[Raphael, this time, looks less like the bleeding pile of shit she did last time and more like a meditative businesswoman with dry skin who hasn't slept in a while. She is seated Indian-style on the floor of what is obviously a run-down house; her normal illusions of nice drawing rooms and furnished libraries are gone. Forgotten, even. There's a
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There was no greeting, friendliness, or familiarity from her. If anything, Michael's arrival made her frown, shoulders shifting with displeasure at the too-bright presence now pressing at the walls around her. His presence was like a low-grade migraine to her. In fact, from her stalking this week of the other so-called angels in the city, they all were- except one. But he was the one that she knew she had to have caution around. The untrustworthy one, the bastard she distinctly remembered plunging his hand into her Grace and trying to rip it out, leaving behind this horrible, constant screaming agony inside her.
She had nothing to say to any of her alleged brothers.
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"It isn't a toy, Raphael." He said, voice tight; he wasn't snapping or losing his cool, but he wanted to to the point where it was creeping into his tone.
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"Give me my sword." Pause. "It is mine." That was doubt, but she wouldn't admit it.
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But don't you think we're missing out on our chances to be with them, too, if we can't remember them right now? [Are there things she's forgetting? Is this why she finds herself so drawn to her roommates? Why it feels like something's missing she's just not sure how to define?]
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It is potential for objective action that's more rare.
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Do you mean being able to do something about the Animus together?
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Raphael, what have I told you about running with scissors?
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Then hide under a rock for four days until your fellow rats remember themselves. It is purely temporary.
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