[center][color=thistle][h3]Mariska Costas[/h3][/color]
[i][u]Location[/u]:[/i] Faraday Heights; 28A
[i][u]Interacting With[/u]: John Taylor ([@Ghost Queen])[/i]

[hr][img]http://i.imgur.com/h8HD4dh.gif[/img][hr]


Mariska continued to sip away at her water, having since switched away from the news feeds and eye-roll worthy comments underneath the silly little manifesto to more enjoyable and pertinent outlets...such as seeing if her inbox had any new messages. Last night was a bit of a doozy, travelling in the snow just to perform for a polite, if picky, panel of senior citizens. Mariska didn't mind the requests that were constantly thrown her way - but really how often did someone want to really hear [i]Strange Fruit[/i] anyway and at what point did it stop being a request and start being a very subtle, very rude sort of joke - but when the matter of settling the fee was brought up with the staff, hearing that she wasn't the first, second, or even third choice was just a slap in the face. 

The walk home was exhausting. Mariska thrived in the rain. Snow was not the rain. Tired from a less than ideal venue and drained by the time she did manage to make it back, was it now too much to ask that the staff send a little notice of thanks to her email? And yet, even after two quick refreshes...nothing at all. 

Fortunately, her stirrings had awoken John which meant that food was within the realm of possibility. Mariska wasn't much for cooking. When she wasn't enjoying the catches of the day or popping around for a nice bit of Grecian salad, both of which didn't require effort (with the salad only requiring her to stand in line), she was at the whims of takeaway or the menu at whatever joint had need of her talents. One would think that a life long lived would come with learning to cook a decent meal...but Mariska never made the time. Now that one of her mates knew how to fry up a sausage...well that was one problem taken care of.

[color=thistle]"Just the headlines, really. Vindictive little Fae doing wonders for diplomatic relations and some pretentious sort thinking murder's fine if it's done to someone different."[/color] Mariska spoke quite casually, though she punctuated her words with a heavy sigh. The sad reality was that the possibility was real that this little manifesto would just be the first of many. [color=thistle]"But you agree with me, right? The Mortal Fist would be the name of some teenager's start up band, yeah? Like they do covers of Joy Division or something. I'm no PR expert but I'd go with a different name if I was some kinda misinformed killer type."[/color] 

Mariska stood up, pushing the chair out behind her, in order to grab another bottle of water from the fridge. [color=thistle]"Toss a couple links onto the pan for me, would you? I haven't eaten since yesterday's breakfast."[/color] 

She remained ever so glad that at least one of her flatmates knew how to whip up something edible. That really should've been how the ad went.[/center]