Where: the breakfast room
When: June 8th, 1923 – morning
With: @patrickryland
Unlike many of her peers – the sort of good, hardy, well-bred women who are most at home with the muck from a stable clinging to their riding boots – Caroline did not necessarily abide by the idea that early rising and endless cheer at 6 a.m. signified good character. She could pretend that this was some kind of moral position or spark of contrariness. Really, though, it was because she enjoyed a lie-in, and frequently found one to be essential after one too many nights of fun.
Today, though, she seemed to be hopped up with energy, particularly with the upcoming match to look forward to. The promise of both competition on the pitch this weekend and gossip off of it sent her practically racing down the staircase.
"So?" she said as soon as she spied Patrick alone at the table. "Are you ready to get smacked in your well-padded shins. . . over and over, and over?" She draws the last part out for emphasis.
"Come on," she said, laughing. "It's only fair. with your being the heir and all. Highest in the household pecking order is the biggest target to get flattened by the rest."
Imagine if you locked Light and Patrick Bateman in a room together. They would be having the most generic conversation but you wouldn’t be able to hear it over the sound of their overlapping internal monologues. There would be a few seconds where their monologues both play in sync to say something misogynistic.