Sarah is compressing some devil into a speck, cupping her hands like she’s holding something small, and well, it sure is now. This devil’s name was she forgets now, which I guess is the point? It’s a red point of light now, surrounded by the ancient storm Sarah brought. The empty office trembles under the quiet thunder of the pale yellow-orange clouds and dimming red mote. The storm was inside of Sarah. She brings it with her everywhere. It tosses things into place. It seizes and won’t let go. It batters until you cry out. It leaves bruises and welts. It flings you in the sky for the world to see. It holds Sarah by the jaw and brings you to your knees. It’s that kind of storm. It was raging before the world was young.
Sarah cleans up the mess. It’s only polite. She’s hunting Mars again, which is Marie’s job, and not hers at all, but she’s bored and feeling worried lately. So she’s procrastinating and poaching. Politely though. If Marie catches her they’ll fight and it’ll be great. If Sarah’s lucky, she might even lose. Winning is great. Losing is great. As much as possible of either. Like a storm where so much happens and at the end the is quiet and mysterious, asking what it was all for.
Sarah is also poaching on Nico, but Marie and everyone knows it’s open season on her.