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[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]

{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?

[didorothy]

Doesn't sound like it. The Doctor says I have to learn to control my emotions. That's the only way to overcome it.

[madamemoiselle]

{She puts a hand on Sam's shoulder lightly}

Sam...Why didn't you tell me?

[didorothy]

To be honest, I try to forget.

[madamemoiselle]

{She draws her hand away, frowning a little, sitting back against the couch again}

That's fine, then. {Even though it's so not. Way to be a hypocrite twice in a conversation, Sam.}

[didorothy]

[trying to explain]

It should start fading, at least a little. I probably won't ever be rid of it. But it helps to forget. It doesn't help me control it to remember it.

[madamemoiselle]

I'm...sorry for making you angry then. Or upset at all. That's probably not helping.

[didorothy]

[he smiles slightly]

Between you and Hunt, it's a wonder I'm ever not angry.

[madamemoiselle]

...Does that mean that I make Sam angry often?

[didorothy]

[..sigh]

No. No, that isn't what I meant.

[Sam is just going to... bury his face in his hands. This is exhausting.]

[madamemoiselle]

...I'm sorry that I cause you so much trouble, Sam.

[didorothy]

You don't! Well, right now you are, but you're not any worse than--everyone else in my life. Every-bloody-one else. Tokyo explodes, Gene gets killed twice, Hei's on the run, Minato fights Death - I'm amazed Fumie hasn't gotten herself into something terrible yet.

Sometimes I think Gene's right about this place.

[madamemoiselle]

{She pauses for a moment before she gets off the couch to sit next to him again, taking his hand gently}

I'm sorry, Sam.

[didorothy]

[while he's complaining]

And I wish you'd wear a bit more than that when you come to the Plane.

[the petty complaining makes him feel better about all the serious things]

[madamemoiselle]

...Ah? {She looks down at herself then back up to Sam}

Why? It doesn't bother anyone.

[didorothy]

Oh, I'm sure it makes some people very happy.

[madamemoiselle]

{Tilts her head}

Then why is that bad?