[Cameron's sitting at her desk, reading glasses perched on her nose and paperwork spread out in front of her, pen poised in midair when Angela whirls in with that declaration. She stares for a moment, then sets the pen aside and leans back in her chair, gesturing to a chair set at the side of the desk, inviting the other woman to take the seat.]
Tell me about it.
[That's the genuine, curious kind of 'tell me about it,' not the sarcastic kind.]
another glass of whisky, but it still don't kill the pain;
Tell me about it.
[That's the genuine, curious kind of 'tell me about it,' not the sarcastic kind.]