#;moira

"What a smooth way to say that you consider I have shitty taste in music, O'Deorain” Said the blonde woman looking down at the genetist who’s at the desk while she lays against the wall with a cigarette on her mouth as always.

A sight fell from her lips as she lowered her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose, carefully setting down her pen.

               “Have you brought me a care package?”

              “Moira, my dear. I thought you’d forgotten                about me.” He purred, standing at the glass.

{‡}; EVEN  after his supposed death, Edgar         Perry had become  a familiar name in          this society; they saw him as a writer and         a man that would not be afraid to tell         people how it was. In this day in age         compared to how it as in his mortal life,         people seemed to appreciate him and         his honesty.         HE  approached the home of his host and          gave a gentle knock with the bronze knocker          on the door and was greeted by the most          intense green eyes and red hair he had          ever seen, offering a charming smile.                ❝Oh, good evening...I am Edgar Perry.❞

{ @indxctricis​ }