[He ended up pursuing crime because he was tired of not having his genius recognised. Sounds like an entirely reasonable career choice.]
[She watches them lift the pew but doesn't offer to help.] Hallucinations? I did say it was drugs... but, not any drug I know. They don't usually work like this. [Then again, her pharmaceutical expertise is limited to poisons and knockouts, not hallucinogens.]
[She's about to join them at the pew, ask why exactly they're rearranging church furniture, when she notices movement from the corner of her eyes, turns in time to see the walls lose their form.] All right, I take it back, maybe it is hallucinations.
[She takes a step toward the walls. The oozing slime is thick and dark, black and reflective like an oil slick. Makes her think of dead birds, fish drowning in an ocean suddenly turned hostile. She licks her lips. Up close, the walls seem to glisten. She breathes deep, has the smell in the church changed? No longer dust and disuse, there's something almost organic about the way the slime drips down to the floor. She turns to look at Peter, smirk on her lips.] What did I say? Going to hell.
[She walks back to the pews, picks up a bible and, completely casual, rips the cover off. Then she returns to the wall, and runs the cover up it in an attempt to scrape off some of the gloop.] This is a lot more dramatic than a crying Madonna. [Her tone of voice says she approves. This place is fucking strange, but she appreciates the change of pace. True hell is boredom.]
no subject
[She watches them lift the pew but doesn't offer to help.] Hallucinations? I did say it was drugs... but, not any drug I know. They don't usually work like this. [Then again, her pharmaceutical expertise is limited to poisons and knockouts, not hallucinogens.]
[She's about to join them at the pew, ask why exactly they're rearranging church furniture, when she notices movement from the corner of her eyes, turns in time to see the walls lose their form.] All right, I take it back, maybe it is hallucinations.
[She takes a step toward the walls. The oozing slime is thick and dark, black and reflective like an oil slick. Makes her think of dead birds, fish drowning in an ocean suddenly turned hostile. She licks her lips. Up close, the walls seem to glisten. She breathes deep, has the smell in the church changed? No longer dust and disuse, there's something almost organic about the way the slime drips down to the floor. She turns to look at Peter, smirk on her lips.] What did I say? Going to hell.
[She walks back to the pews, picks up a bible and, completely casual, rips the cover off. Then she returns to the wall, and runs the cover up it in an attempt to scrape off some of the gloop.] This is a lot more dramatic than a crying Madonna. [Her tone of voice says she approves. This place is fucking strange, but she appreciates the change of pace. True hell is boredom.]