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She had decided that she really, really needed a pick-me-up. It sucked that her parents were dead, she'd lost a sibling before it was even born, and that she kept setting herself on fire. It really did. But it was just something she needed to put in perspective, she told herself; just something she had to really take time to figure out. There were a lot of people who had things worse than her, who were orphaned, unemancipated, without considerably-sized fortunes to serve as arbiters of the pain. She couldn't imagine being one of them, and she found herself wondering as she walked which people in particular shared parts of her story.

Then she was distracted by a shout from behind her, and there was a familiar orange head in the distance. She narrowed her blue eyes for a moment, then held up a hand and crooked one finger. "Adrian," she yelled--he was Adrian, she hoped--"Get up here, I've been on line for half an hour already, you lazy a**."

She gave those around her an apologetic look. "Sorry, sorraaaahhhh," she said. "My stupid friend. He keeps forgetting to stay on line." A little catty? Yes. Overall nice? Hopefully!

She tapped her foot, the picture of impatience, and then gave him an aloof look when he joined her. Hmph, how dare he forget the appointment they hadn't actually made. And then she smiled a little--he was younger than her, and thus immune to her usual bitchy ways, at least a little bit. It would last until and if he started to hit on her, which hadn't happened yet and she had no reason to believe why he would.

Other than the fact that she was totally gorgeous, she meant.

"It's all right," she said. She sidled back on her fence-seat, whistled three bars of a familiar song as the line stubbornly did not move. "Usually I do, yeah. Parents weren't much interested and all the girls my age were more concerned about their hair than having fun." And she shrugged a little, gesturing up at the roller coaster. "I've never been on this one."

And there he was, reminding her as to why she usually bitched out men. Playing with your hair was fun. That was why she went and messed it up. Anyway, she didn't come out to ride rollercoasters that often; she just needed the time to cheer up today. She rolled her eyes at him and punched him in the arm; the redhead wasn't so strong, though, and Adrian would probably be unharmed. He wouldn't even notice, probably.

She looked up at the squeaking monstrosity; an exaggerated oh s**t expression grew over her delicately pretty face. It would really suck if she'd evaded all kinds of death by monstrous hands only to get killed when a roller coaster collapsed on top of her fashionably disheveled head of curls.

"Hey," she said, and this time there was force behind her punch. "Hey! I am not small." She was tall for a woman, in fact, model-tall and model-thin. It would be the thinness that killed her on this ride as it always was. As the line moved, she scooted along the pipe fence, shoes clicking on the lower rung. "So. Any particular reason you picked a mohawk to give our theoretical friend?"

"Sure, that's what they want you to think," she said, rolling her very blue eyes. "They get you pretty sure that the ride's safe, and then there's a pitfall behind that big wall where all the riders go to die." Wasn't he younger than you? Certainly didn't seem very gullible, just very nice. With narrowed eyes, she glared for a moment. She shrugged, dropped off the railing and stuck her hands in her pockets, rocked back on her heels to stare upwards again. "Alright, but that's your duty as a man anyway. Girls are fragile, delicate creatures."

Sarcasm was everywhere that day.

Then he went and had to touch her. Kaatje froze for a minute, her face going a lovely cherry red all over; then she shoved his hands away, and slapped his wrist for good measure. Then she twirled a lock of her own hair around one finger, still frowning. "Maybe later, if you're good," she said, snippily.

It took her a moment to come up with a proper retort or explanation for that. She spent this time glaring at the people leaving the Hidden Death Coaster as if they'd done something to personally affront her. Eventually, though, she said, "Decoys. They're there specifically to trick the feeble-minded." Not likely. Kaatje didn't really think there was a Hidden Death Coaster; she doubted Adrian thought she actually believed they were going to die. All the same, she shrugged over it, palms up at her sides.

"I dance," she said, huffily. "All cultured girls know at least how to waltz. I just don't like to." She preferred to play tennis, as much as she sucked at it. Her physical coordination with a racket in her hand seemed to be zero.

Actually, it might just be her hand-eye coordination that sucked.

At any rate, she was grateful for the view of the loading platform when it came. The sight of the arriving cars proved conclusively that no one was going to get murdered on this roller coaster.

She dropped into the seat beside Adrian; the front car wasn't her first choice, since there was more downforce at the back, but it wasn't as bad as second car or one of the other middle cars. "No, I haven't," she said, tucking her hands over her thighs. The natural upside to older coasters, with lap bars rather than over-the-shoulder harnesses, was that it would keep her adorable (expensive) pleated skirt firmly in place. No accidental upskirts in ride videos from this coaster.

(Just in case, she had worn leggings. Hot, but practical.)

"Why, is that an invitation?" She quirked one firey eyebrow, and then leaned back in her seat. "Don't harass the employees," she sighed, her shoulders lifting up and then dropping back to a relaxed position. Both of her eyebrows were inching towards the ends of her bangs now. "They might actually kill us. Anyway, death approaching--you scared?"