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[madamemoiselle]

{Dero was nice enough to motivate me to make a posting schedule, so here's Diva! She's still in Haydée's body, so as soon as she came here, the uniform she had been wearing was gone. But still, she's sitting behind a desk with neat piles of paperwork, all in German. There's a bulky typewriter that takes up most of the desk, and a small desk radio that sounds like a German radio program, though Diva had turned it down quite a while ago.

She also looks surprisingly tired. She leans back in the wooden chair, putting her palms lightly over her eyes.}

Ne, it's really stupid. I really shouldn't care, shouldn't--

{But something said on the radio catches her attention, so she lifts her palms to look at the radio}

My, isn't that something? President Roosevelt traveled by aeroplane last week. I'm sure he was going to meet Mr. Churchill, actually. I wonder if Amshel or Solomon will be there too, actually~ It was winter when they met them, if I remember correctly...

((ooc: Simultaneous plots, awesome. Diva is now in Germany, 1943))

Comments

[didorothy]

[he hesitates a moment, then pulls her in to hug her]

I'm sorry.

[madamemoiselle]

{It calms her down right away, and she holds him back, very delicately, as if she were afraid he'd break}

Oh, that's nothing for Sam to apologize for, though.

[didorothy]

I'm still...sorry.

[madamemoiselle]

{And for once, she doesn't ask "why"}

Because Amshel did these things to me?

[didorothy]

[he nods, a futile gesture when he's holding her. He thinks that he caused Amshel to hurt her, that he wishes he could have done more, and that he's glad she's free of that.]

[madamemoiselle]

Then...{She pauses, since it's hard for her to admit}

Then I suppose it's good that Amshel isn't...That I'm "free".

[didorothy]

I like to think so.

[madamemoiselle]

{Smiles warmly}

Then I guess I should thank you, shouldn't I?

[didorothy]

It's you, too.

[madamemoiselle]

Well! If it weren't for Sam...I wouldn't have even thought to change. But I'm doing pretty well, aren't I?

[didorothy]

I think so.

[oh irony]

[madamemoiselle]

{It's so delicious.

She hugs him a bit more tightly, burying her head into his shoulder with a happy smile, not that he could see it.}

Then I'm glad.

[didorothy]

[and he smiles too, though she cannot see it]

Good.