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Paint me like one of your Sith girls
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((Marilyn continued from Standing Eight))

Having a companion was odd in the extreme. Marilyn wasn't used to being around people for any significant length of time, not that there was much in the way of conversation between them. Bryant seemed focused, or else resigned not to risk her stammer. That suited Marilyn just fine, being that she wasn't really one for talking even if she'd been able to spit the words out without tripping over each three times.

Amazingly, she'd managed to snatch some sleep, in spite of her fear, paranoia and... hell take your pick, just about everything. Marilyn hadn't expected to be able to switch off around Bryant, but maybe that was more testament to how bone tired she was after spending the better part of day running for her life, than any inherent trust in her companion.

Once they got going again, Marilyn remained subdued, glad of the silence, glad that Bryant hadn't yet inquired after her weapon. He'd either want it or want HER to use it. Marilyn wanted neither, especially given Bryant was already toting a shotgun around. She flinched as the announcement came on, few of the names striking her until the disembodied voice indicated Bryant's kill. Of course, Marilyn already knew it, but hearing it declared so starkly...

Unpleasant, to say the least.

Marilyn glanced up and stumbled as she spotted a pair of other students not too far away from them and their path. One big, one smaller. Neither looked like a welcome wagon.

"Buh-buh-buh-b-b-b..." her tongue tied itself in a firm knot as Marilyn stopped walking, trying to warn her partner. "Buh-buh-Bryant! Luh-luh-l-l-luh," she gave up, and wild-eyed, she just pointed towards the others.

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