040

[madamemoiselle]

{Diva is lounging quite comfortably on a couch she's brought to the Plane, wearing very little. Propped against her knees is the The Poetical Works of Lord Byron that Sam has given her. She's also brought a few magazines, one of which seems to have a picture of her on the cover, but it's mostly obscured by a knife that she's been meaning to return.

But in the meantime, she reads aloud, occasionally stammering over a word or two.}

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light...

{But after that bit, she stops, smiling brightly}

Ne, that sounds like the Plane, doesn't it? Well, maybe not so much the last part, but I bet some people here would think that anyways. I can't, though. It's too nice here. Still, how lovely! Did Lord Byron get to come to this place, I wonder?

{She shakes her head though, laughing} Ne, it wouldn't really surprise me. There isn't too much about this place that surprises me anymore. But it'd be nice to actually meet him! I really do love his poems.

{But the thought is soon dismissed, and she reads the rest of the poem quietly.}

Comments

[madamemoiselle]

You really do work too hard, though. When is your next day off, Sam?

[didorothy]

[Sam doesn't remember]

Uhh, I'll ask Gene when I go back.

[madamemoiselle]

Well, on your next day off, would you like to go to a film, maybe? I've been invited to several premieres.

[didorothy]

[his eyes turn to her, and then flicker down]

I'd rather not. Not just now.

[Someone's still upset about his recent discovery, yes]

[madamemoiselle]

{Her shoulders sink, and she draws away, sitting back again}

Of course.

[didorothy]

[Sam isn't sure what to say - he turns another page and seems to be holding the pen more tightly, pressing into the page harder as he writes]

[madamemoiselle]

{She notices, but she stays quiet for a good while, just reading the poetry quietly. But she breaks the silence quietly, almost hesitantly}

Thank you for this book, by the way. The poems are beautiful.

[didorothy]

It's good you like it.

[madamemoiselle]

Would you like to hear a poem?

[didorothy]

[Sam hesitates, then sighs sitting up properly]

Go ahead.

[madamemoiselle]

...If you're too busy, it's fine.

[didorothy]

I'm just tired.

[which is the universally accepted codeword for 'depressed as hell,' apparently.]

[madamemoiselle]

You're upset.

{She looks away} If Sam doesn't want me to lie to him, why does he lie to me sometimes?

[didorothy]

[he frowns]

You committed a felony, Diva. You hurt someone. I can't just get over that. I'm not in the practice of going out to see films with rapists.

But I'm not abandoning you. So. I do some paperwork here. I keep you company. I don't want you to be lonely. But reading poetry? That's a bit more on the romantic side than I'm feeling up to, presently. You'll forgive me, I'm sure, if it rankles at my conscience.

[his face reveals how upset he is for a moment, but it isn't very long before he forces himself into a neutral frown, his default expression]

[madamemoiselle]

Then you should say that. I don't like being lied to either, Sam.

{She looks down at her book, but closes it quietly, setting it aside}

I told you that you can do what you want. If you want to put me in prison, I'll stay there. If you want to hurt me, I won't move. It's what I deserve, isn't it? If you want to just say something sweet to make me feel better, then...that's no better than Amshel, is it? You're supposed to be mad at me, or hate me, or at least something, Sam. I'm glad that you're here, but...it doesn't mean anything if you're not here because you want to be.

[didorothy]

I said I don't want you to be lonely. That's why I'm here.

I don't hate you. But you're right; I should. I should really hate you. But I don't.

[madamemoiselle]

{Her tone softens} I'm glad, Sam.

{Diva moves to lay on her stomach with her head close to Sam} Why don't you hate me?

[didorothy]

Maybe because I don't want to.

[madamemoiselle]

...You don't want to? What do you mean?

[didorothy]

I mean I don't want to hate you!

[tries to rein in his emotions]

I don't... want to. I don't see how that needs explanation.

[madamemoiselle]

{She flinches, but her voice is still calm}

Because...I didn't think hate was like that. I always thought it was like any other emotion, where you really can't just...stop it. Like happiness, or sadness, or being...angry.

[didorothy]

If being infected with this damn virus has taught me anything, it's that you have to control your emotions. And not just how you show them.

I don't want to believe you're the sort of person I hate.

[madamemoiselle]

...Virus?

{Diva sits up again, very concerned about Sam because this is the first time she's heard of it}

Is Sam sick? What happened?

[didorothy]

[woops]

It's... it isn't anything. It's just... what happened. Because I killed on the Master's planet. I'm infected with the virus. Low-level infection.

[madamemoiselle]

Oh no, Sam...Sam, why didn't you tell me? Is there a cure, or something?