Of all the people she could bump into in the hallway it had to be MJ. Amy recognised her as a blur of turquoise hair, through what she realised had to be tears. She sniffed and wiped her eyes angrily. She wasn't going to cry, she was stronger than that. MJ was quick on the uptake, that much was obvious as she tried to lead Amy away from the room. Only by now Karl had managed to get his pants on and come to the door.<br/><br/>What happened next, Amy wasn't totally sure. One moment MJ was pulling her away, then the next she was stepping flirtatiously towards<i>her </i>boyfriend (Ex-boyfriend, now, she supposed). And then Karl leapt back, yelping in shock, the front of his pants stained wet and sticky. And MJ took her arm and led her away, into the stairwell and up.<br/><br/>Amy was not sure what to think, she should be angry, she should be upset, but all she could see was the wet brown stain on the front of Karl's pale grey sweat pants and that made her giggle. He deserved that, and more. They stopped at a door that was marked with a sign saying Authorised Persons Only, which didn't seem to bother her companion, as MJ led Amy out into the cool night air.<br/><br/>The Lady stopped and stared at the view. "Wow." She managed a smile as the punk chick addressed her as Princess. "Yeah, well, he was the Perfect Gentleman. Daddy approved, too." She tried not to breath the smoke, tobacco was probably the worst legal killer in the world, after the motor car... But, it smelled wrong? That wasn't tobacco... She shrugged. "I've heard of you. Seen you around. I always thought your name was Emjay, you know, Ee em jay ay wye. People say to keep away from you. I..." She paused.<br/><br/>"Thanks. I owe you a Pepsi, I guess?" She indicated the discarded paper cup. Amy's hand was probably a lot softer and smoother than MJ's, after all the over-privileged heiress had never done a single day's actual work in her life, she'd never even done any washing up, as she always ate out, used a laundry service to wash her clothes, and until tonight she had relied on Karl to pay someone to clean his apartment. But her hands were strong. You don't ride big, powerful horses and not develop muscles. She shook the punk girl's hand firmly, decisively. "Please call me Amy. I'm not a princess. Technically I'm a viscountess, but that's only a courtesy title and really I should only use it if something happens to Vee." She was babbling. She stopped herself and instead, sat on the low concrete balustrade that ran around the edge of the roof. "It's nice up here. Do you come up here often?"<br/><br/>She waited for the answer, and then a horrid thought struck her. "Oh heck. Where am I going to sleep? I moved in with Karl, I don't have anywhere...." Tears welled up again. There was no way she was going back to his room, not tonight. She would have to go back at some point to collect her stuff, but.... It was only clothes and books. They could be replaced. Her schoolwork was in her locker in the legal block, that was something. Tomorrow she could find a room somewhere, but tonight, she needed somewhere to... what was the word? Somewhere to<i>crash.</i>