as_damaged | ☤ thirty-six

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☤ thirty-six

[Voice]

Which would be the intelligent thing to do now, are you really letting yourself be guilted into it?
I usually make it a point not to apologize for curses, given the nature of the City and what
The entire point of curses seems to be to make people miserable, why wouldn't you want to mitigate that as much as possible?
Because she didn't do anything! Not really, this whole thing is just an exercise in pointless embarrassment!
happens here; I don't think we should have to feel responsible for actions we didn't willingly take.
Why is it embarrassing? If you think she didn't do anything wrong there's nothing to be embarrassed about, is there?
We shouldn't bring it up at all. It's not like anyone else is going to say they're sorry for what they said.
That being said... Under the circumstances I do want to apologize for Sunday. Not because I meant
That doesn't necessarily mean they aren't. Look at it this way, it's setting a better example than staying silent would be.
What, forgive and forget?
anything I said or did-- I certainly didn't-- but, because I don't want misinformation to be spread.
Apologizing the right thing to do.
Then we can't forgive anyone if they don't, and everyone else was just as pointlessly cruel.
So, I wanted to clarify-- all the... implications I made about my colleagues are entirely false. Dr.
But it wasn't their fault.
It wasn't hers either! How many people called her a whore, or worse?
House and Dr. Wilson are not involved in a relationship, I respect Dr. Cuddy very much as a doctor and
I'm sure none of them meant it.
That doesn't take away the fact that they said it, if we have to apologize so do they.
a woman, and I am sorry for any aggressive or antagonistic behavior I displayed towards any of you.
It doesn't matter if they say it. Maybe they should, but even if they don't, it doesn't mean they meant it.
That's a double standard.
So what? [pause, finally paying attention to the real Cameron again.] That wasn't much of an apology you know...

[ooc; SCREAM sorry if that's impossible to read, they are all kind of talking at once >< First voice is the bitter, uptight, strict and honestly rather humorless Cameron; the other is Cameron's soft, compassionate, stuffed-animal-made-by-grandma side. <3]

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[Angela narrows her eyes at the sound of... something and looks up and down the hallway where she's standing. It sounds like talking, but it's too low to make out from the everyday din of the clinic. Alas, it must be nothing so she shrugs before holding out a cup to Cameron with a small smile that's bit uncomfortable around the edges. Dealing with Cameron has always been a tetchy sort of situation.]

I brought this for you. I wasn't sure if you liked cream and sugar, so I just got you black and put the sugar and cream in my purse.

Oh.

[She looks faintly surprised as she takes the coffee and hesitates, glancing briefly over her shoulder to weigh the options. The impulse to hurry the other woman out of here is pretty strong-- having one's inner thoughts on display would be bad enough with a friend in attendance-- but Allison Cameron is nothing if not stubborn. The metaphorical devil (though not on her shoulder, and no more evil in appearance than its counterpart) has been getting on her nerves all morning, and she's disinclined to do what it wants. So she turns back, trying to compose herself. Wondering whether her duplicate selves are even visible to the uncursed, she nudges the door open a bit more.]

Thank you... would you like to come in?

[There are other impulses running through Angela's head and thankfully for both of them, none of them include throwing the hot coffee on Cameron. But she does notice Cameron's attention being split to something behind her. Angela rises on the tip of her toes, trying to get a better look, but there's nothing to see. The office looks relatively empty except for the regular old furniture and tiny knickknacks scattered around. There isn't even a pile of manila folders on the desk to signify Cameron being burdened with work. Angela could spit out the apology and run or she can do things the right way and sit down and explain just how sorry she is when there's a better opportunity. Maybe one visit will have to become two today.]

Do you have a patient? Because if so, I can always come back later when you're less busy.

No, it's fine. Come on in.

[Still uncertain, but forcibly confident-- one of the little Camerons has a smug smile-- she steps away from the door, willing herself to relax. Maybe Angela can't see them. Certainly it's worth a little discomfort, to make a shot at mending their relationship.

She heads back to her desk, gesturing to offer Angela the seat on the other side.]

[Nodding, Angela hesitantly steps inside the office and lets her purse straps slip down her arm until the entire thing is being held in her hand, turning to close the door behind her. Inside is the aforementioned creamers and sugar packets, and she leans the bag on Cameron's desk to get them before being distracted by something off to the side. Her eyes are drawn to the two little dolls sitting on the edge of the desk and she can't help but reach out towards one--the evil one--to stroke a finger along it.]

These are cute. Who made them for you?

[Her eyes widen in dread, but before Cameron can say something to warn the other woman, her tiny double jumps up with a quiet, high-pitched yelp.]
That is not okay! No touching! No!
Leave her alone [the nicer one chimes in.] She brought coffee, you can be civil for once.
I won't! [The not-so-nice Cameron pouts. Meanwhile the life-sized doctor has her face half covered by her hands, mortified.]

[Okay, now that was unexpected. Angela shrieks and stumbles backwards into the wall, dropping her purse on the ground hard enough so the contents spill out with her network device skidding across the room. It's the first time today she's seen these mysterious mini-mes and somehow, in the back of her head, she's glad she doesn't have her conscious out for all and sundry.

Angela points at the two little Camerons arguing with each other, directing her voice to the big one.]

Tell me they didn't talk. Tell me that I'm just dreaming about coming to apologize to you and this is all because I ate a taco before bed.

[Face furiously red she does the only thing she can think of-- sweep the two little troublemakers off the surface of the desk and into a drawer, slamming it shut before they can protest. Which they do, their tiny voices incoherent through the wood.]

It's a curse. I'm cursed. Oh god. I'm sorry. I thought maybe only I could see them.

You're definitely not the only one who can see them.

[Thank you for stating the obvious, Angela. Of course it's a curse, but that doesn't make shrunken talking Camerons any better. They're actually creepy, to be honest. Angela slowly unsticks herself from the wall to walk towards her fallen purse, giving the desk a wide berth as if those little things can burst through the thick wood.]

So what's the curse this time? Demented lookalike dolls from Hell that don't like to be touched?

[She sits on the edge of the desk, subtly bracing the drawer shut. From the sound of it, though, the two Camerons are content for the moment to bicker with one another.]

Have you ever seen in cartoons, when there's an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other? Like that, but a little less clear cut.

[She sighs, shakes her head slightly.]

So I'm guessing the one that yelled at me is the devil.

[Angela's on her hands and knees now, picking through the mess of her pocketbook, parting the coffee paraphernalia off to one side. This keeps her busy so she doesn't have to either look at Cameron's face or laugh nervously in it. Angela's not surprised part of Cameron's conscience hates her. In fact, it's the nicer part that shocks her.

Her bag's almost complete except for that pesky missing device of hers. Angela leans down to ground level with her eyes to try and locate her network device, putting off the actual difficult apology a little more.]

Where did that damn thing go?

Something like that,

[she murmurs, rolling her eyes a bit. It's an oversimplification; the nasty miniature isn't evil, or even entirely irrationally cruel. Overly rational might be a better description; especially in comparison to the kind one, the compassionate tiny martyr.

Really, it's everything Angela has ever accused Cameron of being. Trying to change the subject she cranes her neck to follow the other woman's line of sight, searching for anything out of place.]

What are you looking for?

My network device.

[Her voice comes out muffled from her bent over position and it sounds like she's talking more to the carpet than to the other woman. Part of Angela wants to find the thing and get the hell away from the triple team of Camerons and the other part of her wants it to remain lost forever to hold her off a little longer from verbally kowtowing to Cameron.]

I dropped it when your little thing screamed bloody murder.

They do that a lot.

[Her tone is apologetic. She leans forward, trying to help look but unwilling to leave her post. The last thing she wants is a tiny prison break. She's had her share of uncharitable thoughts about Angela; but usually, she's able to keep them to herself. The nice one isn't much better, if only because its demands of reconciliation and apologies serve to feed the other's complaints.]

Is that it, by the bookcase?

[If they really do, Angela wonders how Cameron keeps the look of sanity on her face 24/7. It's not like Angela doesn't have her own devil and angel, but she mostly ignores them to listen to her gut. They don't have a chance to drive her crazy.

At Cameron's direction, Angela glances up and sees that yes, indeed, the device is by the bookcase. One quick crawl later, Angela's picking it up, turning it every which way for an inspection. It looks no worse for the wear and with a nod of approval, she slips it back into the purse as she stands up.]

Thanks.

[No sound but the swish of Angela's loose skirt is heard as she closes the distance between her and Cameron, holding out the cream and sugar.]

Here.

Thank you. Again.

[She smiles a bit nervously as she takes them and fixes up her coffee, relieved to have the distraction, and not to have to meet the other woman's eyes.]

AREN'T YOU DONE YET, [screams a teensy voice. Cameron forcibly ignores it-- suppressing the urge to kick the desk-- and finally looks up.]

So. What brings you by?

No, I'm not. Be patient.

[It feels a little weird back-talking Cameron while not actually back-talking Cameron. She wishes she was done already, but nothing the size of Biscuit's poops will make her do anything before she's good and ready.

There's an almost non-existent itch behind Angela's ear and she pauses to scratch it and then tuck back a lock of her hair. A stray thought about needing a trim runs through her mind, but she stands up a little bit straighter, knowing it's just another way to avoid the issue at hand.]

I wanted to apologize for calling you a slut the other day. Even if I was cursed, I was way out of line and I'm really the last person who should be calling anybody a slut to begin with.

See, I told you, [the identical other voice adds, sounding a little smug. There's a bit of noise as they take up fighting again, somewhat muffled by the desk.]

I appreciate that. Really.

[It's difficult to keep up a serious conversation under the circumstances, but she's making an effort and is totally earnest.]

I wasn't exactly on my best behavior either; I'm sorry for starting the fight.

[Angela's eyebrows inch closer to her hairline when the other one pipes up. If she listens closely, not only can she hear them better, but she can hear the differences in the two. One has a sharper, disgusted edge to its tone, the other a light, almost airy note cadence, except during that moment of smugness, of course.]

I'm sorry for continuing it? And for bringing out the sparkle text. Sparkle text should be banned from the world.

[An attempt to not laugh at the fact she not only used sparkles, but animated pictures like a true Internet troll, gets drowned in a sip of coffee. It doesn't work as well as it should so a loud snort gets sent into the paper cup.]

Honestly? I'm not even sure how I managed those.

[She laughs as well, relaxing slightly. Coffee makes a good peace offering, especially when she's disinclined to leave her desk more than positively necessary.]

It all made perfect sense, at the time. Now... [She rolls her eyes.]

[Her apologies aren't quiet complete yet--at least they don't feel like it to her--but Angela's visibly more relaxed now. Her semi-casual lean on the chair offered to her earlier is proof of this, and for the moment, she forgets there's four people in this room, not two.]

I'm still wondering where those pictures came from. I checked my history, my cookies, my external and nada. It was like somebody hacked in and deleted them as soon as I uploaded them.

I know there were pages of that story, whatever it was. All gone now, thankfully. I'm not sure if I actually wrote it or if I just thought I did...

[She shudders slightly, mostly for show. Pages and pages of things better forgotten, and thank goodness those didn't post because there are children on the Network.]

I don't know, it's almost funny... how serious and violent everyone became over something so petty and ridiculous.

Unless people were just using the petty excuse to vent their real feelings, [a little one calls out. Cameron looks horrified.]

I'm sorry, but it was terrible.

[Okay, so maybe Angela's not sorry about judging the story with the way she's cracking up, but it was honestly paragraph after paragraph of of the worst sentences Angela has ever read and in all honesty, she's read a lot of terrible things.]

I take it you don't go on the Internet very much. That was like a sandbox fight compared to the real--

[She's cut off by someone's opinion on the situation and with a sigh, Angela glances over at Cameron. That look on the doctor's face gives Angela the hint that maybe Cameron isn't all she appears to be.]

Okay, which side was that?

Not the nice one.

[The more her inner conflict publicizes itself, the more frazzled she looks. Thank goodness it's just a curse, more than a day of this and she'd go mad. She hurries to explain herself.]

I don't really think that. It's a doubt; an irrational, internal reaction that I'd dismiss out of hand. Except today it's audible.

[For once, Angela doesn't need an excuse from Cameron. Lord knows she's thought some completely irrational doubts herself that would be shameful if they were aired. She puts down her cup with a certain amount of stubbornness so it hits the desktop with a firm tap before she walks over to Cameron. Her face is set in a straight line and she looks like a disappointed mother about to scold her child.

It might not be her child, but somebody will definitely be getting scolded]

Open the drawer.

☤ thirty-six

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