Prayer

"Veronica, we were looking all over for you," Emilie deadpanned as one of her fellow inmates of the Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls arrived onto the scene. The redheaded inmate glared at the raven-haired one as she stepped into their little cell, which they shared with several other young women who had also been committed to this nightmarish hellhole.

"I just went out to play with those sick perverts, is all," Veronica replied languidly, ignorant to Emilie's annoyance. The raven-haired inmate was, of course, referring to the Asylum's "Chasers". These were the men who guarded the inmates, keeping them in line and locked up. They were so named for their propensity of "chasing" the other female inmates, always hoping for a tasty morsel to catch. They were ruthless and rough, but Veronica seemed to be into that thing. It was hardly new for her to be throwing herself at them in hopes of catching a tasty morsel all her own. She was a nymphomaniac, after all, sex was literally in her blood. She was willing to do it with anyone who said yes, no matter how rough or gentle.

"You're pandering to them now?" Emilie scoffed. "Showering them with compliments and using your words?" she was teasing her fellow inmate now, referring to the fact that Veronica was a horrible sap for romance and romantic prose. Sex-fiend though she was, Veronica was not without some very passionate romantic desires as well.

"Yes," Veronica said coyly, giving Emilie that infuriating little grin of one who knew she was toeing a line. Emilie only rolled her eyes in reply.

"Veronica, if you hadn't happened to notice that... that I have been ever so slightly... cold, with you today, as opposed to every other day-" the redhead began, but Veronica was already distracted by something else, it was a pair of pink panties on her bed. She knelt down to pick them up.

"Then I'm guessing these aren't your panties?" she asked, waving the underwear up at Emilie.

"No," Emilie replied, flat tone and flat expression, staring down disdainfully at Veronica and the panties she was still twirling between her fingers. Then something of a dry smile flickered across the redhead's face. "I don't wear any."

"Oooh!" Veronica perked up when Emilie decided to play along with her. But that was where Emilie was leaving the game.

"All that aside," she insisted. "Do you know why I wanted to speak with you today?" she trailed off, but since Veronica knew no real harm would ever come to her, especially not from Emilie, she took up a coy grin again and played dumb.

"Is it because... Aprella," the raven-haired inmate began dramatically, pretending to point a damning finger at the young blond sitting peacefully in the corner of their cell, humming a little French tune to herself. "Aprella, held me at gun point and forced me to make out with her?" she asked. Emilie made no sound, but her eyes widened a little before narrowing once again. She whipped around at once to face the left corner of their cell.

In that corner, the young blond, in a pink corset and little pink top hat sat, still singing her French song, but when she realized that the attention was on her now, she hopped up at once and began shaking her head in denial as Emilie stalked over to her.

"She did it, yes you did, yes you did, you did, YOU DID, and you liked it!" Veronica accused crossly as Aprella backed away from Emilie, hiding her trademark flintlock pistol (God knew where she'd found it, or her seemingly endless supply of bullets) behind her back.

"I didn't like it, I didn't like it, I didn't like it!" she claimed. Meanwhile, Emilie only took a deep whiff in as she drew closer to Aprella.

"I smell her all over you," the redhead deadpanned. Drat! Caught red-handed!