Table for Two 18: Frutta Mista

>”It seems that, during her latest term, the outwardly traditional Mayor Mare has found herself a colt-toy (or in this case, ape-toy). After photos leaked exclusively to this paper were revealed, speculation into Mayor Mare's under-the-table relations with Anonymous, a prominent Ponyville chef and known biped, has run rampant...”
>Your boss slaps the paper onto his desk. ”Anon, what in Tartarus have you gotten yourself into? Political scandal? Really? This article is insane. Have you read this?”
Several times, sir, I assure you.
>”Amongst the chef's list of previous liaisons is Canterlotian socialite and model Fleur de Lis, who was noted to be in town for Mayor Mare's annual fundraiser dinner late this August. Is this evidence of a sordid--”
Do you really have to read this aloud, sir?
>”I'm just trying to wrap my head around it. The cover photo's dated about a month ago, by the way. Same week I sent you off after that little episode of yours. Took a vacation, did you?”
Which you told me to do. Besides, we sorted everything out there that we needed to.
>You put your hands on the desk and glare.
I hope this issue isn't going to be a problem for you.
>”I hope so too.” He paces around the desk. “Now, I don't like to get involved in my employees' social lives. What you do outside this restaurant and with whom you do it is entirely your business. I'm just worried that this particular problem is going to reflect badly on our business, Anon. I need you to promise me you won't get this restaurant caught in the crossfire. Not with the Marechelin Guide coming so soon.”
I'll do my best.
1/

>”I don't want your best, Anon. I want my restaurant and I want my Chef. If things get to hot for you out there, you tell me and I will cut you some slack. But you better come to me. I don't want a repeat performance of the last time the stress got to you. That happens again and you'll be looking for a new job. Clear?”
As crystal.
>You get up and walk back to the kitchen. A few managers throw questioning looks in your direction, but you shrug them off and keep going.
>It's eight o'clock and the prep cooks are starting their routines. Whooves walks up alongside you.
>”Meeting go well, Chef?” he asks.
As well as it could. I'm in real hot water here, Whooves.
>”Well, you're in hot something. We're with you, though; me and Ging and the rest of the crew.”
Thanks. Any luck and this will blow over before the Marechelin ponies get here.
>Whooves frowns.
>”Can I just ask something, Chef?”
Sure.
>”Why did you hide this? Seems to me like something that wouldn't have been a big deal if you'd just been straight with everyp0ny since the start.”
>You stop walking and look down at the stallion, knotting your brow as you think of a good answer.
You're not the first to tell me that. Em got it in her head that ponies wouldn't be accepting. Or maybe we thought it wasn't anyone's business.
>”Why'd you go along with it?”
If you're really into someone, sometimes a really bad idea can seem really good. Granted she was right on this one, but still. Now get to work. We've got a busy day.
>”Yes, Chef,” Whooves answers dutifully. He trots off and leaves you to your thoughts.
2/

>You went home last night dreading the inevitable conversation with Em. The tabloid rolled up in your hand, you trudged through the streets towards her house, ignoring the growing weight in the pit of your stomach.
>She was still up, waiting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a fraught expression on her face when you walked in.
>Her glasses were neatly folded and sat to one side.
>A copy of the tabloid sat in front of her, open to the main story page.
>Without a word you circled around the mare and wrapped your arms about her shoulders.
>She nuzzled her face into the crook of your arm and you could feel her eyes scrunch closed.
I'm sorry, Emmie. I'm so sorry.
>You grabbed a chair with your free arm and pulled it next to hers, sitting down just in time for her to quietly clutch at you, eventually pulling you into a tight embrace.
>The two of you sat there in near silence for several minutes before Em pulled herself away and looked up at you.
>”I'm sorry I'm in such a state,” she said, forcing a chuckle and a smile. “I should be used to criticism by now...”
Doesn't make it hurt any less. I read the article too.
>Em seemed to calm down a little bit and even managed an almost joking tone.
>”It really is salacious stuff, isn't it?”
Absolutely lurid.
>”My PR team is going to have their work cut out for them. We've never had to do damage control like this before.”
>You made sure to keep an arm around Em's shoulder, for your sake as much as hers.
3/

>”They really picked the right time to run this, didn't they? Right as my campaign is set to start, and my advisors came to me this afternoon telling me that Filthy Rich is going to announce his bid for my office tomorrow.”
What?
>”I know. We'll have full details by the time he makes the announcement, but it's still worrisome.”
>She looked down at the tabloid and scowled. “How did it ever turn out like this?”
>For a brief moment, you thought back to Rose's words, spoken so long ago.
If Rose were here she'd tell us it's because of all the secrets.
>”She'd be right.”
It's in the past. We made our bed and now we have to lie in it. It's not completely out of control...
>”...yet,” Em finished.
What do you think we should do?
>”Continue as normal for now. We can think of a more refined course of action tomorrow when we're both refreshed.”
Sounds good.
>The tan mare leaned against you again and placed a hoof in your hand.
>”Promise me you'll take care of yourself out there?”
>You squeezed her hoof lightly in response, thinking of the road ahead.
Promise.
4/

>”Chef! Reporters in the alley!” Whooves yells across the kitchen, snapping you out of thought.
Tell them to piss off!
>”Got it, Chef!”
>You smile to yourself as Whooves leans out the door and relays your message.
>The response is a chorus of incomprehensible shouting followed by Whooves slamming the doors shut.
Tracking me down at work; what a bunch of vultures.
>”Tell me about it. You ever get reporters hounding you like this anywhere else?”
>You shrug.
A little, I suppose. Mostly it was when I dated Fleur, but even then it was all focused on her. I did kick a reporter in the face that one time. Fucker tried to sneak into our apartment through a window.
>Whooves laughs out loud.
Probably shouldn't do that this time around.
>”Probably not. How's Her Mayorship taking this?” the stallion asks as he starts a roux for some vegetable chowder.
As well as she can, you know? It's a tough spot.
>”I bet.”
5/

>You spend the next hour doing various prep jobs and finalizing orders for produce.
>At around quarter to ten, you feel a light jab in your side with a melodious voice accompanying it.
>”Good morning, Chef.”
>You lay your knife on the counter and turn around to face the mare addressing you.
Fleur. I was wondering when you'd come around here. Didn't even knock this time?
>”Your friend let me in.” Fleur says, smiling.
Did you just get to town?
>”I was just on my way from the train station to where I'll be staying for the next few days.”
Sweet.
>The model narrows her eyes slightly at your choice of words.
How was Manehattan?
>”Busy, like always. I managed one night off, went to the symphony, and get this: during the solo, some stallion leaped up on the stage, pulled out a violin, and just started playing along!”
>Fleur laughs. “It certainly livened up the evening. Of course, then there was that massive power outage, but at least it made the stars come out for a little while.”
Sounds interesting.
>The mare purses her lips and knots her brow. “Is something wrong? I thought you'd be happier to see me back.”
It's been a rough couple of days, sorry.
>”Well, I won't pry...” She smiles. “...until lunch.”
I've got work.
>”I'm sure you can sneak out. It'll be like old times. Mane Street Cafe, noon. See you then.” Fleur saunters out of the restaurant.
>You go back to your work for a minute before looking up and seeing the mare walk out in front of the restaurant with Pinkie in tow.
>Pinkie has a certain spring in her step and you can see from Fleur's pace that the party pony's energy is rubbing off on her.
6/

>Lunchtime.
>You meet Fleur at the cafe, taking a table by the window.
>She fiddles with her mane idly while the waiter rattles off a list of specials.
>Once he leaves, Fleur leans forward and stares at you.
>”So,” she starts. Her violet eyes take on a great intensity. “How have you been?”
Uh...
>You struggle to answer the disarmingly casual question, having been expecting Fleur to jump right into the gossip.
>”I assume you managed to patch things up with the good Mayor Mare?”
>She presses her hooves together and cocks her head to the side.
Y-yeah, yeah. Took a little while.
>”I knew you had it in you. How long has it been now?”
Four months.
>”Have you broken out the L-word yet?” she asks, cracking a smile.
Yeah, as a matter of fact.
>She holds her wordless grin in response.
What's that face for?
>”Nothing. I'm just impressed. It took you twice as long to say it to me.”
We talked about this before.
>”You denied it before.”
I--
>You find yourself at a loss again.
>”At any rate, I hope I helped. Speaking of which...”
>Her grin widens.
What?
>”Don't pretend. Those lilacs just got into my room coincidentally, I suppose?”
Hey, Pinkie bought them.
>”I've never seen you take an interest in ponies' relationships before. Not that I don't appreciate it, though. I thought the poor mare was going to faint when I got off the train.”
She's a passionate one.
>”It's sweet.”
How long have you two been exchanging letters?
>”Oh, a few weeks now, I think. She's completely smitten, I can tell.”
What about you?
>”What about me?”
>You shoot her a knowing stare.
>”...Fine. I might not be as taken as she, but...I don't know, there's something there, I think.”
7/

>She taps her hooves together somewhat anxiously.
>”It's just different is all. I've never really done something like this with another mare before. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great. She's great. But it's still just a bit weird for me.”
>You nod quietly.
I get where you're coming from, but I promise you: it's just as weird for her. Trust me on this.
>You lean back and smile jokingly.
Besides, you dated me. Telling me that having a special somep0ny who's not even a pony isn't weirder than a marefriend?
>”I guess not,” she laughs.
>The waiter returns, gives you a strange look, and takes your orders.
>Fleur watches after him when he leaves.
>”What was that about? Why did he give you that look?”
Have you not heard? The whole town knows about me and Em now. Some tabloid ran an expose this morning.
>Fleur gapes.
>”What!?”
Yep. She's got the PR team on damage control and my kitchen staff has been fending off reporters all day.
>”Do you want to talk about it?”
>You look around briefly.
Not here.
>”I'm sorry, Anon. It's just like Canterlot.”
That wasn't your fault. And anyway, it wasn't as bad as this. At least in Canterlot the gossip rags kept it light and preposterous. Remember the time they published that rumor about my monkey mind-control powers?
>The model laughs.
But here it's just your run-of-the-mill smear. Em and I joked about it last night, but I could tell it really got to her under that facade of hers.
>”It's gotten to you too, hasn't it?”
8/

How could it not? I never wanted to be a celebrity. It was thrust upon me. The only reason I even get away with being who I am here without there being a constant furor over it is by being damn good at what I do.
>You flick your fork around your fingers.
Guess I thought I'd found a place where the ponies saw me for what I do instead of what I am.
>Fleur knots her brow.
>”Thrust upon you? You know better than to think that way,” she says, suddenly sounding stern. “You could have stayed in Fillydelphia doing third-rate kitchen work and lived in comfortable obscurity.”
>She points her hoof at you accusingly.
>”But you didn't. You went above and beyond what most ponies ever do and you made quite a show of it, too. You went out of your way, Anon, to make yourself high-profile. You might not have consciously chosen to be talked about, but you sure as Tartarus made yourself worth talking about.”
So what then? I just have to grin and bear it?
>”Not at all. But you have to stop focusing on the wrong things. If you're stuck thinking about how bad it is that ponies are focusing on you and Em, you're not thinking on how to get them focus on your good side.”
...Right.
>”You want to talk about something else?”
Yeah. How've you been? You told me about Manehattan; what else is new with you?
9/

>Fleur takes the rest of lunch to tell you about her modeling and travel.
>She regales you with tales of shoots and shows out in Prance and in Canterlot.
>By the time you call for the check, she's managed to take your mind off of the tabloid.
>As you walk out of the cafe, Fleur continues telling stories.
>”...too late! So the train pulls out and I can just see the poor guy staring slack-jawed at the--”
>The sound of a camera shutter cuts her off.
>You sigh heavily as you look at the small crowd of photographers and reporters which has gathered in the street outside the cafe.
How did they even find us?
>”Probably followed you. I saw a couple of them staking out when I left your restaurant,” Fleur whispers back.
>There's a long, uncomfortable pause, which you spend staring at the reporters with resignation.
>Then the floodgates open.
>”Anonymous! Anonymous! Over here! Are the allegations of sexual misconduct between you...” one starts.
>”Is it true you once assaulted a...” another overlaps.
>Soon there are six or seven of them all talking over one another, blocking Fleur's and your path to the street.
>Camera shutters and furious scribbling punctuate the din and you start pushing through the reporters.
>You shoot a glance to Fleur just as one voice comes up over the noise.
>”What's the story with you and this mare? Isn't this Fleur de Lis?”
>You whip around to face the reporter.
>Another pipes up.
>”Can I get a statement from you on that? What is your current relationship with Fleur? Is it true that you ended things as a result of your alcoholism?”
Alcoho- What?
10/

>Yet another jumps into the questioning.
>”Anonymous! Do you plan to ditch the Mayor now that Fleur is back in the picture? Is that why she's in town?”
>Fleur casts an agitated look up at you, pleading with her eyes and shaking her head subtly.
>”Why did you lie to the ponies, Anonymous? Are you ashamed of yourself?”
>You ball a fist and breathe deeply, pushing further past the group.
>”What do you say to ponies who call your actions 'unsavory, unwholesome, and unbecoming?' Do you think that your proclivities detract from your work?”
>Silence.
>You stop.
>Slowly, you turn to the pony who asked the last question.
Excuse me?
>You walk back towards him, gritting your teeth and staring the reporter down.
Sorry, over all the noise I didn't quite hear you. What was your question?
>The stallion gulps as you loom over him, taking full advantage of your height.
>A photographer steps forward hoping to snap a picture. You glare at him as he does.
Get that camera out of my face before I stuff it down your throat, you parasite.
>You turn back to the reporter as the photographer shrinks back.
I'm sick of you and your fucking ilk throwing accusations like this around.
>The group stands silent. You bend down and get right in the reporter's face.
Ask me again about my 'proclivities.' I fucking dare you, you little shit.
>”Anon, leave it,” Fleur says. The reporter seems to lose nerve and falls back from you.
No. This is ridiculous.
11/

>Fleur stands beside you in silence. You reach down and snatch a tape recorder from one of the reporters.
My name is Anonymous and I'm a human. I love a mare, the Mayor of this town, and nothing you do or say about my character or hers will change that one iota. I've had about all I can take of ponies questioning what I do. I have as much a right to be with whomever I please as any of you. This kind of treatment is why we hid it in the first place. This interview is over.
>You calmly click the recorder off before hurling it to the ground and shoving roughly past the reporters. Fleur follows after you.
>”What in Tartarus was that, Anon?” she asks when she catches up.
Only so much a man can take before he has to fight back.
>”It was stupid.”
I know, but I wasn't about to stand there and let them start questioning your honor and mine. I certainly wasn't going to let them question my morals like I'm some kind of sicko.
>The model sighs and looks back at the group of reporters.
>”They did get fairly heated, didn't they? Struck a nerve. I understand. But outbursts like that won't help you.”
Too late now.
>You grumble and run a hand through your hair.
There goes my good mood, too...
>Fleur wraps her hooves around your waist.
>”I'm sorry you've got to deal with all of this. I'll help however I can, but think about what I said, will you?”
Yeah. Thanks.
>”And thanks for lunch. I had fun seeing you again.”
Me too. I'll talk to you later, Fleur.
>The mare walks off slowly. You start towards the restaurant again to pick up dinner prep and service.
12/

>Two days later.
>Em enters her office at eight in the morning and is immediately given a set of memos regarding the current status of her campaign, the scandal, and--
>She comes to a dead stop as she skims the last paper.
>”Opposition campaign officially started. Filthy Rich. Information enclosed,” it reads.
>Em drops the papers to her desk and groans.
It would be him...
>As she sits rubbing her forehead, a young mare walks in. Em looks up and immediately reasserts her air of professionalism.
>”Madam Mayor?” she says quietly.
Yes?
>”Ms. Quill sent me. She said you needed something?”
>Em knots her brow. Her secretary must have noticed her stress.
Er, yes. Could you make a run down to Sugar Cube Corner? I can't stand the office coffee. Get yourself something as well.
>The intern hesitates before nodding repeatedly.
>”Y-yes, of course. I'll be right back.”
Thank you.
>The intern turns to go, but stops as if remembering some detail.
>”Oh, and there were a few ponies outside to see you, ma'am. Should I tell them to wait?”
No, send them in.
>”Right away.”
>She walks out and holds the door open for the stately ponies in the lobby.
>Em stretches her legs and leans forward at the desk as the ponies take their seats before her.
Good morning, everyp0ny.
13/

>Em looks over the faces of the assembled ponies.
Let's get right down to business. What's the latest spin from the press?
>A tan stallion with slick hair clears his throat.
>”Not great, ma'am. The Rich campaign is picking up steam quickly and the tabloids seem to be siding with him,” he says.
Of course they are. They couldn't very well run the stories they've been running and then throw their lots in with me, could they? What about the real papers?
>”They're split. The Ponyville Post is with you, but the Gazette's been running some lengthy articles against you.”
>Em taps her hoof on the desk.
>”There's one other thing,” the stallion adds.
What's that?
>”Anonymous' recent brushes with the media have been garnering a lot of attention. The Gazette just ran more than a few editorials calling him a violent instigator and we have reason to believe that Rich is planning to work that into his platform somehow.”
>The bespectacled mare frowns.
Noted. What's on the PR team's agenda today, then?
>A mare with her mane done up a tight bun flips through a clipboard of papers.
>”Collating the data from yesterday's impromptu poll and working on counter-spin regarding the newspaper articles.”
Good. Get to it. I want a full status report at the end of the day.
>”Yes, ma'am,” the group responds in unison. The ponies rise from their seats and begin to file out of the office.
Waves, you stay.
>A yellow stallion stops and walks back to the desk.
>”What do you want to talk about, ma'am?” he asks.
>Em spins her chair around and looks out the window.
Be straight with me. What does the PR team think about all this?
>”Ma'am?”
14/

>The mare stands and walks up to the glass.
I can see the way they look at me. It's not like the last campaign or the one before that.
>”They're just nervous. They've never had to deal with a scandal right as a campaign starts.”
Do I look like an amateur to you, Waves?
>The stallion flinches at Em's sudden anger.
Nervous. No, I've seen those ponies when they're nervous. This is something else. I want you to tell me right now if there is anyp0ny on my PR team who isn't one hundred percent in my corner.
>Em stares at the stallion intensely.
>”...Alright. I've been hearing talk -not a lot, mind you, but talk- down in PR. Nop0ny's out to get you there, but a few are asking questions. I'll look into it.”
Thank you.
>She motions to the door.
Now get to work. I need everyp0ny on this.
>”Yes, ma'am.” The stallion walks quickly out into the hall.
>Em turns back to the window.
>”Ma'am? Your coffee?” the intern meekly puts a cup on Em's desk.
Thank you very much. What else are you to do today?
>”I'm just floating today, ma'am.”
Good. Go down to PR and observe how they work. Help them out with whatever they need and report back to me if you think anything is off, alright?
>The intern briefly looks confused.
>”A-alright, ma'am.”
15/

>Four o'clock.
>Em looks up from her papers when she hears a voice outside her office.
>”Feather! Nice to see you. How did those orchids do? Is Em in?”
>”Glad to see you too, Rose. The orchids are great; just bloomed again. Head on in. I don't think she's too busy.”
>The doors open and the red-maned florist struts in carrying a brown tote bag.
>”You look like you've had a long day,” she says, setting the bag on the desk, on top of Em's papers.
They've been getting longer. What have you got there? I smell pastries.
>Rose pulls out a small box of cannoli and pushes one towards Em.
>”I figured.”
>Em takes a comfort-seeking bite of pastry and knots her brow.
It tastes different. Are these from Sugar Cube Corner?
>”Yeah, Mrs. Cake gave Pinkie Pie a couple days off while Fleur de Lis is in town, apparently.”
What would that have to with Pinki- oh. OH.
>Rose smirks.
>”You should have seen her when she came to my shop looking for lilacs. She got so flustered when I asked who they were for that I almost burst out laughing at the poor mare.”
She's really head-over-hooves, huh?
>”Well have you met Fleur? She's right up Pinkie Pie's alley.”
>Em silently munches the cannoli.
>Rose leans forward. “You have met Fleur...haven't you?”
>The mare pushes her glasses back without answering.
>”Oh, Emmie, how have you managed that?”
She's Anon's ex, not mine.
>”Don't pretend you aren't interested. Think what she could tell you about him.”
>Rose raises her eyebrow. Em sighs in resignation.
Why is your mind always so ready to go there?
16/

>”It makes things more interesting. But if you don't want to know what Fleur has to say, that's okay. So tell me about the news. How are you handling Filthy entering the race?”
Honestly? Worried. He has a solid platform, it seems, and the current scandal isn't helping my image any. I've got the PR team on it, but I dread seeing the poll results today...
>”How's Anon taking it?”
>Em slumps in her chair.
You've read the news. You tell me.
>”I meant at home.”
At home is better, I suppose. It's the only quiet time we get away from all this, and that's relative.
>”Still getting harassed?”
We got another note tacked to the door last night. Anon said he'd stake out the door and catch the next pony who tries anything. I managed to talk him out of it, thank Celestia. As if a campaign wasn't going to be enough stress...
>Em spins in her chair to face the window once more.
>”You two are going to need a vacation once all this is said and done and what are you looking at out there?” Rose gets up and walks around the desk to join Em at the window.
>Below, in the street near Town Hall, the pair see a sizable group of ponies gathering in front of a makeshift stage.
>”Looks like Filthy's taking the soapbox.”
Right below my office. That's audacious of him.
>Em turns to her friend.
I've got a feeling I'll need a drink for this.
>”Still have that minibar in the globe?”
Just had it restocked.
>”Then I'll get the brandy out.”
17/

>Filthy Rich steps up in front of the crowd shortly after Rose gives Em her glass.
>He clears his throat and looks at the group with a smug grin.
>”Friends, citizens, countryponies, lend me your ears! I come to challenge the good Mayor, not to praise her!” he begins.
>Em takes a quick swig.
Oh, Celestia, he's pulling out the Shodspeare.
>Filthy continues. “I'm sure all of you have been reading the news! I'm sure all of you have been keeping up with the current, lascivious scandal ensnaring the current administration! I certainly have, and let me tell you that I am appalled to bear witness to such behavior from our leader!”
>Several ponies in the crowd shout their support.
>”Hiding her...affair with our resident bipedal chef? Hiding from us, the ponies she is supposed to serve, her actions which undermine the very moral fabric of our town? I ask you, good ponies: is that any way for a leader to conduct herself? Is it not unbecoming of a pony of her station, to involve herself with such questionable elements?”
>More clapping and louder cheers are the crowd's response.
>”I say it's time for a change! Who knows how long our dear Mayor has been engaged in her sordid activities? Months? Years? What else is she hiding? Or do you really believe this is her administration's only dirty little secret?”
>Filthy gestures dramatically towards Town Hall.
>”I promise you, good citizens, I promise from the bottom of my heart that I will uphold the highest moral code and apply that code to my term in office! It's time for a change! It's time for us to take a stand and say 'No! We will not abide the undermining of our society's morals!' It's time to take back Ponyville!”
18/

>Rose stares at the scene as the crowd erupts in cheers
>”What is his angle?” she mutters.
He's taking the moral high-ground, the snake.
>Em takes a long whiff off her drink, letting the complex aroma calm her nerves.
>”Do you think ponies will buy it?”
Sounds like they already do. That crowd ate his speech up.
>”So you've got your work cut out for you. I thought you liked a challenge?”
>Em puts her glass on her desk with a clatter.
Don't try to cheer me up with that right now. The election is only a month away. An issue like this could carry the whole vote.
>”What will you do, then?”
I'm working on it...
>The office doors swing open as Amber Waves walks in, bearing a small stack of papers.
>”Ma'am,” he says.
Give it here. What have you found?
>The stallion clears his throat, looking at Rose.
>Em waves him off.
It's fine.
>”Er, yes, well. The poll results are...not great. The scandal's swung a worrisome portion of the electorate out of your favor. A lot of it is stemming from media hype, but there's a fairly large percentage that cited the actual nature of yours and Anonymous' relationship as their reason for their response.”
So what are you saying?
>”He's an albatross, ma'am.”
>The stallion goes on. “This is going to sound cut-throat, but if you're going to help your approval rating, your best bet at the moment is to distance yourself from him. His antagonism towards the media just hurts the situation and ponies are associating it with you.”
>”What!?” Rose exclaims. “How dare you suggest--”
Rose. Why don't you see Mr. Waves out? I'll meet you for dinner later. We'll talk about this then. I need time to think.
19/

>Em is left alone in her office, reading over the packet that Waves brought to her.
>She finishes her brandy and pushes the glass miserably to the side of the desk.
>The weight of her situation starts to press upon her chest as she sits, trying to figure out her options.
Celestia, why did this have to happen all at once?
>She balls up the write-up of the PR team's recommendation and tosses it into the trash can.
>After several minutes more spent sitting, she gets up and retrieves the paper with a great sigh of defeat.
>The paper crinkles loudly as she flattens it out, formulating her plan.
>As the sun starts to set, Em looks out the window once more.
Rose, you just might kill me for this.
End