I'm not sure what this is.

"I might die here."
"We'll be fine."
"Can I ask a promise of you?"
"If you must."
"On Judgement Day...when you walk into Hell to reclaim your heart-"
"What?  Something then?"
"When you walk into Hell, before you reclaim your heart, you must find me-"
"Find you?  What-"
"I have no delusions about where I'll end up, Lillian.  Now, settle."
"You're being stranger than I know you to be."
"Listen.  You need to find me, Lillian, and you need to kiss me."
"K-kiss you!?"
"I think if you kissed me, I'd be able to endure."
"J-jessiah..."
"That kiss shall be our final goodbye.  It shall be enough that I have loved you and you have granted me this favor."
"L-loved me?"
"Don't blush so.  Your modesty is unfounded.  You know the effect you have on evil men."

And so.

Noah was right on time with his speech.
The sniper was late.
Nearly five minutes behind schedule, as far as I could tell.  For a moment, I thought my intel might be wrong, some ghost or shadow that was floating out there.  Some rumor.  Some, I don't know, cock waving or something.
Ah, but there it was.  The glint of the barrel in the late afternoon sunlight.  I turned my eyes back on Noah, passionately delivering one of his better speeches.
A shot.
The idiot missed.
Everyone looked around, panicking.  I looked up to the rooftop in disbelief.  How could you miss?  A clear shot from half a mile away.  Half a second later a second shot rang out.  Lillian cried out and shoved Noah out of the way.  Her head splattered and then everyone really screamed.  Chaos.
Damn that woman.  Always meddling in matters she can't understand.
No matter.  Someone's brain was splattered on prime-time TV.  It would've been better if it had been Noah, but she'll do.  I swept in amongst the madness.  There were bodyguards, cops, reporters, everyone shouting and looking around and moving.  I glanced around and scooped up a handful of Lillian's brain.
Sorry, love.  You'll need to stay out of the picture, for a little while, at least.

Here.


    She watched the rain as TY7RW4 flew her home.  She was tired.  She leaned against the glass and wondered briefly what it might be like to be a normal girl.  As TY7RW4 lowered the gyrocopter onto the parapet, she saw that Y86YR was waiting with her Hello Kitty umbrella.  TY7RW4 opened the door for Emily and rain sprayed across her, icy and unforgiving.
    “You father wants you,” Y86YR said as it stepped up to shield her from the spray and take her bag.
    “I’m tired,” she answered curtly.
    “I was asked to take you right to him,” Y86YR said as close to apologetically as it could get.  Emily scowled at it, but it didn’t notice, sweeping her briskly inside while TY7RW4 serviced the gyrocopter.  It shook the umbrella away from the two of them once inside and took Emily’s coat.  It handed her things off to UR8E1 who bowed and welcomed her home.  She barely noticed.  Y86YR briskly led her to her father’s study.  It opened the door for her and bowed.
    She entered the sumptuous space silently.  It was one of the few places in the compound that she didn’t know intimately.  This was an adult room, her grandfather’s study in his dark arts.  It had not changed much since its first owner, still musty and intimidating.  Her father was standing with his back to the door, his hand laying on the imposing mahogany desk.  “How was school, Emily?” he asked congenially without turning around.
    “Inane,” she sniffed.
    Her father turned, a slight smile on his lips.  “As usual?” he said.  She nodded.  “Come, come, ladies don’t lurk in doorways.  Enter properly.”  She took a step inside.  Y86YR shut the door behind her.  She jumped slightly, but she wasn’t sure why.
    “Why did you want to see me right away?”
    Y86YR swept her towards her father as he turned a velvet armchair for her to sit in.  The back of her knees bumped into it and she sort of just fell in.  “I thought we might have a chat, and I need to leave to oversee some important work in an hour or so.”
    Emily crossed her arms over her chest.  “Will this take that long?”
    Her father kneeled in front of the armchair, which surprised her.  “I don’t think so,” he said, smiling slightly, mysteriously.
    She frowned.  “What do we need to talk about?”
    “I thought we should talk about school, actually.”  She pursed her lips, but didn’t answer.  He continued.  “Your school is one of the finest preparatory schools in the area, but you’re bored, uninspired.  You come home restless, your teachers say they hardly know you, your peer relationships are nearly non-existent.”
    “So?” she demanded.  She pushed herself out of the chair and stormed to the middle of the room.  “It’s none of your business, anyway.”
    Her father straightened.  “Now, Emily.  I’m your father.  Of course it’s my business.”  She looked back at him.  “I think I might know the problem.”
    Emily turned her head away again.  “As if.”
    “You’re not being challenged, dear.  Your peer group cannot understand you, and neither can your teachers.  How could they?  Fools, all!  You are a von Doomenkill!”  He gestured at the ceiling with a tightly closed fist.  A crack of thunder sounded, dramatically underscoring her father’s point.  She didn’t want to concede to his words, but blushed at the truth of them.  “Now, your mother and I have discussed it, and I think it best that we transfer you.”
    She spun on her heel.  “What?  Where?”
    “Ellsmere Academy.”
    Her heart stopped.  She considered her father with wide eyes.  “What…” she murmured.
    “Ellsmere Academy.  Not that far by gyrocopter.  They’d be able to supply you with the kind of challenge that would really stimulate you!”  He was very excited, but tried to keep himself in check.  “It’s a very prestigious school.”
    “That’s a school for villains,” she seethed, tightening her hands into fists.  “A school for vile, cruel, heartless-”
    “Now, now, Emily,” said her father.
    She shook her head violently.  “Absolutely not!  That place-gah!”
    “Emily,” said her father firmly.  “What, exactly, is wrong with being a villain?  Villainy has done a lot for you, young lady, and you’d do well to remember that.  This place, all your things, the food that you eat.”
    She covered her ears.  “I’m not like that!  Stop it!”
    He approached with dedicated steps.  “This family has all it has because it has taken it.  Ellsmere is a good place for you to learn, to grow, to reach your full potential.  Do you want to spend your time wallowing among commoners?  Your intellect is wasted on them and their little ways of thinking.  I merely want to expand your horizons!  To help you!”
    “I hate you!” Emily screamed.  Her father was taken aback.  Her outbursts were so rare; any emotion other than teenaged indignation was something of a surprise nowadays.
    She had tears in her eyes, but she bit her lip and tried to control her breathing as not to bawl embarrassingly in front of Y86YR.  “Oh, honey,” sighed her father, and pulled her into a hug.  She resisted, but he didn’t make mention of it.  He stroked her hair.
    Her shoulders shook, but she refused to give in.  She tried to push away from him, but he was in top form.  “I’m not a baby.”
    “You’re not,” he agreed.  He kissed the top of her head.  “You are a young woman: smart and strong-willed and very lovely.”  He sighed again and let her go.  She didn’t move away, simply staring him down in rage.  He tutted her chin, and she scowled at him.
    “Can I go?” she demanded.
    His face didn’t flag, but his shoulders gave him away, slumping ever so slightly.  “I love you very much.  We won’t transfer schools if you don’t want to.”
    “I’m not you,” she spat.  Her fists were clenched.
    He stood and turned away from her, his cape whipping around him.  He crossed to the window and looked out into dark sky.  “I think you shall find in time…” he said slowly, “that you are more like me than you should like to admit.”
    Emily didn’t answer, his remark both surprising and terrifying her.  What was it that idiot had said?  It’s in the blood.  Super-villain royalty, princess.
    Her father put his hand on the edge of the window.  “You may go,” he said emotionlessly, and Y86YR came to her side immediately.  She looked at it and then back at her father.  “We shall finish this conversation later.”
    Y86YR escorted her back to her room.  She just stood in the middle of it a while, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t anything like her father.

How I met your mother...sort of.

    Professor von Doomenkill had investigative reporter Ashley Moore in his clutches again.  His robot minions had brought her to him, but something was all wrong.  Generally, she was spirited, struggling and shouting about how he would never get away with it.  Which he always thought silly, since he always did, but rather endearing.  But she was despondent, even sad.  He could tell even from the monitors as he watched his minions bring her into the base.
    “To the cell?” asked 42A7I9 over its communicator.
    “Bring her to me,” he said.  He wanted her to perk up.  She always seemed to be so filled with life when fighting with him, when arguing with his gloating.  Perhaps she was simply tired from the trip and would be her usual self when they met face to face.
    She was brought before him and placed on her feet.  He smiled wickedly.  “Ah, Ms. Moore,” he cackled.  “Here we are again!  Your beloved Apex Man will never be able to save-”
    But just then Ashley did something that he did not foresee.
    She burst into tears.
    And Professor von Doomenkill, who created death machines for a living, who had personally killed men and women and not batted an eyelash, who kicked puppies and old women, was frozen.  His machines stood impassive.  His hands shook as he reached to touch her.  “Now, now,” he said, unsure, “you know that I’m all talk.  I won’t hurt you and it’ll only be a matter of time before Ap-”  He didn’t even get through Apex Man’s name before she wailed and sobbed harder.  She threw herself to her knees.  Professor von Doomenkill kneeled next to her, looking helplessly at her tear-streaked face.  “What is it?”
    She choked and sobbed, “Pro-fess-or…A-pex-”  Ashley hiccupped and Professor von Doomenkill commanded one of his robots to go fetch water and tissues.  “A-pex-Man-won’t-ever-come-broke-up.”  She was beginning to hyperventilate.  Professor von Doomenkill sat on the floor next to her, gave her a paper bag, touched her back and coached her to breathe.
    Eventually she calmed, and the Professor had her taken to the parlor to rest.  He was unsure on what to do.  Apex Man and Ashley Moore broken up?  They had been the picture-perfect couple for the previous five years.  He was always saving her from this and that and she was always grateful and happy to be back in his arms.
    This called for the internet.
    Sure enough, there it was, splashed all over the headlines.  Ashley Moore was out, and Sapphire Cascade was in.  Sapphire Cascade, an alien princess crime fighter stacked nine ways from Sunday (easy when you have four breasts), who had flirted with Apex Man for a few months since her arrival on the scene. Skeptics called it publicity while the public cooed at “true love.”  No real mention of Ashley Moore except as the only ex-girlfriend, as if it had happened years ago.
    He went to see her.
    She was asleep on his chaise, clutching a handful of tissues.  He touched his chin, pulled off his cape and draped it over her.  She shifted in her sleep and whimpered some.  He found himself smiling.  85Y9Q3 asked what was to be done with the prisoner.
    “Leave her.  We’ll send her home tomorrow.”
    When Ashley woke, she wasn’t sure where she was.  The sun poured in from the floor to ceiling windows, and the soft industrial hum disturbed her.  She looked around and slowly remembered.  Professor von Doomenkill’s parlor.  “Step into my parlor,” she whispered to herself.  She stood up, clutching her covers about her.  She crossed to the windows and looked out across the bay at the hazy city.  The ocean crashed against the rocks below.  The sky was incredibly blue.
    The Professor’s voice nearly killed her from shock.  “I trust you slept well.”  She twirled; he was standing impassively in the doorway.  He was dressed nicely, sans his normal red silk cape.
    She looked down in sudden realization and blushed.  She rubbed the fine material between her fingers.  “I suppose,” she said.
    “Are you hungry?”
    She hesitated but finally nodded.
    They dined in his kitchen on fine French omelettes prepared by 0H34K.  He made amicable small talk about the history of the stronghold, how his grandfather, the famous Baron von Doomenkill, had built it after emigrating.  How his father was an accountant, how about that.
    She sat quietly, and listened politely.  They had talked on a few occasions, but never had they had so long uninterrupted.  She found, to her great astonishment, that she really liked to listen to him, and when he ran out of things to say, she liked to tell him all the things that she could think of, how she was an orphan and how she loved Italian art but severely disliked Italian food.  They sat at the kitchen table until lunchtime when 0H34K brought them kielbasa sausage and sauerkraut.
    He brought her home after that.  Personally, in his gyrocopter.  He helped her out onto the sidewalk as traffic swerved to deal with his gyro.  “Well,” he said nervously, as he walked her to the door.
    She smiled, though she suddenly felt sad.  “Well.”
    “I…I meant to say earlier…”
    “Yes?”
    “I think Apex Man is insane.”  He nervously bowed to her and skittered back to his gyro before she could say anything.  She watched him fly away, sighing slightly.

 A character concept.  I need a name somethign fierce.

BLANK is a crime-fighting robot, which is not that unusual, who wears an impossibly short pink skirt, which wouldn't be except that its chassis is the smooth, mean sort of engineering designed to look like a bulky ninja rather than a busty porn star.  It has a heart painted on its chest in glitter paint coordinating shades to its skirts.  With its cruel red eyes and mechanical baritone, BLANK has a style unfortunately cliched, as it seems that it learned everything it knows about crime-fighting from watching Sailor Moon.

I can't decide whether BLANK is a robot with a weird AI, or is actually piloted remotely.  My initial concept is for a remote pilot, and I have a backstory and everything...

There's more to this, but I'll come back to it when my brain is up to the task.

 WAGH.  The past couple of days hasve sucked hardcore.

She's not coming.
Maybe...maybe she didn't want to come.  I mean, I just disappeared without saying anything for a month.  The last time we saw each other, I...
I yelled at her, i think.  I was mad about something.  I can't really remember.  She didn't deserve that.  She probably never wants to see me again.
I drop a twenty on the table and leave without seeing the bill.  It starts to mist as I climb the stiar to my apartment.
It's dark and stuffy inside.  The clock blares 3:17 in insomnia red.  I need to leave for the airport in two hours.  I'm not going to bother to sleep.
I pack up some things.  It's a long trip; I need something to do.  For a while, I just sit next to the sliding glass doors and watch the city dreaming.  How does time work, I wonder.  I was young once and wanted justice and now I'm bitter and anxious.  How did I get from there to here?
I wish I wazs drunk so there was at least a reason to wax philosophical.  I distract myself with mundane thought.  I keep forgetting to buy a toothbrush.  I really want a glass of milk.  I wonder if I should give away my stuff to my neighbors or something.  None of them even noticed when I died for four weeks.  I guess it's lucky I pay my bills a month ahead.
Ms. Park is the only one who ever really saw me.
Idiot.  Stop thinking about her.  You're just going to break your heart.
I hesitate, then sit down and write a note.  I draft it at least five times, starting and stopping sentences, crossing out things, writing next to nothing useful.  Eventually I tear the note to ribbons and leave it piled on the table.  I am frustrated with myself.
It seems like I should be satisfied, but I'm not.  Why was I doing this?  It wasn't revenge or I'd be done by now.
It's time to go.  I lock the door and contemplate the future.  In some ways, I'm going to miss this place.  in others, I consider never coming back.
I take the subway because it's cheaper than a cab, and no one looks you in the eye on the subway at five in the morning or asks you what you're doing up so early.  On the subway, there are drug addicts and sexual deviatns and bleary-eyed construction workers.  they don't want anything to do with you.
I get my boarding pass from a tired young woman.  "Purpose of visit?" she asks trying not to yawn too much.  It's either the beginning or the end of her shift.  Judging b y the wrinkles on her uniform, I'm guessing the end.
"Business," I say, though I'm not sure if it is.
She checks my passport and I try not to look nervous or guilty.  I'm not doing anything wrong.  I'm just going to Europe.  Nothing sinister about that.
Security is dead.  Ther are more officers than passengers by a significant margin.
They don't give me a hard time.  They're right near the end; they just want to sleep.
After the plane takes off, I remember that I was supposed to buy a toothbrush.

Dieter's mom is manipulative, but it's in a good way, I guess.  Also, I guess super-villainy skips a generation.

    They always pretend like I don’t know.  My mother and my uncle.  She is proper and modest around me, but the way that he looks at her…What else could it be?  She is so severe…if it weren’t reciprocal, it would’ve been squashed a long time ago.  But I have always understood that it would probably be best if I pretended I don’t know.  If I act like I’ve never seen their desperate, stolen caresses, or heard the way he whispers her name.
    So when I went to school in the village, and people asked who I lived with, I always answered sweetly, “My mother and my uncle.”  Let them assume ugly things about my family’s past.  I know my parents love me, even if their love is unconventional, maybe even wrong.
    And when I went to University, I always called well ahead when I came home.
    I was twelve when I figured out why I don’t have the problems those in my situation generally have.  I was going through old photo albums, and I came across a picture of myself, a portrait, that I didn’t remember having taken.  After a moment or two, I came to the realization.  Despite advances in camera technology and being taken decades apart, there was no mistaking that these were pictures of the same girl.  I compared old photographs of my mother to recent ones taken of me.
    I had a lot to look forward to.
    At University I studied French literature and microbiology.  Wrote poetry about protozoa.  I met Paul there, a British national studying business.  I guessed his secret from early in our courtship.  He was too careful, and it tipped me off.  Eventually he revealed it to me himself, and I pretended to be surprised.  He moonlighted as a small time vigilante; I became his super-genius girlfriend and we sent him to the big times.
    When Dieter was born, my parents came to see him.  They weren’t happy with my choice in father, but he was their grandson, and they loved him.  I told them that he would call them Opa and Oma.  They objected at first, worried about what it might seem like.  I smiled and said it was just easier.
    The truth often is.

Sprout gets himself into trouble.  I need to get laid, I think.

    “Are you threatening me?” she asked in a low voice.
    “So what if I am?”
    She slammed him against the wall, showing him what if.  He gasped and reeled.  His mouth tasted metallic.  He thought he might be bleeding.  “That’d be pretty dumb.”
    He squirmed, but didn’t back down.  “What you’re doing to him is wrong.”
    She narrowed her eyes.  “He knows what this is,” she spit back at him.
    “He loves you.”  She scoffed, but he continued.  “It’s pretty obvious that you don’t.  You should at least have the humanity to tell him and let him go-”
    She interrupted viciously.  “For whom, you?”  His face went hot with a blush.  “‘Oh, boss,’” she mocked, “‘let me make it all better.’  Think he wants some little girl to take it?”  She pushed him harder.  The brick behind him grit softly, and he screwed his eyes shut in pain and humiliation.  “What a joke.”
    “I-” he gasped.
    She dropped him and he crumpled to the ground.  “He seems to like you, so I won’t seriously hurt you unless you cross me.  So stay away from me.”  She turned on her heel and left him as he scrambled to his feet.

I don't know.  Something of this reversal of Ned/Amanda that I've been thinking about.

    I was shaking.  A bead of sweat slid down my neck and made my skin crawl.  She was motionless, taut.  Even when she was trying to kill me, I couldn’t get over the way that her body made me feel.  I gulped.  It felt as if I had been hanging there for an eternity.
    She dropped me and turned away, sputtering in something like disgust.  I scrambled to find my feet again, pressed my back against the wall.  My chemical thrower lay just out of reach.  If I could reach it, I could probably jury-rig it to manage my escape.  I glanced around.  Windows?  Terrible idea.  Getting away from a flyer is tough.
    She turned back to me, and I pretended as though I was too dazed to be thinking, rubbing my head and stumbling away.  “Non-lethal?” she finally said.  “What kind of game are you playing?”
    Good, good, underestimate me just a few moments longer.  I purposefully sent myself sprawling forward.  She bit her fingernail as if unsure how to proceed.  Sweet merciful heavens, I managed to get my hand on my thrower.
    And then I did something stupid.
    I looked up.  What is wrong with you, I wondered to myself, that love rises in your chest at the sight of her?  “Shatterforce,” I gasped, and felt sorry that I did.  She spun on me, and I rolled to my feet.
    “How did you-” she began, but I took a deep breath and fired.  I dropped the thrower while she sputtered and coughed and ran.  My eyes and lungs burned, but I daren’t breathe in.  I felt like my chest might burst.  I threw myself through the window overlooking the bay.  As the glass shattered, I took a gulp of air and braced myself for the water.  I splashed in.  It was icy and unpleasant.  I flipped my locator switch.  The Quintet would be there shortly.
    I had escaped for now.  Were we still playing?

Oh, let's leave it to the wolves, so their teeth turn it to food.  Its flesh keeps them alive; oh, its death helps life survive.  Oh, the world can be kind in its own way.

    When he came home, his face was dark.  I smiled.  “The road can be hard, my love,” I said, draping myself over him.  He grabbed my stomach and placed me directly in front of him.  He stared with hard eyes at our child.  It was worrisome, the shadows in his face, the fire in his eyes.  “Did you miss us?” I asked in a small voice, almost afraid of the answer.
    He looked into my face.  “The Oracle,” he began, but stopped.
    I smiled again, stroking his rough face.  “The Oracle,” I echoed.  “Did you get your prophecy?”
    He looked away, a queer look passing his features.  He turned away from me.  “Yes,” he answered, gruffly.  Like he was disgusted with something.  I touched his shoulder gently, but he pulled from me.  “I have a prophecy of our son.”
    I touched my stomach and felt my heart flutter.  “Our son?  A son?”  I looked lovingly down at my stomach and bit my lip.  “We’re going to have a son,” I whispered to myself. 
    “‘Your wife grows heavy with a son,’” intoned Laius.  I waited with baited breath.  “‘Whose hand shall strike you down in the road-”  As he spoke, he turned to me, his voice tremulous and deadly.  “-and who shall know his own mother intimately.’”  I blanched.  I felt simultaneously hot and cold.  I felt faint.
    “No,” I gasped, shaking my head.  “No, it can’t be true, Laius.”
    “The Oracle’s own words!” thundered my husband, his face flush.  I flinched away from him, and he reined his behavior in.  Gently, he took my hand.  “The Oracle’s prophecy for our son.”
    I shook.  “It can’t be.”
    “It will be.”  He squeezed my hand.
    I looked away.  “What will we do?”
    “I have been considering it.  All the way back from Delphi, I have turned the words over and over in my mind.  Never shall I forget those haunting words.  I have decided.  There is only one way to handle this situation.”
    “Tell me,” I gasped.
    “When the baby’s born, let’s turn it to the snow-”
    “Kill him!?” I interjected, but he quieted me, grabbing my arms.
    “What choice do we have?  The prophecy is to terrible, for all of us.  We must do what is best for everyone.  If we can avoid the whole mess-”
    “Avoid prophecy?  The Oracle sees the will of the Gods, not writes it.  You can’t change it.”
    “But if there is no son, if we kill him as a baby, how could it be fulfilled?”
    I bit my forefinger, turning from him.  “Laius…”
    “We must, my dear,” he said, embracing me from behind.  “It is the only way.”  I ran my hands over my stomach, feeling knots build up.  My son kicked a storm in my stomach, as if he could hear us and was protesting.  “The prophecy…”
    My brow furrowed.  “Mustn’t come true…” I whimpered.
    Laius kissed my shoulder.  “It mustn’t,” he agreed.

First post is roughly forever.  Wheee.

    He stops, and swings his cane up under my chin.  He pushes my face up with the end of it.  I swallow and try not to flinch.  His eye sears into mine, both of them somehow.  I feel a nervous sweat bead.  His cane pushes my head either way, as if he’s inspecting cattle.  “Ned,” he repeats, though it’s not a question this time, more an accusation.  Herr Doktor lowers his cane and it strikes the marble with more force than I’d expect.  “Dieter, leave us.”
    “But-” Dieter begins to argue, suddenly and obviously nervous about the prospect.
    “Silence!” says Frau Doktor, and hits him in the back of the head.  “Respect your grandfather!”
    “Excuse me,” Dieter squeaks.  It is not reassuring.  He nods to me and ducks out of the room and his grandmother’s reach quickly.
    “Who are you?” demands Herr Doktor.
    “Ned Niemand,” I say, managing to keep the shakiness out of my voice.
    Frau Doktor joins us.  “What are you doing with our grandson?”
    I shake my head.  “Nothing.”  Herr Doktor raises his cane as if to strike, and I find myself spewing out words.  “We met two hours outside of Prague; we’ve been traveling together, please don’t hit me.”
    Herr Doktor brings his cane down over my head so hard that for a moment I see stars and I nearly fall over.  “Flachwichser!”  I catch myself on the marble counter and dribble a little blood.  I must’ve bitten my tongue.  I wipe my mouth and try to blink the four Schliesses back to Zwei.  Frau Doktor looks angry.
    “I’m sorry?” I slur.
    “That boy is naïve,” says Frau Doktor, though I can’t tell whether she’s talking to me or Herr Doktor.
    “Who are you working for?” hisses Herr Doktor, gripping his cane with a white knuckle grip.
    “No one,” I answer, and he lifts his cane again.  I try not to flinch as I say, “Just myself.  Just trying to…to…”  But here I flounder.  I fully expect to get hit again, but the cane hangs in the air.
    “Trying to what?” asks Frau Doktor.
    “Get some experience,” I say, I gasp.

It's cold in here...

Maggie stepped to the sink.  A second delay and then the water began to flow.  She sighed, soaped up and washed her hands.  The other woman at the sink let out a frustrated raspberry.  Maggie glanced at her.  the woman was flailing, her hands cupped, tapping impatiently at the sensor plate.  she leaned back, looking under.  She waved her hands.  She tapped her foot.
Maggie finished and dried her hands.  The woman stepped over to the sink Maggie was at and repeated the frustration.
Maggie wondered.