Eheh, sorry that I haven't up-dated this in a while, but there is only so much that comes to mind when you're trying to write the character of Mar Londo. But, at the least, I am trying, seeing as kaithelonechampion insisted on an up-date.

Out of the Closet-:-

"Oh my holiest of holy Sprocks…"

Looking up from the bag of home remedies for hang-overs she had been gathering all morning throughout her presidential suite, one of her hands adjusting her new bra and the strap that had been rubbing her raw since she'd gotten back late last night and woke up to it grinding into her skin, Winema found standing in her doorway her daughter. Her daughter in something more colorful than her Legion outfit—brown business suit pants and a tan, ruffled long sleeve shirt that looked fitting for an ancient Earth pirate—with her mouth hanging open at her obviously slightly hung over mother that was only wearing black pants and no shirt (as per the readjusting of the bra).

"Tinya, pumpkin," Winema chirped pleasantly, hand finally fixing the strap of the bra and allowing it to move for the counter where her blue Cardigan was sitting adjacent to the remedies, "What ever brings you here today?"

"Are you hung over?" Tinya questioned, slowly walking in and making sure that the door was indeed locked.

"Tiny bit," Winema winked, bringing her hand up and parting her fingers less than a centimeter, "But it's nothing I haven't had before."

Tinya stopped next to the bag, looking over the rim and losing her focus on her mother enough to not watch her pull on the Cardigan as well as glare a little at the bag's contents. What was inside kinda worried her, but considering why she was there to talk to the President—her mother; if the universe could be that horrible—it wouldn't surprise her if it had something to do with the chip she was carrying around on her shoulder for a while now.

"If the hangover is no big deal, than why is all this stuff here?"

Walking over to her closet, Winema looked completely calm as she answered over her shoulder, looking for shoes that wouldn't kill her spine, "I'm going to see my shrink today. He and I had drinks and dinner last night and I have this vague sentiment to go over to his place of business, stuff this stuff down his throat and natter into his ear to increase his headache and his most dire wish—if I'm correct on his condition, he did drink an awful lot more than I did—to let his head fall off his shoulders and explode."

Tinya looked at her mother in exasperation, before drawing in a deep breath and crossing her arms, "Mother, your shrink wouldn't happen to be that nutjob Dr. Londo, would it?"

"Oh, so he wasn't lying when he said he ran into you," the tall woman grinned, slipping on a pair of flats that were very comfortable.

Forgetting herself for a moment—really, why did Tinya even fathom that her mother would say no when that was just the sort of person she was—a righteous anger of the most glorious kind, Tinya brought her hands up to her eyes and smushed her palms into the grooves of her sockets, the tips of her fingers digging into her eyebrows rather painfully and a bellow of agony escaping her lips like that of a dying wildebeest being shredded into parts by a pack of hyenas. Her mother just sort of rotated on her heels and nodded in approval to herself.

Winema yawned as her ship parked down in front of Londo's compound, the sleek woman glad to be out of the blackness of space and even happier that her daughter's tirade that had been going on since they entered the ship was winding down to a crawl that mostly consisted of "Oh, Sprock, what could you have been thinking, blah, blah, blah…" and Tinya pounding her head into a wall every so often, muttering "Brin is going to hate me…never going to talk to me again…sob, sob, sob…"

The President had gone off with her daughter alone, and thus, when the both of them disembarked onto the ground of the planet, Winema was happy to lock the ship herself with the little clicker she'd been waiting an age to actually get to use. With Tinya stepping out beside her, Winema turned to face the ship, pressed the little button on her keychain (the one Tinya had gotten her for some holiday she couldn't recall, the shape of a four leaf configured plant on earth) and the light in the button made a cute little chirp, signaling that the ship was locked right and tight and also, happily, made Tinya snap out of it and check out her surroundings.

Winema would have to make a note of just how displeased Tinya was when realizing they were standing in the doorway of the mad scientist she and most of the Legion hated on behalf of Brin Londo. Maybe the President would even remember to buy earplugs to block out the disembodied shriek that escaped her daughter's lips at seeing that Winema had a key (made through deception, seeing as Londo still really wasn't aware she had it) that opened the door and they were in at the motion of two steps of beautifully shoed feet. It was most unpleasant.

"Mother!" Tinya whispered at Winema closing the door once inside the—surprise of surprises—clean compound with little in disarray other than a couple shattered bottles of not-so-premium beer on the floor, sloppily swept into a pile with a broom laid out on the floor pathetically, "We cannot be here! This man is crazy, you saw what he did to his own son; imagine what he could do to you!"

"Oh don't be silly, dear," Winema smiled, gripping the handle of her bag of remedies tight just before she swaggered over to the kitchen counter and set it upon the surface, all items in the bag making a hardy 'thud' as result, "I pay him a fee and he'd rather avoid what I have for blackmail. Plus, when he's a little freaked out at my mere presence, he's really not…horrible."

The air positively wreaked of cooked chicken as well as a permeating presence of the alcohol staining the floor, and Tinya most certainly would have said something on the matter of mental presence and bodily mutilation inflicted on her mother, except, she was interrupted by the much taller ebony haired person without a Y chromosome picking up a pair of pans from the cupboards. Tinya was about to say something about not cooking for psychopaths, but Winema didn't put them on the stove; she raised them above her head and smashed them together, making a most hideous sound that echoed through the entire place worse than a thunderclap.

The result was an agonized cry, followed by a light thud just thirty feet away in the living area. The thud caused Tinya to squeak, before Winema did it again, with a similar result, sans any sort of noise that would follow someone falling from some low place. The cry was louder this time, though and Winema grinned malevolently, setting the pans back.

"So that's where he is," the President continued to smile, Tinya remaining where she was in the kitchen with her hands over her heart, "I would have assumed the bedroom, or the bathroom with his head in the toilet."

Stopping beside what Tinya would guess to have once been robot parts scattered around and dissected, Winema's smile grew a little more as she bent over someone Tinya really didn't need to see's bare feet with the rest of the body inside the robot's midsection like a tapeworm the size of one of the Shavis that continued to thrive even after Krypton exploded, her hands against her knees as she leaned down, "Hello, Mar. And how are we doing this morning?"

There was a vague muttering, followed by a thud from inside the robot parts, that was followed by belly-aching curses, directed at all of creation rather than just Winema, "…Get out damn woman, get out…or I'll throw up all over you…or something…"

Winema directed her smile over at her daughter before bending down to grasp the ankles of the man that was her shrink and one of Tinya's enemies, looking like she cared not a whit about any threat of body fluids massing to decorate herself, "Now, don't be like that. I've brought anti-hangover medications and remedies. Oh, and my daughter."

"You're wha—ow!"

It seemed that he'd tried to bring himself into a sitting up position and hit his head as Winema pulled most of his form out into the open; Mar Londo's whole frame coming to light in little more than his boxers and an undershirt that was much too proper for an ego of his size, rolling in on himself along with clutching his face as the President dragged him over to his disheveled sofa with the pillows strewn over the floor haphazardly.

Tinya wasn't really sure whether to laugh or cry at the spectacle.

So rather than just pop out of the place in phantom mode like she so very desperately wanted to once Winema placed the crabby psycho on his sofa, she instead moved to remove the remedies from their bag and bit the inside of her lips, trying to drown out anything and everything the adults in the room spoke about until either really acknowledged her again.

Which, if she was only too lucky, would be quite a while as Winema started fussing over the grey haired man that kept trying to (unsuccessfully) slap the woman away like a rather sturdy gnat buzzing too close to him for any kind of comfort.