Constance smiled as Maxine chuckled at Luna and threatened to have the girl removed, a smile that was an undeniable, bonafide shit-eating grin. She almost chirped in that it would be quite all right with her if some goons came in, flexed their muscles, and dragged Luna kicking and screaming from the room. Actually, she would be thrilled if that were to be the case; as family, it would be a most welcome gift. However, the thought was stripped from Constance’s mind as Maxine vaguely hinted at her true goal. It was slightly ominous, and she couldn’t help but think how quick Maxine was to try and marry her off. 
 
[i]What could she want?[/i] thought Constance.
 
Oh, it was obvious. It was the same thing Constance wanted, wasn’t it? A legacy. Something that not only could she look back on and be able to say “I did this” but that everyone, even a hundred years from now, would say, “See that? That’s thanks to Constance Holloway.” No, even better, she would want them to say, “That’s Constance Holloway,” when they looked upon the things she had left behind. She felt as if she had almost achieved it back home, back before everything went to shit, but a small part of her believed that she could’ve recovered from that loss. All great entrepreneurs go bust every now and then. 
 
Constance examined her fingernails as Maxine spoke to Juliette in that strange tongue again, pretending that she wasn’t interested in what was being said. And, truthfully, she wasn’t. Instead, she was thinking that maybe she had been looking at how she could achieve her legacy all wrong. After all, it didn’t matter where she was remembered, just that she was remembered, and that what she was remembered for was what she wanted to be and not what she had truly been. Perhaps she should marry after all. She smiled; it was almost funny how her future was about to mirror her past. She glanced over at Luna. [i]Just like her. I can’t wait to prove you wrong.[/i]
 
Assuming the nurse didn’t screw up everything before then by destroying their host’s goodwill with that viper tongue of hers. 
 
“Excuse me,” said Constance, cutting in between Maxine and Juliette. “But you were saying that you would send for Mr. Geralt? If that is so, is there a place I might freshen up? It seems like you two have a lot to talk about, anyway.”