[ She expected that, at least. Moira put the bottle back down in front of him, taking her glass and shifting somewhat uncomfortably on the couch. Talking wasn’t her forte - not about anything that wasn’t science or art history or something based in analysis and fact. Emotions, relationships, and anything that fell into the general category of it all left her completely out of her element, floating about with nothing to grab onto for an anchor.
She wanted to reason, to find a way to make things make sense, and none of it really did. Or could. ]
Mmm. [ She kept her eyes on the liquid in her glass, like it would start speaking for her. It didn’t. She had to do this herself, clearly. ] I made an error in judgement. [ Oh that’s a fabulous start, using the same kind of phrase she’s said when experiments have gone horribly wrong and someone ended up with terrible complications. ] Angela had too much of that Devil’s cake. I think she ate nothing but for the last three weeks. If you consume enough, apparently it can wipe you clean of all your usual morals. I’m ... sure you saw her network post, how little she was herself. I thought she simply needed time to escape the trauma of her death, to feel in control of something - whatever it was this demon side of her gave her. I assumed it would run its course with little impact in the grand scheme of things. I was... incorrect. By the time I got rid of all the cake she’d hidden around the house, she had done a fair bit more than just playful mischief.
[ She goes to take another sip of the whiskey, closing her eyes as she lowers the glass. ]
She isn’t hurt, before you get any worrying ideas. And she didn’t bring harm to anyone that I know of. She... grew close. [ There was a moment of silence as she struggled to finish, her grip on her drink tightening some. ] To Reaper. I’m sure you can imagine how much he enjoyed seeing Angela act like a devil.
no subject
She wanted to reason, to find a way to make things make sense, and none of it really did. Or could. ]
Mmm. [ She kept her eyes on the liquid in her glass, like it would start speaking for her. It didn’t. She had to do this herself, clearly. ] I made an error in judgement. [ Oh that’s a fabulous start, using the same kind of phrase she’s said when experiments have gone horribly wrong and someone ended up with terrible complications. ] Angela had too much of that Devil’s cake. I think she ate nothing but for the last three weeks. If you consume enough, apparently it can wipe you clean of all your usual morals. I’m ... sure you saw her network post, how little she was herself. I thought she simply needed time to escape the trauma of her death, to feel in control of something - whatever it was this demon side of her gave her. I assumed it would run its course with little impact in the grand scheme of things. I was... incorrect. By the time I got rid of all the cake she’d hidden around the house, she had done a fair bit more than just playful mischief.
[ She goes to take another sip of the whiskey, closing her eyes as she lowers the glass. ]
She isn’t hurt, before you get any worrying ideas. And she didn’t bring harm to anyone that I know of. She... grew close. [ There was a moment of silence as she struggled to finish, her grip on her drink tightening some. ] To Reaper. I’m sure you can imagine how much he enjoyed seeing Angela act like a devil.