"Ahhhhh!" Felicity screamed in frustration, grabbing her head and shaking it like a snow globe. She jerked into a straight posture for a second, falling straight back into her couch. The wavy pink skirt, full of grace, flowed beautifully around her in her fury. Her pink shirt, that matched the skirt perfectly, was cut in a humble V across her chest.
Diggle recognized this dress, though he'd never seen it. Her dead grandmother, Moa, a big bully, took a liking to the fragility of Felicity in her young age, Felicity had told him. Grandma Moa liked to bully Felicity, and shower her with gifts at the same time. Moa's unspoken belief was that that excused any mistreatments, of course. Until her dying day Moa had never mentioned regret. Neither did Moa make any comment to prove she held the tinest bit of love for her grandchild. After Moa died, Felicity tossed all her gifts, all except the skirt. Felicity had been grinning unabashedly, looking at a flamming red gorgeous sunset, and said, small arms crossed against her waist, "It's the prettiest thing I own. But it's so heavy, covered up in Moa's hate. But I'm saving it, just in case there's a special occasion I need to be in my best for.". It had been a secret just between the two of them. She made Diggle swear not to tell anyone, especially Oliver.
Diggle watched Felicity now, the memory strong in his mind.
"Ahhhhh!" She screamed. "That I-D-I-O-T!"
"Calm down." Diggle advised, a little alarmed.
"I'll KILL HIM! I SWEAR!" Felicity ran her hands across her face and sobbed. She'd been doing that a lot lately.
"You're just being irrational." Diggle remarked, trying to whip her back into "Felicity-shape". But this seemed to be the wrong thing to say.
Felicity refocused her ultra-blue glare on Diggle. Her voice changed tempo, slowing from seething to quiet deadliness. "Am I, Diggle? Am I being irrational? Do you know what day it is?"
Felicity stood up, her gorgeous pink skirt letting her appear a sweet fairy. It complimented her delicate, yet tall, legs. The high-heeled golden stiletos, bedazzled by semiprecious rubbies, pointed out her cute feet, and the $100 dollar frosty-pink peticure. She smelled good, too. It was a pricey scent of pinapple and something else that made Diggle want to get up close. Someone had curled her blonde hair and done an excellent job, too. And her eyes were highlighted by purple eyeshadow shimmer, her full lips the same excellent pink as her manicure. In the middle of her neck a choke-collar necklace glittered with a simply over-Diggle's-pay-grade ruby. But the ruby couldn't stand up to Felicity's anger sparkling through her eyes, or her fury just radiatinh off of her perfumed skin, like heat off the stars.
Diggle tried to help it, but he took a step back anyway. Though his face was an impassive wall of calm, inside broiled a green slime of guilt. She could have slapped him, and he would have immidiately forgiven her. But he could not forgive Oliver.
What Felicity did do was worse. Capable of nothing but to watch, Diggle saw the pure anger and sadness shut off, again. He raised his eyebrows. She was doing it, again. He called it the lightbulb effect. On: anger, sadness. Off: nothing.
She just starred, vacantly. Her whole body asking "Why am I here? What was I doing seconds ago? I'm going to go make brownies."
Diggle held out his arm, gesturing to her. "Honey, come'ere."
Felicity dutifully stumbled towards him, like a lost toddler. Her lower lip stuck out, her makeup now completly ruined. But she still looked drop dead gorgeous, Diggle thought. Diggle caught her back, wrapping her in a hug. Her strong arms encircled his neck, tight. There was an intake of sharp breath. Then Felicity sobbed into his shoulder. The light bulb was back on.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid man. Why did he have to die? WHY!? WWHHYYY!" Felicity screamed.