Ugh, Set. She's talented, you have to give her that. Dedicated, too. Essential. But come on girl, where is your sense of the moment? This whole operation is being held together right now on the back of "Ma-ri-Ann's" reputation, and you won't lean into that even a little? Too much faith is dangerous, you know.

Marianne looms just behind Jerioth and puts a hand on her shoulder. It is not for comfort. Her fingers curl and squeeze just to the point of pain, then relax, hover, and squeeze again on a loop. She is seething. Do not grow too comfortable in your mask, Jerry. You must not think that bullying will save you. 

Because it is essential that Jerry not consider the troll, Marianne makes a show of not considering it, either. Her eyes are only on Caphtor, or on the door, flickering like angry coals that cast her hungry smile in ghostly light. The emotions that she radiates are confidence and impatience. Do not ask her what colors those are; she has no patience for these analogies. She is waiting, she has waited, it is time, the door will open now. It will open for her. You cannot keep her out. You will not.

But underneath that... trolls. What a bothersome group of creatures they are. It's not that Marianne isn't confident she can defeat one, if it came to that. In fact she's done it once already; that's part of where her legend comes from. The problem is... well. The problem is that they are more like aliens than any of the other alien things that now occupy her world. The Annunaki themselves have left...

No. You do not get to talk about your feelings here, Étoile. Sleep and be silent. Swim in the sea of rage. Trolls are merely walls that emotions bounce off of. You cannot terrorize them. You cannot trick them. If they come at you then you must run or you must crush them, with no other alternatives. 

And worst of all, they hit very hard. Marianne will never flinch from pain, nor will she fall from something as trivial as giant rocky fists. Not on a night like tonight when the fire in her heart is stoked so high. But she has her other life to consider. Étoile must weather the same wounds as Marianne, do not forget. A little bit of blood tonight will be essential, but if she snaps an arm and several ribs? It will be... problematic. 

That is why she pays it no mind. She is waiting for her moment. The door will open, as it has to, and she will freshly break her little Jerry so that she will not slip back into her ugly self the second everyone's backs are turned. The image of it floods the front of her brain. Her face shall be lovely without that veil to mar it. But lovelier still will be the expression plastered all over it. The fear, the frustration, the humiliation! And best of all? The [i]need.[/i] Let the walls of your civilization crumble before Marianne, Jerry! Give to her your soul, yes!

She watches, and she waits. She cannot keep the rumble of laughter locked inside her throat.