and in the presence of realisation her lips hardly turn upward, for she feels quite silly she hadn't realised the predictability of it all sooner. there's no faith to be found in the idea of hiding her reaction now, so mary will have to forgive her initial surprise, though instinctually well concealed it remains for the most part. something light breaks through the crevices of an otherwise swallowed form of embarrassment, a well - rehearsed smile that shines softly in the expression her offer has earned. she hasn't forgotten how to receive gestures of affection, nor how to bestow politeness.
“ doctor malone, ” she teases, gasp light and smile suddenly sharp because truthfully, she can't help herself, and she needs some little thing to sink her teeth into before the niceties of the evening consume her. her eyes linger a moment longer, hungry for anything mary may offer in response before she allows the small cruelty to pass, replaced instead by something genuine when she admires her newfound token. “ ... thank you, i'm flattered. ”
