in these trying times we're not trying

Maeve

Oh. Well that certainly explains it. Maeve sighs, turning away from him to reach for a robe that's hanging from a rack tucked next to the door. Thin arms slip into satin sleeves and she quickly belts it around her waist. Her attention turns to Locke who is still sprawling naked on her bed already slipping into a post coital nap when Remi clearly averts his gaze. Some people were so weird when it came to nudity. The small woman breezes over, tossing a spare blanket over his waist before finally fixing her eyes back on Remi.

"It was, but not anymore. Phoebe is..." She trails off, brows knitting together as she seems to chew on her words for a moment. "Gone. Has been for some time. Come in and have a seat." Maeve motions towards the small table nestled next to one of the windows. A small tea set already rests on the top, a gentle steam rising from the spout of the pot. She pads with bare feet over to the table, settling into one of the chairs and pouring herself a cup.

She carefully places two cubes of sugar into the soft amber liquid, stirring it gently, "I'm assuming you're a friend of hers?" Maeve takes a slow sip from her tea, letting the warm liquid soothe her. "Oh! Sorry, I'm Maeve. Forgive me. Post orgasm brain." She laughs, waving her hand dismissively.

With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean
She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene