A surprising sight, in Len's gallery.

A tall young woman with a violently scarred face. Baggy camo pants, clunky black snow boots, a hideously oversized MIT tee-shirt over a faded blue waffle shirt, and a long striped scarf. It's fair to say she's not got any fashion sense. Her narrow hawk-like face is bare of make-up, and her soft brown hair is braided in a crown around her head. It all gives her a queer look.

She's standing in the hallway examining a piece of a sculpture with a look of bemused curiosity on her face. The scar lines run down from the corner of her left eye, raised scars like lash marks, three of them, the third across her right eye. It's a miracle she can still see, really. But she can, so there you go.

She's been in Rosalie's studio, talking to Rose.

Len's not even going to stick her nose in this. She knows who Alison is, and likely even why Alison is here talking to Rose, even if Rose doesn't know. Len's going to mind her own business, well okay she'll pretend to.

Which right now means wandering around with windex and cleaning all the glass on the framed art while still trying to seem, approachable.

It's true, Alison's a little curious about Len, no doubt for the same reasons Cobalt and Rose and Diane were all drawn to her. There's just something about scar tissue. So Alison's giving Len sneaky glances inbetween looking at the various art works, and trying not to bump into the woman. Len is Alison's... foster-nephew's girlfriend, something like that. Alison's been living in a hole for too long to keep up with all the craziness going on in her extended family.

She moves on to one of Rosalie's little icons, which is hanging on the wall, and starts scrutinising that.

Len's got lots of scars, mostly deep gouges and slices. You can only see a small fraction of them too, but people can't help looking. Len's fine with it. It's human nature. Either they learn to look past it or they don't.

Cobalt and Di at least think they're gorgeous. Alison couldn't say what she thought, or what she wanted to think, really. She's just fascinated. Of course, for Alison leaving the house is a bit like going to the zoo. Imagine all those different kinds of people, who do strange strange things like have jobs and genders, and behave reasonably towards each other. It's a whole new world for Ali.

Len's still moving around the front room. She's paused to dust off another of Viv's sculptures. This one is sort of whimsical it's a chair that looks rather like a bright blue rubber duckie.

There's something warped going on in Vivienne's mind but it's not what anyone thought it was.

Alison wonders if sometimes she herself is just an asshole because she can't remember or never learned how to be nice. It's possible. Then again it's mostly just her being defensive. Hurt them before then can hurt you. Offense is the best defense and all of that good.

She doesn't feel angry today though and she doesn't even feel like she's under attack.

She edges closer to Len under the pretense of examining Vivienne's chair.

Len is shaking her head at it. "Some of these are just so.....I don't even know really. The purple one like this sold the first day."

Alison is scrutinizing it. For a seventeen-year-old teen mum and druggie she knows a hell of a lot about art criticism. Her brother has been trying to persuade her that now she's not involved with teenage criminals knowledge will be viewed as a strength not a weakness but he hasn't quite sold her on it. So she doesn't make any of the fifteen insightful remarks she could make. It's something of a tragedy. Instead she leans a little closer, and seeing that it's not very helpfully labelled, inquires was to what it's made out of.

"This one's some sort of aluminum composite. Most of them are. She makes them out of recycled stuff. Often slagged metal and scrap."

She being Vivienne, with whom Alison's relationship has only gotten steadily worse. And worse. And worse. Too bad really, since she was one of the few people Alison respected. But Alison make shouldn't have geased her wife. Oops. Live and learn.

Alison nods.

"My... Rose was telling me she's making a relief of the Pieta out of recycling."

"It's good to give worn out stuff a new purpose." Len talks like junk has feelings.

Alison is used to crazy talk, she's Abigail's sister and Abigail worries about her tea service getting depressed. This was a major issue last week.

Len's really not nuts though, unless happy is crazy.

People are starting to wonder about her and Cobalt.

Ali paces nervously over to the next piece of artwork.

"I'm Ali, by the way. Rose's daughter."

Hi, my name is Alison and I have overwhelming feelings of fear, anxiety, guilt, emotional discomfort, and self-loathing.

Len nods. She knows who Alison is. "Did you tell Rose?"

"Diane did," Alison offers.

"I did wonder. Didn't get to ask before crazy one and crazy two piked off to the bahamas though."

"The bahamas?" this gets an eyebrow raise that's almost reminiscent of Di and Rose. You can see the connection with Di and Rose, they look like each other, not exactly, but there's a resemblance. Ali's made from some other mold though.

"That is what my last text message from Viv said. Also something about doing the honeymoon first. So typically Vivi."

Di's quick on the turnover. Alison struggles to remember how to talk like a nice person.

"That'll be nice for Di," she manages. Di hates the cold.

Len's empathy gives her a flicker. "Well yes. I think Vivi was trying to be nice. There was this whole mishap with kidnappings and craziness, and Hugh, but he's always in the middle of everything. Like the ink pen you washed with your laundry, and you got it before it made it to dryer, but you keep finding these little inkstains anyway, even though you thought you were through with him."

"That's a terrible metaphor, poor Hugh," Alison actually laughs. Hugh's her favourite. "He's nice to me. He brings me books." And used to bring her drugs. Doubtless Chet won't be thrilled by Alison's excursion into real life, where she can get her own damn pills.

"I know. He's a mess though, and it is apt." Len laughs too.

It's not poor Hugh's fault he's got four girlfriends, eight or so kids, and drinks all the time, sheesh.

Alison glances her sleeve. It has an ink stain on it. There's ink on her hands too.

"Gets everywhere," she jokes.

"He does. It worries granny McCormick." Len says. "Do you need something to get that ink off with?"

"It doesn't matter so much, thanks," Alison says. Who really cares if there's ink on her sleeve? Chances are Maggie and Dian do not and Chet is probably too busy worrying about drugs to care about clothes even if Chet was the sort to care about clothes which he's not.

"Mmm. You going to look around the gallery a bit?"

"I should get home," Alison says. Chet will probably worry if she's gone too long, and she misses her babies already.

"Come back whenever you like. Chet could bring you. He used to come by a lot more." Well before he vanished trying to destroy Macsen that one time at least.

"Thank you," Alison remembers her manners. "I'll tell him. It's a very nice gallery."

She's doing quite well at this really.

Len nods. "Safe travels, Alison."