( There's no mistaking the sound of an ex-agent's voice, even over the dulcet croon of David Bowie singing of swaying under the serious moonlight. She listens to it again before deciding to reply, because surely if she'd heard of Moira's presence, the reverse was true.
They held opposing morals, opinions, and just about all other aspects life could pitch their way, but Angela doesn't know of her shadier affiliations; she just knows of her involvement with the Oasis developments, fingers on more than just human pulses. Especially when the other woman's technology had had a loose influence from Angela's own work and still kept her on edge every time she remembered the deeply purple veins of her arm.
That happens to be often, by the way. A part of her worries for what's become of her. Another part was forbidden contact from all ex-agents, officially mandated by the UN, and it was all too easy to allow one with grace where the others ached. They do have a mutual respect of one another despite it all. )
Moira, it's Angela. I hope you've been well.
( It's an easy start, voice a bit more tired than it used to be, but as calm as ever, accent curling the ends of her syllables into something cheerier. )
I wish I had a better answer for you, but if none of the hospitals here are interested, I'm afraid the Scientia is about the only option on hand. I'm working on a small clinic right now, myself, but— it is basic, in the end. Nothing grand, and nothing lofty.
( The meaning is clear enough; it's of simple means and for simple purposes, and she wouldn't be able to pay her anyway. Another volunteer venture, as it were. )
Many of the other like minds that have arrived here are at the Lunar Scientia, however. They've been quite welcoming to those with other areas of expertise and other levels of skill.
voice
They held opposing morals, opinions, and just about all other aspects life could pitch their way, but Angela doesn't know of her shadier affiliations; she just knows of her involvement with the Oasis developments, fingers on more than just human pulses. Especially when the other woman's technology had had a loose influence from Angela's own work and still kept her on edge every time she remembered the deeply purple veins of her arm.
That happens to be often, by the way. A part of her worries for what's become of her. Another part was forbidden contact from all ex-agents, officially mandated by the UN, and it was all too easy to allow one with grace where the others ached. They do have a mutual respect of one another despite it all. )
Moira, it's Angela. I hope you've been well.
( It's an easy start, voice a bit more tired than it used to be, but as calm as ever, accent curling the ends of her syllables into something cheerier. )
I wish I had a better answer for you, but if none of the hospitals here are interested, I'm afraid the Scientia is about the only option on hand. I'm working on a small clinic right now, myself, but— it is basic, in the end. Nothing grand, and nothing lofty.
( The meaning is clear enough; it's of simple means and for simple purposes, and she wouldn't be able to pay her anyway. Another volunteer venture, as it were. )
Many of the other like minds that have arrived here are at the Lunar Scientia, however. They've been quite welcoming to those with other areas of expertise and other levels of skill.