With a raised eyebrow, Mal just sat there wondering if this chick was for real or if she was actually dreaming. It was a sad day indeed when Mallorie, the manipulator of dreams, couldn't tell the difference between a dream and real life. "A Christmas Carol?" She sounded more like she was Belle from Beauty and the Beast, what with the way she was going on about books and the like. "They do that stuff around here?" She made it seem as if "that stuff" was something way out there like drugs or rainbow underwater lacrosse. She wasn't completely daft. She knew the theater department did it's stuff. She just wasn't very much interested in it at all.
"Pizza?" She was torn between the slight rumble in her stomach and the idea of dying from a clogged artery. Mal wasn't so much a health freak as she was a bitch, but that didn't mean she was going to let her skin or her body go to ruin for a greasy, drippy piece of heart attack inducer. "Nah. My goal is to live until 30 at least. So tell me something, Strawberry Shortcake." She began to arrange her papers on the table distractedly. "Why do they have a play running during finals? I mean, are these people just like huge douchebags or something?"