[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/8tv7g5m.png[/img] [sub][color=9ed7db]Interacting: Basically the whole gang?[/color][/sub][/center] Spots swam into Angelica’s vision as she blinked her eyes open, squinting against the radiant light of bright sun off white marble, her head aching fiercely and still ringing with the echoes of fireworks from what felt like an eternity ago. For a long moment, she laid on the cool marble floor, the incoherent chaos around her making her brain hurt all the worse. Where were they? Dimly, she became aware of Patricia cursing at – something. Then her blood turned to ice. She’d mentioned Eliza… Oh god, mom was gonna [i]kill[/i] her. With a most unladylike groan, Angie pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying to blow a loose lock of hair out of her face and scrubbing at her puffy eyes with the back of her hand – it came away streaked with makeup and she cursed, both for the immediate carnage it had surely caused to her appearance and for the sake of her complexion; she’d slept for gods knew how long with a full face of makeup on… Of course, she was snapped back to more immediate circumstances by a TV screen in the corner flickering on again, the camera panning over Grace and Eliza tied to some sort of rack, one that sparked blue and caused both girls to gasp in pain. Grace took one breath and rattled off information that Angie’s brain, even in its half-drunk state, mostly managed to retain, though her eyes were on Eliza’s terrified, tear-streaked face. So the Wings were trying to kill them…great. Wonderful. Absolutely fantastic. And these ogre things – wait, what ogre things? – hate light. Before she could say anything about lights, Blake raced out the front door, brandishing a ….kite. A kite, made out of fire. With far too much effort for the circumstance, Angelica pushed herself to her feet, glancing around for something to improvise as a weapon even as her knees wobbled and her vision swam with dark spots. Fuck, this was why she hated drinking. The lack of coordination after was just…awful, not to mention the expense of the alcohol and the havoc it wreaks on other equilibriums in the body, like hydration and skin health and liver function and… She wobbled off after the others, tapping herself forcefully in the temple with the heel of her hand to try to clear the mental fog, only half-listening to their plans as she went. [hr][hr] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/4sl6C8t.png[/img] [sub][color=c3bbc9]Interacting: Grace! [@Hitman][/color][/sub][/center] How could a night that was so lovely end so wrong? Eliza was bitterly familiar with the tightness that radiated through her chest, the sparking lights dancing behind her eyes as they jolted open, her arms and legs trembling from current while restrained tightly. She expected to see broken roof slats, or perhaps the shadow cast by an oversized wing, but as her eyes came into focus she saw a … very nice office. It might have been intriguing, were her chest not gripped by panic, the memory of electricity, the smell of burning and sound of sirens and – everything radiating through her head, pushing out the soft and warm and cuddly feelings that the previous night had been laced with. She glanced over her shoulder at the loud, rapid-fire words suddenly spoken, the tears welling in her eyes spilling over as she took in Grace’s battered appearance, and the defiant look in the older girl’s eyes as she shared as much information as she could. The screech of pain caused Eliza to whimper quietly in sympathy, a murmured [color=c3bbc9]“no, p-please…”[/color] trickling from her lips. Maybe it worked, because Grace stilled, the older girl panting from the pain and the – sickening terrifying Roman figure, who Eliza had not noticed up until this point – grinning sadistically behind his helmet. She scarcely had time to process what he said before pain bloomed in her chest, her throat tightening and her arms feeling as though they were being wrenched out of their sockets. A tiny, choked whimper escaped her, her eyes visibly glazing over as her mind flicked again, briefly, back to Paris, and her assorted screw-ups on that mission that had led to her being accidentally electrocuted by the same blast that killed the Scavenger… She’d been helpless then, and she was helpless now. But this time, people were going to get hurt to rescue her… and for what? What good had she ever done on missions? The pain from the shock subsided soon enough, but the ache in her heart remained, remembering Patricia’s sleepy kiss on her forehead the night before, the way the two of them had almost fallen asleep on each other’s laps, the ambient classical elevator music of the documentary lulling them both into an ease that even fireworks couldn’t completely disrupt. She realized, in that moment, that she’d forgotten to tell her – to tell her [i]girlfriend[/i] the good news. About their … rainbun grandchildren? The vet appointment for Bow had just been the morning before the party, so she’d only just found out herself, and she’d kept it as secret as she could, to make it a surprise... She had saved the ultrasound pictures on her phone to tell Patricia in person, but in all the chaos and noise and loud and aaaaaaaa she had completely forgotten. And now she might never have the chance… the easily-terrified part of her, amid her rising panic, just hoped that Patricia’s parents might be understanding enough to let her keep the rainbuns. Even – even if Eliza didn’t get to go home, her mom or Angie would make sure Patricia got to keep them, and would help her take care of them, right? Right? Cloud and Bow and the on-the-way babies would be fine, and maybe Patricia could be happy, too… Her gaze flickered vacantly over the armored figure in front of them, though she said nothing – the numbness in her throat made it so she could scarcely feel her tongue, nevermind control it well enough to construct words, and her mind was far too chaotic to formulate thoughts into anything coherent. Tears welled freely, spilling over her lower lashes and trickling down her cheeks pathetically, and her jaw visibly trembled, as did her fingertips, her arms rattling her bindings with her obvious terror.