Marion followed Plato around like a shadow and diligently avoided the big haulers, bulls she called them. Not really knowing what to do with her pale hands she alternated between trying to lose them in her jean pockets and wringing them at her waist as she carefully traced Plato’s path.<br/><br/>When he turned and spoke to her, she felt the silly urge to salute but his treat just added ice to her already twisted insides. She seemed to remember something about that tone, something about water inside of her, hot water. Was it hot? The internal distraction lasted until the man turned and moved away from her. What was she supposed to do? Stats? Stats yes that, stats.<br/><br/>She nodded to no one, twitching her fingers as if reminding them of what they were supposed to be doing. She snatched a clipboard from the steel girder column and its string attached pencil nub clattered as her other hand chased it around. In this dim light she seemed as pale as a corpse and her blue eyes shone brilliantly.<br/><br/>She knelt down in front of the kennel cages still shivering with a bone deep delight that threatened to wear her out. She couldn’t tell if she had to pee or if the pressure inside her tummy was just a fierce and whirling desire to be okay, to be healed by these beautiful things.<br/><br/>“I have to get your stats, so just… don’t cause trouble okay… please. It will be okay if you don’t cause trouble.” She pleaded clutching the clipboard to her blue sweater.<br/><br/>She looked at the check boxes, drugs, wounds, hair color, eyes color, pubic hair, mannerisms. Did alcohol count as a drug? What was she supposed to put for mannerisms? Silently she cursed frowning at the board with its layered pages. She scratched at the paper. The pressure in her grew slowly, she was anxious to get closer to the girls, to start them in the rituals that would heal her, make her right.<br/>