Clicking her teeth, she zipped up her backpack and turned to face this comedic intruder. How he could find the nerve to joke in a time like this was beyond her, but whatever he said had an underlying tone of hostility that was just a little unnerving. She could do nothing about being caught in the act, but whether this guy was going to blabber on to the others was something she could at least try to prevent. “Did you hit your head again, by any chance?” said Angie, quickly taking on a cold demeanor as she took steps in his direction. Stopping with as little as a foot's width between her and the comedian, she looked up to him and spoke with a soft, not-too-friendly whisper. “You know, I would hate for complications to arise when I'm treating you, if I ever do.”



While this course of action was questionable at best, Angie hoped that it was enough to convince him to keep a secret. She wasn't keen on the idea of everyone knowing about this little incident, and who knows how the guy would react if she hadn't tried to threaten him. Acting like this probably burnt a few bridges in the possible acquaintanceship between herself and him, but making friends wasn't exactly high on her priority list. With her hand still gripping the strap of her backpack, she quickly decided on a course of action if this guy was going to keep standing on his moral high ground. If worse comes to worse, she'll put away the knife he saw her take and be content with the remaining one she had. Rumors about her failing to take a knife were better than rumors about her succeeding in taking one. Still, she felt the need to dispute his accusation of her being a future killer. It was nothing short of a baseless accusation.



“And it's for self-defense, not for murder. I would recommend you to do the same.”

Smiling, she patted him on his shoulder and turned around. “I'm glad to see we got that sorted out.” Returning to her search for the materials to make a suitable sheath, she couldn't help but be irked by something the comedian had said. He spawned a question that latched onto her like a stubborn, putrid leech. She'll have to ask that damn bear whether killing in self-defense would qualify as murder, whenever it inevitably makes its appearance. If it does indeed count, perhaps blunt instruments would be more suitable as a tool for self-defense. A good knock on a head probably wouldn't kill the person. Well it wouldn't, except for the happening of a brain aneurysm. That, or the many other things that could go wrong when you bash a person's head. Was becoming a hermit and retreating to one's dorm the only way not to get roped into committing a murder?



Annoyed at that particular train of thought, she decided to speak to the other occupant of the room. “Tell me a little about yourself. Your name was one of the few I had forgotten, apologies for that.” muttered Angie, opening the refrigerator's door. She had searched high and low, but a box of cereal was still nowhere to be found. Once she got her hands on it, she'll cut up the box in her dorm and fix it into a crude little sheathe. The medical bandage tape she had would secure its shape, and she'll bend it to form a makeshift, thin rectangular box. It'll fit nicely into her waistband, letting her carry the knife around discretely without accidentally stabbing herself. As her shirt was lengthy enough to go past her waistband, she would be able to hide the knife inside it and keep outside peering eyes away.




Squatting to look into the fridge, she pushed aside various assortments of foodstuff to be met with disappointment. It's starting to look like her last hope was inside the pantry, but there were still a few cabinets left unsearched. Deciding to rummage through those only after the comedian had left, she took out two cans of carbonated water and closed the fridge. Tossing one towards him, she rested her back against one of the counters and opened the tab to her can. Through fizzes and pops, it whispered back hints and promises of a cold, delightful refreshment. But it wasn't a miracle drink - the weariness that she normally felt throughout the day came back, replacing the rush she had during the earlier fiasco of threats. She was tired, tired of it all. Looking at the comedian with much less hostility than before, her eyes glanced away from him and back to the chilly can she clutched. Her fingers were growing numb, but she had a severe lack of care to give it. Perhaps when it becomes unbearable, then she'll put the can aside.




“Say, what do you think will end up happening with this pile of mess?”

Taking a long sip from her can, she hardly looked at Zulfikar as he spoke. Still, she couldn't help but smirk a little at what he said last – the bit about great publicity. “Media attention, huh? I've certainly had a.. distasteful experience with that. Never liked those vultures.” The bitterness she had for that particular part of society was apparent through her words, but it looks like many of these people here simply thrived on it. The Utaite, that actor, this guy and Calhoun, not to mention the countless others that had rode the wave of media sensation. Maybe it's about time she herself let go of that particular grudge, but the memory of it all still stings. The interviewers that tried so desperately to dig out every interesting tidbit about her, the sleuths prying into her personal life. Still, it wasn't like she'll have cameras imposing themselves onto her anytime soon. There's also presently something much, much more easier to hate.



“I'm looking for cereal to bring back to my dorm.” she said, thinking about what he had said about incentives. She was a little glad that this guy believed in the inevitability of bloodshed, but the optimist in him was still showing. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but Angie had always found those peculiar people just a little bit interesting. She found herself agreeing to what he said about murders needing motives, but wasn't that exactly what the bear said back in the ballroom? “Hey, Zulfikar. Didn't the bear say something about motives?” called out Angie, glancing at the still unchecked cabinets. Both her body and mind sighed in protest. Lethargy's a bitch, but that sheath was something she needed. Placing her can on the counter, she slowly and reluctantly continued her search.

“When you're vulnerable, afraid and pissed off all at once, the last thing you want is microphones being pushed onto you.” said Angie, well aware of how vague she was being. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't be sharing any of this. She wouldn't be revealing this much to a person she just met, but right now she couldn't find the energy to bother. He was lucky in that respect, as she wouldn't normally take questions from a stranger as well as she did now. If anything, this conversation just made her more tired than before. Reminiscing about the past often filled her heart with lead bearings; It weighed down on her like a rusty, ancient anchor sinking into a murky, desolate sea. Do what he will with what she told, the uncaring world will still spin and the mansion walls will still be their tomb. 'It will be a tomb to all but one.' thought Angie, correcting herself.    



Looking up, her eyes glazed over the last unopened cabinet. It was a little too high up on the wall for her to peer into, but was thankfully still well within reach of her arm. “I left my hometown and my past behind when I came here to Japan.” said Angie, tiptoeing to grasp the knob, pulling it open. Guided by the sense of feeling, her fingers eventually found itself settling on a cupboard-textured box. “Those tombs I tried my hardest to forget were what everybody wanted to dig up. I would shoot those dogs if I could, but they did help me stay out of prison.” Straining her body to tiptoe jut an inch higher, she got a firmer grip on the box and grabbed it down. “So I can't be too unappreciative, I guess.” muttered Angie, stuffing the box into her backpack. Looks like it was one of those that were shaped like rings.



But her efforts were in vain – her pack was simply too full. The med-kit already took up more than half of the space, and there was no convenient pocket dimension for a rectangular shaped cereal box. “Maybe I like to keep a box around around for a late-night snack?” said Angie, taking out her med-kit and replacing it with the cereal. Carrying the med-kit in her left hand, she walked over to grab what's left of her drink as she made her way to the exit. Making sure to conveniently pass by the comedian on her way out, she stopped beside him with their shoulders almost touching. “Remember to keep your lips sealed.” warned Angie, turning to look at him dead in the eyes. The expression she wore was akin to the stern expression a teacher would give to a trouble-making kid. It was a no nonsense, don't-you-dare-forget-about-it kind of look. 



Finally leaving the kitchen for good, she left him with one last message. “As for the incentives, I guess we'll see wouldn't we? Watch your back out there, Zulfikar.”