Chapter Text
ALPHA. Cronbach's alpha is a statistic for investigating the internal consistency of a questionnaire (Cronbach, 1951; Bland & Altman, 1997).
Shaw is not distracted by the arch of Root’s neck, as she shoves Root up against the wall. “What gives, with all the questions today?”
“On a scale from one to ten,” Root smiles, answering the question with yet another one of her own, “How honest would you say you are?”
“Ten,” Shaw replies automatically.
“Really,” Root says, eyebrows raised. “Then, on a scale from one to ten…”
Shaw swallows, feeling Root’s fingers splayed just above her pelvis.
“…How turned on are you, right now?”
Shaw stares into Root’s eyes, then stubbornly locks her jaw.
She refuses to answer.
BRAVO. It's not a gourmet market by any means, but you can find all your grocery and produce staples here for reasonable prices and the occasional "specialty" food items.
"Like this," an elderly woman says, knocking on a melon. "Sounds ripe."
Shaw's saved from needing to pretend to smile when Root pulls her into another aisle. Clearing her throat warningly as Root uses the narrow space as an excuse to get closer, a movement from behind catches her attention.
"Good brand!"
Is the little old lady from before following them now?
Shaw looks to her right: an excessively helpful old bat, cheerfully holding out coffee grinds. Shaw looks to her left, and up a little bit: Root's stupid eyes and hair and lips, all far too close.
She’s trapped.