(Untitled)

[dogabuse]

WHO: dogabuse & formidophobia.
WHERE: Angelica's secret laboratory.
WHEN: Evening.
WARNINGS: None, except those inherently associated with the above characters.
SUMMARY: A talk.
FORMAT: Paragraph to start, whatever within.

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[dogabuse]

She was carefully rolling up her jacket sleeves when she heard the door open, a familiar voice carrying over the expanse of the lab. Ah. She had expected that sooner or later, he would come to see her. Angelica paused to retrieve her gloves from a counter top before moving to greet her visitor.

"Hello, Jonathan." Her lips turned upwards just slightly in a faint smile. Somehow, her smiles never seemed to quite reach her eyes. "I was wondering when you might come."

As she spoke, she pulled on her long gloves, covering each of her twelve fingers, her arms up to the elbows. There. She was composed now, fully.

[dogabuse]

She found his uncertainty vaguely endearing to her, in a distant sort of way. It was, in its own way, something to be appreciated-- not a grating little annoyance, like the swollen arrogance of her other colleagues. Angelica smiled, showing her teeth. The expression was just slightly sharp, more a sociopath's mimicry of the look than the real thing.

"I have," she agreed, "Being dead is a surprising amount of work."

A shade of sadist's amusement in her eyes, maybe. Satisfaction. She counted this disappearing act as a victory. Angelica's smile became darker, more sincere. She took one of his hands in her gloved ones, turning it palm up in a gesture made to be absent. In her mind she imagined a scalpel and a jar of formaldehyde with deep affection for each long finger.

"I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you, Jonathan."