The basement lobby is full of archangels, most of them armed to the teeth. These are archangels moving to war, and not just a small operation with fifteen mostly-kids against a group of humans. These are archangels on the hunt, out for demon blood, and while there's the unmistakable feeling of unease in the air after last night, no one's willing to
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She's nervous, practically vibrating with tension. Everything's wrong. Romana shot Vince. Vince. That's... It shouldn't be possible. So fucked up.
But she's following orders because it's all she's got left, because she fuckin' owes Romana. Owes her for everything in her whole life, so to hell with everything else.
She just wishes she didn't feel so goddamn sick.
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The moment she notices Romana, Elena straightens up, standing at attention. This is what Romana's been getting her ready for for the past three years. She won't fuck it up. "Ma'am."
She's not going to think about how wrong things are in front of a First. It's wrong, and disrespectful, and Romana knows what she's doing. She has to. Por favor, dígame algo que hará todo bien, she thinks. Pleads. Please, tell me something that'll make everything all right.
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Which is actually true - after the disaster with Torchwood, she's not throwing this sort of thing off on just anyone. This plan also has the benefit of upping Elena's chances of survival; Romana doesn't particularly want to pull her into all-out war when she still hasn't adjusted to the lack of depth perception.
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