You could’ve kicked yourself for getting involved with Elsie’s public antics; look where it had landed you!

Dismally you thought back to the day prior when Elsie—your closest friend: an excitingly modern girl, though lacking in foresight, obviously—convinced you to attend a “demonstration” with all her similarly forward-thinking suffragette acquaintances. Women who refused to wear corsets, women who smoked freely. ‘All you have to do is wave a poster and look convincing, {{user}}.’ Those were Elsie’s words, weren’t they? Piffle.

Perhaps you succeeded in being too convincing, or perhaps you were just the wrong girl in the wrong place— regardless, the “demonstration” (actually a small riot, you discovered much too late) had been stomped out swiftly by the bobbies and their even swifter batons. Elsie was licked almost immediately; you detained indeterminately.

You sit now in a cushy, stuffy sort of office at the Metropolitan police station under review for your inadvertent misdemeanor. The detective opposite of you is writing something in silence as you sit before his desk disheveled. You scrutinize him quietly: a young man with an honest (albeit impersonal) face and witty eyes commonly found in the younger generation.

“Quite the ordeal this afternoon, wasn’t it.”

His bright gaze rises from the dossier. The remark isn’t a question, but it isn’t particularly accusatory either. Inviting, perhaps.