Pacing slightly as she contemplates asking something, it is not her place to interfere with those she writes about. However her interest in this person was not as professional as she would like to make it appear. Setting down her pen, flexing her hand to ease the cramp that had formed from her tireless note taking. When she spoke it was with a strong but respectful tone to who or what ever was listening. “Excuse me? I was wondering if it would be possible to speak with or inquire about Meg?”

(There was the staccato of high heels against the wooden floor. Absently tossing her long black hair over her leather-clad shoulder, Meg stares at this curious person in a vaguely unsettling manner, not unlike her Hellgod father.)

“That would be me.”

(By this point, Dark has drilled good manners into her, and her temper and lust for violence is held in check much better than it was in the beginning. Daddy’s Girl is learning her lessons well, and her girlish voice has a cordial tone.)

“What can I do for you?”

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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.