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Andrea Rojas loves shopping and breaking faces in. (avengingwarrior) wrote in wariscoming,

Andrea didn't pay him any mind as he spoke. Or at least she pretended not to. Her not so straight vision was caught up on the splinters that she was getting very easily frustrated with. After the first three misses. She just shut the faucet and braced her hand on either side of the sink. His words sinking in more than she wanted them to.

Dios, seriously? Seriously? She couldn't have one night of drunk misery without being lectured by a vampire? Honestly? It wasn't as if she did this every night. Then, maybe (like hell) he could get off calling her bitter. She was what she was and he had no idea how over herself she was trying to be. It wasn't about her. She was making peace with herself, with her powers, with how she got them. With being the Angel of Vengeance. She was trying. However, she could only go so far ... there was only so far she could go until she let go. And Andrea wasn't letting her. She wasn't letting go of her, because the woman was all she had had for her entire life. She wasn't facing all the emotions she had connected to her, emotions that weren't just pain and missing her. That were darker things. She wasn't facing them because facing them would mean letting go. Facing them would mean that she was --

Andrea wasn't going to think about what she felt towards her mother somedays, aside from missing her with so much sorrow.

So instead, Andrea bundled up that emotion. And she tackled him. What? You were expecting something more articulate than that? She was pissed off and she was drunk. It didn't get more articulate than that.

Andrea tackled Spike from the side, since he hadn't fully turned toward the door. Causing his arms to flail in surprise and his drink to lunge forward, splashing the the wall across from them.