“The Gondoliers,” Lena replied with distaste, rolling her eyes despite the darkness. It was definitely something worth expressing her irritation about even if nobody could see it – though this woman looked as though she’d been out here more than long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Had she just stumbled? She was certainly moving rather languidly, not unlike the women Lena had passed by on Bedford Street so as to avoid the sea of unfortunate itinerants living around Trafalgar Square but the timbre of the woman’s voice didn’t match the vice she imagined.

Marlena Scamander was no idiot but she was young and in her world the notion of a nice, well-brought up woman becoming anything but a wife or a spinster was a little too much of a mental leap.

“It was dire. I could murder another drink but, well-” she glanced up at the black abyss above, wondered briefly how people lived without seeing the stars at all, and the light inside the pub glowed just long enough for her to catch a glimpse of the other woman’s smirking face.

“I really ought to go.”

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MJ: still raising the graphics bar as of 2022