Cussing as her fist slugs the wall before her, Cynthia fumes, leaning her pounding forehead against the wall. Within a suite-like room, with a coffee table before a large couch and stone sculptures arranged throughout it, her back is turned to the other three women present. Two are in similar dresses to her own, blue and purple in color, and the third wears a suit of bright yellow leather, complimenting her long, blonde hair with streaks of black through it. Sighing, Cynthia asks without turning to them, “And how long has it been going about?” “A few days now, Cynthia,” replies the blue-dressed woman. “And Sean hasn’t wound up in the infirmary, or worse, why?” “Well, despite the rumor going around, not many people are willing to believe it,” answers the purple-dressed woman. “They logically think it’s impossible for you to wind up with him, given you are both on far sides of the spectrum.” “I see. That’s good, then. We’ll let them think that, I can’t afford to be, uh, humiliated like that.”
