Aug 20, 2015
“I hope you weren’t looking for the bathroom --”
Margot Valentine, barely recognizable in the bathroom’s odd, luminescent green lighting, sits on the edge of the sink, almost like she’s been waiting for the door to swing open. She looks older than her few years -- there’s no telling if it’s the skyscraper heels, the villainous, dramatic cat eye, or the challenging look in her eye staring her new companion down.
“It seems there’s only the one stall, and it’s currently -- ahem -- occupied.”
