I am not a scholar and I don't believe in fate
Noah couldn't remember the last time he yelled. Truly yelled. He was no stranger to arguments, but the let the fiery rein of anger take hold of him was not something he did often, nor enjoyed. This, now, with his finger pointed in Delphine's face and his other hand clutching everything she owned, felt awful. He gripped the bag tighter, not worried at all about breaking anything inside. He did, too. He felt the small vials of whatever drug the blonde woman had chosen to bring her shatter in his hand. He gritted his teeth, narrowed eyes burning down on her. "Take some god damn responsibility." He nearly hissed, a muscle in his forehead twitching from the tensed, stone-like hardening of his face.
"They were your children, Delphine. Your children. Your job was to protect them. Teach them. Instead, you let them die. You brought them to the shrine of a god." Noah still did not know if all the gods were good or bad, but something in him screamed that she should have known better. "You don't get to forget. You don't get to waste yourself away. You don't get to sink into oblivion. You do as you were told, by that god, so that at the very least their lives--their deaths--weren't in vain."
Noah threw the bag on the table again. "You get every drug out of there and you destroy it. Right. Now."
NOAH
