The soft rustle of fabric made Amelia peep through her fingers to see Phyri had plopped right onto the ground. Were it any other person in front of her Amelia would have thought them mad (well - for all intents and purposes, one could say the woman in front of her was a touch mad), however this seemed pretty on par with behaviors associated with the dark haired determined-to-be-spinster.

It was one of the things Amelia appreciated about her friend - she wasn't really afraid to be herself or do anything that struck her mind, including doing something as unladylike as sliding out of her seat and straight onto the floor in such a decided fashion.

In a spur of what Amelia could only describe as spontaneity, she too eased her self off the chaise and onto the floor. While it certainly felt weird, it also felt...quite comfortable. She grinned at Phyri before listening to her poetic words. Only Porphyria Dempsey could tell her she lost, call Skeeter a cockroach, and tell her to destroy him with such elegance. Amelia couldn't help but laugh heartily. "How?" she said, half-jokingly half-seriously. "Burn everything he's given me or anything that reminds me of him?" She thought back to the Christmas presents he'd given her: the small book of poems, a small commissioned portrait of Penny...she'd grown quite fond of those small items, but perhaps it was time to really part with them...