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Been tearing my seams. {Open}
Aug. 28th, 2014 11:29 amIn the wake of the Crabs attacking the beach (and Moira still can't believe that's not a euphemism), especially during the End of Summer Bash, has left the place a complete wreck and covered in trash. And considering how just about everyone in her life is, rightfully, admittedly, pissed off at her, Moira is out in the sun, doing her part to help clean up the debris. She's both utilizing actual trash bags and using magic to get the job done, making sure to leave everything thoroughly looked over and tended to. It hurts, to see the beach in such a shape. But not as much as her own life hurts currently.
She figures, if no one wants to talk to her except to yell at her, the best thing she can do is to be of use, if not to her family, than at least to the town. She's been up since dawn, throwing up violently, even with the new tinctures and potions she's been trying; she'd made her way to the beach then, throwing herself into helping with the volunteer efforts. She's going to find a way to make things right, she tells herself. She has to. And so far, she's been keeping at her work, undisturbed by anyone.
She'd stupidly forgotten to cast a glamour on herself, to avoid the obnoxious press.
She regrets it the moment the woman steps forward and shoves the microphone in her face.
"Moira Coombs! What do you have to say for the fact that you look like the spitting image of your ancestor? Planning on cursing any other towns soon? Is it true you disappeared in conjunction with your mother to help her leave the country?" The reporter's voice rings out like nails on a chalkboard.
Moira pales, wondering how her unfortunate discovery about Viviana could be found out so soon; she internally curses when she realizes how foolish she'd been to come out without a disguise.
She wishes she could say something in reply; she wishes she could tell the buzzard to go fuck right off into the ocean.
But all she can do is wince, before turning and running in shame.
OOC: If your character hasn't gotten a chance to tell Moira how much of an idiot she's been, here's your chance! But she can also really use a friend right now. And, of course, people she doesn't know are always welcome too. Catch her running from the paparazzi who's just discovered that Moira is the spitting image of Viviana Coombs.
She figures, if no one wants to talk to her except to yell at her, the best thing she can do is to be of use, if not to her family, than at least to the town. She's been up since dawn, throwing up violently, even with the new tinctures and potions she's been trying; she'd made her way to the beach then, throwing herself into helping with the volunteer efforts. She's going to find a way to make things right, she tells herself. She has to. And so far, she's been keeping at her work, undisturbed by anyone.
She'd stupidly forgotten to cast a glamour on herself, to avoid the obnoxious press.
She regrets it the moment the woman steps forward and shoves the microphone in her face.
"Moira Coombs! What do you have to say for the fact that you look like the spitting image of your ancestor? Planning on cursing any other towns soon? Is it true you disappeared in conjunction with your mother to help her leave the country?" The reporter's voice rings out like nails on a chalkboard.
Moira pales, wondering how her unfortunate discovery about Viviana could be found out so soon; she internally curses when she realizes how foolish she'd been to come out without a disguise.
She wishes she could say something in reply; she wishes she could tell the buzzard to go fuck right off into the ocean.
But all she can do is wince, before turning and running in shame.
OOC: If your character hasn't gotten a chance to tell Moira how much of an idiot she's been, here's your chance! But she can also really use a friend right now. And, of course, people she doesn't know are always welcome too. Catch her running from the paparazzi who's just discovered that Moira is the spitting image of Viviana Coombs.
