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Morgana ducks her head to hide a yawn, and groans silently at the sight of two more people joining the speakers queue at the front.
The strength of the Occupy movement is that it includes everyone: everyone can attend the meetings and protests, everyone who wants to speak gets heard, and everyone gets equal say in their policy positions. Most days, that's what Morgana loves about it. Right now, she wonders traitorously if they could be a bit less inclusive and a bit more efficient.
Tonight's meeting is supposed to be about their policy on student tuition fees. Morgana expected it to be quick, because everyone in the movement is opposed to tuition fees: their camp had dozens of signs with messages like "Free education!" "Education is a right, not a privilege" "How much did you pay for a degree, Gideon?"
Instead, they'd begun with a heated and unscheduled discussion about the meeting location - "Remember that Occupy London were evicted from St Paul's. The Church are reactionaries!" - in which Morgana had repeatedly explained that this church was the only indoor venue in the area that was large enough and available for free. Several people had suggested other venues, and it took the best part of an hour for the group to agree that a hundred and fifty people couldn't squeeze into the Anarchist Bookshop or the East Camelot Bike Cooperative, although they thanked both for offering.
It's after ten now, and the meeting has just entered it's fourth hour.
Morgana yawns again, hiding it behind her hand, and slides lower in her seat. Her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she pulls it out, getting a disapproving glance from Morgause in return.
Where are you?
Still at the meeting Morgana types back, and presses send.
A few seconds later the phone buzzes again. Have you eaten?
Morgana debates whether a banana and a flapjack on the way to the church count as dinner, and decides that they don't. Not yet. I'll get something on the way home.
Gwen's reply is almost instantaneous. I'm coming over.
You really don't have to. I'm fine. Morgana types back.
She holds the phone cradled in her hands, ready to read a reply, but apparently Gwen isn't dignifying her message with a response.
Morgause shoots her a truly poisonous glance - yes, it's disrespectful to the speaker, but she does also have a life - and Morgana sighs, sliding the phone back into her pocket.
She looks up at the front of the room, where a heavily pierced and softly spoken guy is condemning the "ubiquitous sexualization in the advertising industry" and how that harms asexual people. It's a fair point, and one that Morgana would usually be happy to hear about, but she isn't sure how they got here from the issue of university tuition fees or how it relates to the policy statement they're supposed to be agreeing.
The pierced guy makes a final remark that "the revolution should not be sexualized" - although, by the same token, presumably it shouldn't be asexualized? - and then moves away. His place is taken by a short woman with glasses who starts speaking on the theme of Paulo Freire and education as a practice of liberation.
Stifling another yawn, Morgana takes a surreptitious glance at her watch.
She doesn't want to be the person who tunes out when others are talking, or tries to cut off debate so they can make a decision, but its hard to quash those instincts when she's exhausted. This morning Morgana was up at 6 to volunteer at the women's shelter, and she's barely had ten minutes to herself since. She wants to make the world a better place - partly a guilt complex from being born wealthy, Gwen says - but she's spent all day at that task and she's ready to drop.
The woman in glasses fumbles in her pocket for a piece of paper, then holds it up, and starts to read from her speaker's notes. Oh, god.
Morgana debates leaving, just sliding out of her seat as quietly as possible and going home, but Gwen is on the way here. She should at least wait until Gwen arrives. She forces her attention back to the woman speaking, and she manages to concentrate on hearing about anti-oppression models of education for at least thirty seconds before her mind wanders away again. When's Gwen going to get here?
As if by magic, Gwen slides into the seat beside her.
"Hey," Gwen says, pressing a kiss to Morgana's cheek. Morgana leans into Gwen in relief, head pillowed on her shoulder.
Gwen tucks an arm around her and pulls her closer, cuddling for a moment, before fumbling in her bag with her free hand.
"Here. Eat this."
Morgana blinks at the burrito, and then looks back at Gwen.
"You'll be useless tomorrow if you don't eat," Gwen tells her, voice low but firm.
They're not really supposed to eat in the church, but then Morgana also told the vicar that they would be finished by nine-thirty.
Morgana pulls herself upright, reaches for the burrito, and realizes after the first bite that she's starving. She almost inhales the rest, and it doesn't occur to her to thank Gwen until she's taken the final bite.
"It's a good thing you have me to take care of you," says Gwen, wearing the expression that says she thinks Morgana's an idiot, but loves her anyway. "Otherwise you'd be the most malnourished and sleep-deprived protester in Camelot."
With impeccable timing, Morgana yawns widely.
"Right, we're going home," Gwen says firmly.
Morgana watches Gwen lean down to grab Morgana's bag, press it into her hands, and then an arm wraps around her ribs and hoists her upwards. For a moment Morgana is woozy, unsteady on her feet, then she straightens and catches her balance.
Morgause is giving her a sharp look, eyebrow raised, but Morgana shakes her head. Call you tomorrow she mouths, and lets Gwen steer her out of the room. They stumble down the steps of the church and out into the crisp, cold air, stars just visible above the glow of street lights.
"I love you," Morgana says, burying her face in Gwen's curly hair, and lets Gwen steer them down the street and towards home.