Nothing But A Joke (Cynthia)

[Vaishnavi Singh]

Anger surged throughout her body, igniting her blood. She was furious and it showed in her eyes. Vaishnavi had never truly experienced anger before; there was never a reason for her to be angry. But today was the day when all that changed. Ever since Cynthia DeMato had started advertising La Maison Magnifique, Vaishnavi had developed a feeling of uncertainty in her gut. It wasn't just the name, but something about "The House." Now Vaishnavi knew why she had felt so nauseous: it was a burlesque club. The nerve of that woman to create such a thing!

She entered the club and had to bite her tongue from screaming in absolute anger. Scanning the establishment, Vaishnavi's eyes finally settled on Cynthia and she swiftly made her way towards the woman, pushing past a few other people who she assumed were other staff members. Her anger and frustration had caused her to create a psychic blade and before anyone could notice, Vaishnavi quickly reabsorbed the psychic energy that made up the weapon. Despite her feelings, she would not attack Cynthia. Vaishnavi was better than that.

"Who the hell do you think you are, Cynthia DeMato?!"

[Cynthia DeMato]

It had been a rather quiet day at the House; it was, after all, a weekday, so save for the rehearsals they would be having later that day, the mornings were generally used to catch up on paperwork, meet with advertisers and other affiliates, and hold the occasional interview or audition. Cynthia was currently sitting with the stage manager and set designer to go over the logistics for some of the performances she wanted to do that weekend. It was around noon, and they had ordered takeout to be delivered to the House. The woman was starving, frankly, and was wondering where on earth her food was.

Hearing a very loud voice suddenly fill the room, the middle-aged brunette turned to see a younger woman staring her down. She was a pretty thing, but her face was contorted in anger, which was never attractive. She took a few steps towards the woman - this was her house and nobody intimidated her - placing a hand on her hip. "I take it you're not the pizza guy," she said with a bemused smirk. "I think I'm the owner of this fine establishment, and you're currently interrupting my meeting. Is there anything I can help you with?" The tone of voice she was using made it very clear that she did not intend on actually being helpful.