As a general rule, Lilah Morgan is not the type of woman to have keepsakes. She never saved ticket stubs from concerts or movies, and she sure as hell never pressed dried roses in a dictionary, hoping to remember the boy who had given it to her forever. Not many people or things are worth remembering forever and those that are? She doesn't need a piece of paper or a picture to help. Her wedding pictures aren't displayed proudly on the mantel, though she's not exactly sure where she'd find room between the X-Box controllers and the cat toys if she ever wanted to display anything on the mantel. Even her diploma and frame are tucked into a drawer between client files. She is simply not the type of woman to keep meaningless things. Unless they're four thousand dollar Prada meaningless things.

She doesn't expect the envelope from her mother. In fact, she doesn't remember ever giving her mother their new address. The staff at the home must have mailed it for her. The address isn't written in Lilah's mother's shakey handwriting and one of the stamps used has pink flowers and kittens, something her mother would have rolled her eyes at years earlier. She finds the envelope propped up against the salt and pepper shakers on the table in the kitchen, so David has already seen it and put it somewhere he knew she'd find it. He's not home now; he called her cell while she was driving home and told her he was going to give finding another dog one more shot and she asked if he was planning on killing any other fast food mascots in the process, at which point he called her a bitch and they fought until he said he loved her and hung up.

Holding the envelope between two fingers, Lilah sinks into one of the kitchen chairs, then pushes her nail under the seal to break it. A few seconds later she's shaken some photographs out onto the table. There are three of Lilah before she was ten, one of Lilah and her father and one of the view from the docks near their summer home. She remembers it much more fondly than she remembers her real home. The summer home was quiet, even though it was just across the lake from the city.

She remembers her mother taking this picture, the two of them standing near the docks and watching a man work on his boat in the fog. Lilah remember asking her mother why people had to work on boats, but her mother hadn't replied. She had laughed and squeezed Lilah's shoulder tightly, but she didn't answer. God forbid she explain the very novel concept of manual labour to her eight year old daughter. She remembers the man pausing to look up at them and raising his hand in a wave. She remembers waving back eagerly before her mother realized what she was doing and slapped her hand.

She did love that summer home. But the picture... her mother had taken it and Lilah loves her mother, but she doesn't love her mother. It's different, it's automatic and robotic. When she kisses her mother's cheek her movements are stiff and rusty. The picture reminds her of a thousand different afternoons, it reminds her of a thousand requests to play in the sand with the other kids and of a thousand refusals. It reminds her of wanting to go help the man on the boat and her mother's fingers digging into her shoulder so hard that she had bruises the next day.

It's a beautiful picture and it was a beautiful summer home.

Lilah burns it.

Current Mood: uncomfortable

Talk about something you did that made you feel ashamed of yourself afterwards.

You're kidding, right? I mean, really, asking me about something I did that made me feel ashamed of myself? I don't do shame. Besides, I have nothing to be ashamed of. I'm pretty much perfect.

( private )

Most people wish that I...

Most people wish that I were dead, I imagine. Dead, missing, gone, something to that end. There are very few exceptions to that rule. David, of course. Alan, Kitty... Mike. Drusilla likes me enough to want me dead, so in some twisted way she's another exception. But the people I work with, the people I know in my personal life, I'm willing to bet that most of them would like to see this scar on my throat open up. I bet they'd be absolutely thrilled to see the blood pouring down my chest.

Then again, my disappearance might be enough for some people. If I was out of the way Gavin might finally be able to step up, but only if I was out of the way. He has no chance of legitimately taking my job. If I was gone, I'm sure a few people around the office would breathe a little easier.

Now, I'm not trying to be arrogant, but here's a little tidbit of information for you. A newsflash, if you will. Death didn't stop me. I was stabbed in the throat and my head was cut off and I'm still here. A little worse for wear and married, of all things, but here. Alive, breathing, kicking your ass daily and still working for Wolfram and Hart.

So, most people can wish death upon me as often as they like. I'm just the kind of girl who bounces back from anything.

Current Mood: satisfied

What is the best present you have ever given someone else?

The funny thing about this question is that I don't even remember her name. She was a year older than me, dark hair, smartly dressed, a good lawyer. Hell, a great lawyer even. She and I were being interviewed for the same position at Wolfram and Hart. I wanted it more than she did. She wanted it badly, but I wanted it more. I remember that she was wearing a black skirt and blazer with a beautiful purple blouse the first day I met her. Her shoes were fantastic. They probably cost more than my entire outfit did at the time, but I looked good. I looked great.

I wish I could remember her name.

"So you're Lilah Morgan."

She turns, lifts her chin and nods. "I am."

"We're up for the same position within the firm." The woman tucks her dark hair behind her ear and continues to appraise Lilah. "Two women. I'm willing to bet that's a first." And she offers Lilah a small smile that goes unreturned.

"Yes. Funny, isn't it?" Lilah asks, then turns on her heel and leaves the building. She is not going to lose this position.

I went out that same night and bought a necklace. The shopkeeper called it an enchanted jewel when it was really just filled to the brim with all sorts of dark magic. Perfect for what I needed it for. It was beautiful and it looked expensive, which is why I'm sure she accepted it when I gave it to her. I told her it was a good luck charm and that whatever happened, it was to show there would be no hard feelings. I think I even said, 'May the best woman win' which was an outright lie on my part. Whether or not I was the best woman for the job, I was going to win.

"I'm sorry, I thought there was another woman being interviewed for this job as well." She pretends to be confused and looks around the room in concern.

Holland Manners steeples his fingers under his chin and studies her gravely across the desk, then smiles slightly. "You're smarter than we gave you credit for."

She continues to pretend she doesn't know what's going on. "I'm sorry?"

"Your fierce competition was found dead this evening in her apartment. It appears someone gave her a necklace with a stone in it that adheres to the skin of the wearer."

"Sounds awful."

Holland's smile grew. "Not only that, but it slowly drains the life from the person wearing it, eventually causing their lungs to collapse and their heart to simply shut down. Not a particularly vicious or painful way to go, but not without its merits. For example, unless you had knowledge of dark magic it would simply appear that her heart had given up and foul play would never be suspected."

"That's handy," Lilah says and finally returns the smile. "I wonder who would give out such a terrible sort of gift."

In the end the necklace was buried with her. They couldn't get it off her skin.

I really wish I remembered her name.

Just a quick notice. I don't RP with Lilah much anyway, but as of now I'm going prompt only with her. There are exceptions as there is a SL I have planned with Gavin's mun, but beyond that, I'm really going to have to limit her to prompts only.

What is your favorite time of day? Why?

The early morning. Before work, before the sun, before David's coherent enough to lecture me about kicking the cats. Before I even have to get out of bed. When the sun is still cold and hard, before it's bright enough to warm the bedroom. I'm not often awake that early, but when I am, that is by far my favourite time of day. Without sounding like a walking cliché, it's easy to imagine that your life is exactly how you'd always wanted when it's that early in the morning.

I've never been prone to daydreaming. Flights of fancy, ridiculous fantasies. I simply don't care to indulge myself in such things. There's no point. Why bother dreaming about things? You're wasting the time you have to actually do those things. Something about the early morning brings out the daydreamer in me, I guess, as ridiculous as that sounds. I don't allow myself to fantasize at any other time during the day, but those early mornings are a rare exception. It isn't as though my life is so imperfect that I feel the need to escape into daydreams. I enjoy my life. I enjoy my job, my home, my husband. Yes, sometimes I even enjoy the cats. It isn't a bad life by far. It isn't perfect, but perfect all the time would be boring.

Those early mornings, though... my life is perfect. Fifteen minutes of perfection is enough to drive me insane and remind me why I enjoy my life as much as I do.

The first time I saw...

The first time I saw a vampire I was standing in the lobby of Wolfram and Hart and security was leading her outside. Into the sun. I remember seeing her eyes and her fangs, but not fully understanding what they meant. It wasn't until they pushed her out into the sun and she burst into flames that it all finally fell into place. I'd been warned, of course, of the weird things that happened at Wolfram and Hart. I had friends in law school who had stories and myths to tell. Urban legends, I thought. Stories of men who were forced to eat their own liver when a deal went sour. Stories of mind readers who would know if you were planning on betraying the firm. Stories of the Senior Partners. Of the conduit.

I didn't believe any of it. I went to my interview, I got the job, obviously, and I still refused to believe it. No one would make a lawyer eat his liver because of a mistake.

I was wrong, wasn't I? And I knew I was wrong as soon as I saw that woman -- that vampire step into the sun and light up like someone had doused her in gasoline and lit a match. She didn't scream. She just stood there. In a middle of a Los Angeles sidewalk a woman burned and no one even flinced. That didn't particularly surprise me. It's Los Angeles, for Christ's sake. No one flinches. As soon as she was gone, I knew it was all true.

I could have walked away. I wasn't in deep enough at that point, it being my first day, but I didn't. I forgot my concern, ignored the feeling in my stomach that was telling me to walk away and I went to my office. My office. You would think that seeing a vampire burn on a person's very first day at a new job would turn them off of it, wouldn't you? Something about it got to me, though. I'm not entirely sure what. I just knew that if this firm had the power to make people burn in broad daylight, if they had the power to force people to eat body parts, to have mind readers at their disposal, then it was a firm I wanted to be a part of.

And I still am.

Describe the place you grew up.

Large. Expensive. White floors, white walls, black furniture, chrome and steel appliances, a black marble fireplace in the living room, a white marble fireplace in the family room, a smaller white marble fireplace in the library and another white fireplace -- although I'm not sure what this one was made of -- in the study. There were no carpets. My mother hated carpets, rugs, tapestries, she hated all of those. She liked clean, smooth lines, unbroken surfaces, shiny metal and rock. She liked it cold. And no, that isn't some ridiculous analogy for my home life. Our house was literally kept as cool as possible without freezing the staff.

Los Angeles was nice enough. Warm, hot, dry, but there was always the outdoor pool for the days I wanted some sun and the indoor pool on those days when it was simply too hot to fathom swimming outside. Six car garage and one of those cars was mine before I could even drive. I knew it was mine, my parents made no attempt to hide it. On the day I got my license they simply handed me the keys. No word of congratulations or even a smile. Just the keys. I was happy enough with that.

I liked it. I genuinely liked it. It was nice and I was rich, so it was everything I felt I needed. Everything I felt I deserved. It was smooth, cool and unbreakable. I liked that about my home.

What is the biggest obstacle you have overcome in your existence?

My biggest obstacle? Pick one. Lindsey McDonald, Gavin Parks, Linwood Murrow.

The first two were nothing, really. Minor obstacles. Pathetic competition. Barely even worthy. But they prepared me for the others. For Linwood. I did everything for that man. I was loyal to him when I hadn't been loyal to anyone in years. I gave him my all. I gave his company and his projects every bit of my attention and I worked my ass off for him. Did he ever thank me? Did he ever offer me a promotion? A bigger office? No, he only threatened me and used me to take the fall when he fucked up.

He liked to speak of my failures. My failures. As if his failure to bring in Angel and Connor wasn't the biggest one of all. Linwood liked to pit me against Gavin, as if Gavin was actually worth being pitted again. When I spent hours in that building working to make him look good, he continually brought up everything I had ever done wrong. And then I started sleeping with Wesley and who knows why that drove Linwood so nuts. Maybe he was ridiculous enough to think he had a shot or maybe he just didn't like that my attention was finally focused on something beyond his slimy little world. So I spoke with the Senior Partners. Mr Suvarta, to be exact and together we decided that the best way to deal with this particular obstacle was to dispose of him.

So I disposed of him and took his position within Wolfram and Hart.

I don't overcome obstacles. I simply remove them.

Current Mood: determined

She calls Alan a day late on purpose, already on her way to his hotel when she does. She told David to call her if he wanted to come to dinner as well, although after his traumatizing accident with Ronald McDonald, he doesn't seem too interested in eating out anymore. Still, it's Alan's birthday -- well, it was... yesterday -- and she did get him drunk last year, so it seems only natural to do it again.

"You're getting old," she says when he answers the phone. "I'm coming to get you."

Current Mood: calm

If you could meet any famous personality, living or dead, and smack them in the head with a large trout, who would it be?

I truly see no point to this moronic question, but I suppose sometimes the things they ask us have to appeal to those who are completely brain dead, which would account for more than half the people I work with and the majority of the world's population.

I also don't understand why there's such a fascination with trout. It's a fish. Why so specific? Why not just 'smack them in the head with a weapon of your choosing'?

But, in the spirit of the question and in the terribly unlikely situation I would even bother to touch a trout, let alone hit someone with it, I'd probably choose to hit Tom Cruise.

Too bad he's a client.

As if you didn't know. His behaviour lately has been demonic enough to let the whole world know his little secret, if you ask me.

Current Mood: aggravated

At what moment in your life did you feel most proud?

Pride isn't exactly a foreign emotion to Lilah. It's her very favourite of the deadly sins, although it had been neck in neck with wrath for a few years and, for the short while she'd been in Wesley's bed, there was a fleeting interest in lust. In the end, though, pride wins. Pride always seems to win.

She's proud of countless things. Thing she'll never admit to being proud of. She's proud of Billy's blood on her hands, she's proud of Linwood Murrow's death on her shoulders. Sure, there was hell after she died -- a place she'll fight tooth and nail not to go back to again -- but she would have gone there anyway. Billy and Lindwood were two just more sins in a long line of wrong doings. Killing Billy had made her feel invincible, and Linwood ... well, that had just been fun and she'd pulled it off so well.

She's proud that she's come this far, especially considering she's supposed to be dead. She's proud of herself, and proud of David, for making it through the wedding without anyone being shot, stabbed or otherwise injured. There are no words for her to explain how proud she was when David broke free of Krycek.

When it comes down to it, though, even being killed doesn't compare to what happened with Angelus. It's been a little over a year since he broke into her law office, killing half the people who worked there just to get to her and she doesn't talk about it anymore. She talked about it once. To Alan and Kitty, to David and she didn't feel any better after talking about, so she just stopped. But she's proud of herself for surviving that. For not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. For taking action and making sure he could never again touch her or the people she cared about.

And sometimes she still needs the pills and vodka in order to sleep, but she survived. That's what she's proud of.

Current Mood: determined

If you could only carry one memory with you into the afterlife, which would you choose?

Jesus. You think they'd seek some guidance from a person who's been there before they start making assumptions about the afterlife. Even in hell, you get to keep most of your memories, kids. I mean, how are you going to torture yourself by reliving your past mistakes and regrets over and over again without your memories? It'd be impossible. They'd have to come up with some new and exciting way to torture you and believe me when I tell you that whoever runs hell is far too lazy to do that. Why torture a person physically when they can torture themselves emotionally until the end of time?

What amuses me most is that every person who answers this question seems to assume that afterlife means heaven. Here's another little tidbit of breaking news: Not everyone goes to heaven, so even if you manage to make it to the afterlife, you might end up going to hell. While you're all waxing nostalgic about the beautiful smiles and sunrises and hugs and puppies you'd like to take with you, I'm forced to wonder how many of you will actually get into heaven. Seems there's an abundance of real bad people around these parts.

And guess what? They don't let you keep the good memories in hell. So all your fairy tales tend to disappear really fucking quickly.

In the spirit of the question, though, I'll give you my answer.

I'd want to remember the first breath I took after coming back. It's funny, I'm still not entirely sure why I was brought back. To run the East Coast division of Wolfram and Hart? Well, maybe, but there's nothing definite. I've never been told.

But that first breath. I imagine it was worth remembering.

I wish I did.

Current Mood: bitchy

What is your worst character flaw?

Well ... I'm evil.

Besides that? I'm arrogant, selfish, a liar, vain, stubborn, relentless, corrupt, vicious, easily angered and my morals have mostly died off in the past few years.

Wait, another one. I'm a lawyer. That has to be considered a character flaw. At the very least, a testament to my lack of morals.

My friends are all arrogant, selfish liars. Another flaw.

I'm certain that the worst, by far, is the fact that I'm evil. What else could it be? Wouldn't evil be the root of all my other flaws? The cause of everything else that's considered undesirable in my character? I could blame my arrogance on being evil. I could blame being a liar on being evil. It's an all-encompassing flaw, really. And when you label yourself as evil, or when someone else does it for you, you can get away with anything. People tend to just brush it off and say to themselves, "Oh, well, she is evil. It's practically expected that she would do something horrible every hour on the hour."

Yeah. I had to look deep into my soul to answer this one.

Current Mood: bitchy

If you could trade lives with someone for a day who would it be and what would you do?

I'm not completely sure I understand why anyone would want to trade lives with another person for a day. To effectively destroy them? To gain some kind of appreciation for their inner workings? The question says 'trade lives' not 'trade bodies' or even 'trade brains'. I read that as two people simply living each others' lives for a day. David could go to the office for me and run Wolfram and Hart. I'd stay home and paint. Although I can guarantee I'd end up with nothing that resembles the paintings David comes up with. But we would not live in the others' body for the day. That isn't the question. Trading lives with a vampire doesn't make you a vampire. It just makes you stupid.

Trading lives doesn't give you an all access pass to someone's innermost feelings. Most people who have answered this question don't seem to get that. Then again, I'm not entirely sure why I'm surprised. Most people, in my experience, are morons. Which might explain why I'm not too keen on switching lives with any of them.

In the end, though, if I could and if I had to, I'd probably choose Buffy Summers. See how the other side lives.

Current Mood: apathetic

The Wedding!

No one's been injured. Yet.

I don't get nervous.

Lilah Morgan doesn't get nervous.

I do not get nervous.

...

I would really rather be drunk right now.

Current Mood: nervous

What is so important to you that without it, life would not be worth living? Why?

I'm not going to pretend that I'm above everyone else (although we all know that I am) and say that material possessions don't mean anything to me. They do. They mean a lot. My house, my car, my office, my shoes, my clothing. It's all important. Would I want to live my life if I were poor? Or if I had to live in a crummy apartment and wear horrible things like jeans and sweatpants. And sneakers? Good god, no thank you. I'd rather be dead than ever be caught wearing such things.

Shallow? Yeah, absolutely. Anyone who ever told you I was otherwise was full of shit.

Oh, and David, of course. That's a given.

Current Mood: bored

Alan is still unconscious, which she's very thankful for. He's bleeding a little, but it looks like he's taken a beating from someone else, so she's not particularly worried. David looks more stressed than anyone, but he was the one carrying sixteen year old Alan over his shoulder.

The warehouse that Tucker told them to meet him at wasn't hard to find and Lilah pulls the car in.

"Get him, will you?" she asks David, turning off the car and gesturing at Alan.

Current Mood: rushed

Tucker?

Lilah. My husband is hysterical, the best man is a sixteen year old boy. We have two other sixteen year old boys, both of whom are cops.

Fix this and you have the job. Not only do you have the job, but I will guarantee you the best perks we have to offer.

Wolfram and Hart is at your disposal.

Just fix it.

Before April 2.

Current Mood: stressed