[It had been a long but reasonably successful day for Barbara Morse. She managed to break up a grungy underground slave trade, and kicked the asses of some guys who thought it was acceptable to steal away young women and sell them to the highest bidder. So even if it was exhausting, it was so very satisfying--though she's quite ready for a long, hot bath, and that's all she's thinking about as she trudges inside, a cut still sluggishly bleeding on her cheek, and right by the couch in the living room.
And then she pauses.
And returns to the living room and stares.
. . . ]
You. Get your ass off my couch, you weren't invited here.
no subject
And then she pauses.
And returns to the living room and stares.
. . . ]
You. Get your ass off my couch, you weren't invited here.