Oh, you know her, would you look at that hair? Subject: Meeting Princess Slater. Who: Vivian Thorpe. Where: Slater's house. Warnings: Potential for some meanness. Open to: Delia Slater.
For once, Vivian was actually feeling alright. She'd awoken that morning feeling better than she had a in a long while; still not her best, but good enough to not mind clearing up the bedroom she currently occupied. It hadn't been dusted or swept in quite a while, by the look of it, and she was making a point to get on it. After all, she didn't have much else to do.
After meeting Jimmy a few days previously, her spirits had lifted considerably. Living here hadn't been a bad prospect in the first place, but now it seemed even better, now she knew Slater's own son seemed nice enough. Yes, she was feeling much better about her time here now. Things wouldn't be so bad if she got along with Slater's children. Of course, she hadn't actually met his daughter yet, but she didn't actually know where said daughter was. Last she'd heard, she was off trying to marry someone rich and important. So perhaps she wouldn't meet her at all. It was a possibility. Either way, she'd go into it with an open mind, if she did ever get the chance.
Right then, she was too focused on finishing up her cleaning, though. And she did, soon enough, setting her broom aside and then all but collapsing onto the bed, pressing her face into the pillow with a content sigh. Done. No more work for another hour or so, and then she'd get started on cleaning the stairs. For now, she'd have a rest, and she hummed to herself as she watched the ceiling, one leg dangling over the edge of the bed, her hair spread out over the pillow. As far as she knew, she wasn't going to be interrupted for a while. Slater was busy.