Morticia Addams

"It's quite alright." Larissa forces her voice into a lightness she doesn't feel. "I've nothing on my calendar." Damn. A strategic error. If she wants to get rid of Morticia, she'll have to invent some emergency. "Please, come in, sit down. I always have time for you." Damn!

She finds herself not retreating behind her desk, but circling it to lean on its closest edge. She thinks she'd like some sort of flare or homing beacon or weather balloon to send out the window, to signal for help, but of course, there's no help for her, and she shouldn't need rescue from an old school friend, even one who makes her so queasy. She folds her arms over her chest. It adds a layer of protection.

PERHAPS IT WOULD SURPRISE MORTICIA TO SEE LARISSA SO — obviously — tense, had it not been for the fact that she enjoyed it so. Not just with her former colleague, of course. Intimidation was her strongest mask to wear, after all. One that hid an unrevealed shyness, layered with some obscurity. Careful, as it were, as to when and where and with whom. Larissa has perhaps seen every side of her; every mask; every vulnerability and yet, she can't seem to drop her guard every single moment that they are finally alone.

It wasn't even about power, or holding the upper hand, or even teasing. No, it was nostalgic. A bit crass, yes, she knew that it was, but she can't help herself. Not when Larissa made it so easy. Her smirk broadens into more of a genuine smile at the woman's words and as offered, takes a seat across from the desk. Back leaning elegantly in the chair with wrists draped over the edge of each arm and one ankle hooked behind the other. ❝ You're too kind. ❞

She practically purrs and then, there's that smile with teeth showing prominently. A light shrug to follow at the inquiry, ❝ of course! Can't a woman visit her dear old friend without a detrimental reason—? ❞ She says as if the last several times hadn't been met with her on the verge of tears.

Dropping her hands with a sigh, Lilia's expression turned to one of mild irritation as she looked around for the instigator of the prank. Perhaps out of a sense of self-preservation, he didn't appear.

"Hm, funny," she commented with a dry tone that made it clear she personally hadn't found it amusing at all.

Taking a breath, lips pursed as she fought to keep back most of her opinion, Lilia stepped further in, making sure to keep a wide berth from the ominous looking stain, and its smell.

LILIA'S WARNING DOES NOT GO UNNOTICED, nor is it taken lightly. Morticia is well aware of her children's sense of what they deem comical in comparison to serious atonements, and she does her due diligence to allow them to see the difference themselves. However, time takes precedence when it comes to full understanding. If learning the hard way is what her children need, then that's how they will learn. She creates the mold; it's up to them to understand it. This is still a learning pool, but she takes in Lilia's frustrations.

    After the last disaster--Larissa pressing @mortecarlate for more, Morticia retreating, as she does--she really thinks there will be no more of their tête-à-têtes. And, of course, it doesn't matter to her, so she throws herself with aplomb into the latest ridiculous request from the Board, and planning for the upcoming Outreach Day, and buying a cake for a teacher's birthday and a watch for another's work anniversary, and the ever-present mountains of paperwork, forms for every occasion. Her secretary has started to look at her somewhat nervously during their morning briefings, as though she's worried Larissa will slide apart into pieces. Larissa can't think why.

    It's a golden afternoon some weeks since their last, fruitless talk that the intercom in Larissa's desk phone buzzes. She picks up the receiver, hears, "Morticia Addams is here," and immediately puts it back down, hard. "Oh," she says to herself, realising, and reopens the line to tell her, "Send her in," as there's nothing on her official schedule--a rare time, which might have concluded with an early end to her day, a well-deserved glass of wine. Of course Morticia has to interrupt on such a perfect...

REGARDLESS OF HOW LARISSA WEEMS PERHAPS FINDS HERSELF, upon entry into the room, Morticia's eyes fall upon a well structured woman; poised with perfection. Her chin held high and hands clasped both dramatically and yet, demure. A vision of stunning beauty, just as she's always been and yet, Morticia would never say so out right. Why—? Because of a perilous ego that to this day remained astoundingly ridiculous, and she knows it.

A single hand rises if only to whisk the few strands of straightened black hair from over her shoulders, a simple smirk - not quite a full smile - gracing the features of her face and she can tell, she has without a doubt interrupted Larissa's evening. Good. She thinks, selfishly. Taking in the tone of Larissa's voice to conclude previous speculations of annoyance. ❝ Of course not, why would you—? It's not as if I had called ahead. How silly of me. ❞ Her own hands clasp in front of her lap as she takes a few steps forward, slightly to the side.

IT'S ALMOST INSTINCTUAL THAT HER HANDS GRIP UPON LARISSA'S WAIST. The moment that hands cup her face, Morticia is quick to reciprocate the notion. Oh, how easy it was and she finds herself practically melting into the woman's touch. Only Larissa Weems could hold such power over her in a similar way that her husband could. She'd be lying if she didn't say exactly what was on her mind when Larissa spoke; acknowledging the very foundation of what they had been tiptoeing around for years.

A SIMPLE GESTURE, AS IT WERE. Loose fingers idly caressing the soft features of Larissa's face, feeling that meticulous nostalgia of baby smooth skin upon a simple touch. It hadn't been of manipulating action but one of genuine automated consideration. Still, nostalgia breathed heavily into ear, like an echo, causing a shiver down her spine. Morticia clears her throat while taking a small step back, ❝ Of course. ❞

"I didn't do it!" Lilia instantly protested, throwing her hands up, palms out, in an instinctive show of innocence. She also took a step back out of the danger zone for good measure.

THERE WASN'T MUCH OF A CLEAR DISTINCTION AS TO WHAT HAD HAPPENED. But Before Lilia even spoke, Morticia had an inkling. A poised demeanor keeps her appearance calm and collective, eyes glancing from the body on the floor momentarily as if to silently examine it. A single brow coming to arch and for a split second, amusement. The corner of lips slowly curling and she provides the faintest hint of a chuckle. ❝ Pugsley. ❞ Name drawled out, feigning disappointment. ❝ Is that any way to welcome our new guest? — Usually there's more blood. ❞