![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I've got you, under my skin.
Jan. 19th, 2023 11:42 pmDomesticity was not exactly what Marion was built for. Maybe one day she had dreamed of being a happy little homemaker, but she'd seen too much now to be satisfied just keeping house.
Her experience also meant she was uniquely qualified for just about nothing that the typical American woman was finding as a job. Her attitude did not lend itself well to anything involving dealing with people. Most secretarial jobs were enough to bore her to tears, and she found herself needing more the occupation of her time than the money from a job.
Money hadn't been an issue once they'd returned to the states after all of that hullabaloo with the Ark. Indy returned to his job teaching, but she needed something to do, she'd found herself taking up hobbies. Cooking hadn't gone well, exactly; the night of burned meals could attest to that. Writing had not been her avenue for self-expression, even as others told her that her life would make a fascinating tale. There was too much she'd have to leave out, and those were the best parts.
As much as it was frowned on, she'd taken to being a regular at a local bar. It felt like home, she supposed, after all those years with The Raven. She'd even toyed with the idea of opening her own place, at least until the feds advised that any part of her old life with Abner was best left in the ashes.
But it was during one of those late night drinking and poker evenings that she'd been nudged to a new idea. One of the usual players was red cheeked and uncomfortable, he had explained he'd just had a shave, and it was burning something awful. Having a great deal of experience with wind burn, Marion knew just what to do. The joke that she should be a barber, well, it appealed to her more than she had thought it might.
She could do it, had done it for her father. It was something she had steady enough hands for, and there was a strange attraction in the act of having the balance of trust and power over someone. For weeks, she'd practiced and even struck up a friendship with a local barber, and she finally thought she was ready to practice on the most discriminating and difficult subject she could imagine.
When Professor Jones returned from the week of classes, she was waiting with a tumbler of scotch and a smile and wearing a satin night gown of pale blue. "I thought we could try something new tonight, what do you say?"
Her experience also meant she was uniquely qualified for just about nothing that the typical American woman was finding as a job. Her attitude did not lend itself well to anything involving dealing with people. Most secretarial jobs were enough to bore her to tears, and she found herself needing more the occupation of her time than the money from a job.
Money hadn't been an issue once they'd returned to the states after all of that hullabaloo with the Ark. Indy returned to his job teaching, but she needed something to do, she'd found herself taking up hobbies. Cooking hadn't gone well, exactly; the night of burned meals could attest to that. Writing had not been her avenue for self-expression, even as others told her that her life would make a fascinating tale. There was too much she'd have to leave out, and those were the best parts.
As much as it was frowned on, she'd taken to being a regular at a local bar. It felt like home, she supposed, after all those years with The Raven. She'd even toyed with the idea of opening her own place, at least until the feds advised that any part of her old life with Abner was best left in the ashes.
But it was during one of those late night drinking and poker evenings that she'd been nudged to a new idea. One of the usual players was red cheeked and uncomfortable, he had explained he'd just had a shave, and it was burning something awful. Having a great deal of experience with wind burn, Marion knew just what to do. The joke that she should be a barber, well, it appealed to her more than she had thought it might.
She could do it, had done it for her father. It was something she had steady enough hands for, and there was a strange attraction in the act of having the balance of trust and power over someone. For weeks, she'd practiced and even struck up a friendship with a local barber, and she finally thought she was ready to practice on the most discriminating and difficult subject she could imagine.
When Professor Jones returned from the week of classes, she was waiting with a tumbler of scotch and a smile and wearing a satin night gown of pale blue. "I thought we could try something new tonight, what do you say?"
