I FIGHT PAIN AND HURRICANES | open + mass chaos

[BASTILLEPAW]

[div style="background-color: white; width: 100%; font-family: Georgia; color: #576a6e; text-align: center; margin: auto"]BASTILLEPAW AURELIUS  ✧
the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags

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[ tl;dr: bast encounters imaginary indigo once more, and she a) makes echo feel bad again for not saving her and b) pissed bastille off by talking about luna and beck. bast basically succumbs to all of his emotions, and the headaches/excess energy he's had for months now come to a head as his elemental powers literally explode. see last two paragraphs for current state of affairs and whatnot. chaos! chaoooos! ]

When Bastille slammed his door behind him, she was there again, watching him. "No," he said, flatly, staring straight through her as if the simple refusal alone could make her disappear. He felt off-kilter, shaking with the rage he'd forced himself to repress during Beck's arrival, during the meeting. Every time he looked at Luna, or Starry, or anyone, he felt it unraveling just a little more -- and with it, his sanity. His head was throbbing, his blood surging with too much energy, and he felt like the slightest little thing could push him over the edge. "No, goodbye, you are not real."

Indigo did not look impressed with this. She tilted her chin up slightly, those fathomless eyes narrowed and judgmental. There was the fierce healer that he knew her to be, proud and arrogant and full of scorn for her people. There was the beauty that he -- no, no, that Echo despised and loved all at once. "You didn't save me," she said, bitterly.

Something in him in him lurched, that agonizing pain lancing through him briefly, but Bastille clamped down on it viciously. The last time Indigo had made an appearance like this, he'd felt... lost, to say the least. Echo's memories and emotions had swept through him so swiftly, so acutely, as if the stealth-walker was living through him, somehow. He'd lost complete and utter control of himself, submerged in the past. Not this time, though. This time, Bastille was dangerously close to losing his shit, and the pure fury rolling through him kept his thoughts crisp, focused.

"You're dead," he snapped, wanting to turn and leave, but he felt rooted to the spot. He couldn't turn his back on her, inexplicably, and instead he said viciously, "You are dead, Indigo, and you've been dead for ages. I wasn't even alive to save you, so kindly fuck off. You're not even real." He knew that she wasn't a ghost with her own agency, wasn't something he could banish -- he knew that she was a product of his own mind, his own memories, that she was here for a reason. Still, he could try. He could pretend.

"You didn't save me, Echo," she repeated, taking a step towards him, and this was starting to sound eerily similar to last time. Bastille shut his eyes, trying to tune her out, but they snapped open once more when she added, "You didn't save her either, Bastille. Why didn't you save her?"

Last time, he had burst from his room, panicked and heartbroken and desperate to save her... Yelling that they go looking for her, for Indigo, demanding that they try to rescue her this time. It had taken him a few puzzled looks and frantic breaths before he came back to himself, shook off Echo's emotions from the past, and realized that he'd made a goddamn scene about a... hallucination? Almost immediately, however, Luna had come to mind and he'd started yelling at them all to help him look for Luna. Somehow, he knew that Indigo had arrived in response to his turmoil over his missing mentor, and somehow, he knew this time she was speaking of her again.

"Shut up," he said, quickly, taking a slight step backwards. He wasn't sure how it was that she managed to get under his skin last time, to unravel his sense of control, but he got the sudden, dangerous notion that she could do it again, that Luna was the key. "Shut up, Indigo, you aren't real and Luna is fine."

"You didn't even try to save her," the healer continued, unbothered by his interruption, her stare cruel. "You knew they had her, and you left her there. You know you could have taken her back. Why didn't you save her, Bastille? Why did you let Beck do that? Why didn't you save me?"

He could feel it, then -- the lurch of agony once more, the blur of emotions seeping into his own. He wasn't sure what it was that shook him so badly, but he could feel her throwing him off his game, feel her picking at his anger, his guilt; feel her prying Echo to the surface as well, capitalizing on both of their suffering.

"I looked everywhere," he hissed, unsure if he was talking about himself or Echo until he snapped, "What was I supposed to do, storm that goddamn swamp myself with no evidence? I told Starry to go after her, to ask Beck again, and we got her back. She is still alive." His tail lashed, and he added bitterly, "I looked for you, Indi, I tried -- I tried to save you--"

"But you didn't," she said savagely, cutting him off, and his heart wrenched with the reality that he hadn't. He couldn't do anything to save her, the one person he truly cared for, the only person who looked at him and saw who he was and leaned closer. She was simply gone, and no matter how hard he looked for her, how far he traveled, he never discovered what happened. He simply lost her, and the pain of it stabbed through him, even as she was growling, "And you didn't save her, either. Beck still tortured her. He still got exactly what he wanted from you. And now what? You're just going to let him get away with it? Would you have done the same if it were me, Echo?"

It didn't even matter what she called him at this point -- even mixing up the names, blurring the lines between her situation and Luna's, she had him. She had him ensnared, and Bast could feel his pulse speeding up, that anger and frustration and helplessness coiling deep in his gut as he burst, "I can't do anything about that! I have to listen to Starry, damnit, and even if he's a goddamn idiot about Beck there's nothing-- There's nothing I can fucking do, Indi! And I couldn't do anything for you, either! I couldn't do anything!"

His shouts did not phase her. She only looked on, still with that disapproving glare, that scorn, as he caught his breath, swallowed, struggled to get his flaring temper under control. He could feel a blur of emotions rumbling through him, his head aching as the pain in his temple seemed to throb in time with his frantic heart, and it was-- it was too much. He was guilty and angry and miserable and heartbroken and lost, drowning in the surge of sensation, in Echo's memories running through his head in tandem with his own, utter fucking chaos, and she was just--

She was just staring at him, impassive, as she asked his icily, "Then what are you good for? If you can't save anyone, what's the point? If you're just going to let me die, and let that idiot take your people, and do nothing -- what's the use, Bastille? Huh? You and your goddamn lot of souls aren't going to do anything to stop it--"

On and on, she spoke, rambling and attacking and reminding him over and over that he couldn't do anything to save her, to save Luna, that he was bound by Starry's goddamn rules and trapped. He was just so fucking angry, furious with Beck, burning with the raging desire to rip his goddamn throat out -- to burn Tanglewood to the ground, swamp and all -- to rip and shred and ruin whoever had tormented his mentor, had taken advantage of her confusion -- he wanted to scream and fight and sob, because there was the agony of losing Indi, too; the crushing reality that she was gone, that he had never even heard of her again, never managed to get closure, that he had failed her and failed Dawn; the burning anger he'd felt when he had come back and yelled at the Tribe for not helping him search for her, for abandoning their healer in her time of need, for being so useless -- it was all crashing through him at once, a storm of emotion, and she just kept talking and talking, rubbing it in --

"SHUT UP!" he screamed, losing it as she just kept talking, yanking on that fury deep in his soul that he'd buried for so, so long. He remember what it was like to be a kit, to feel so much anger all the time, the bitter resentment of his past lives ruling him until he somehow learned to stop hating. He remembered, and suddenly that was all there was -- agony and the white-hot flames of fury and frustration and all of that coiled, pent of excess energy that had been plaguing him for months erupting as he screamed and screamed and screamed.

And as he screamed, the world erupted. A storm slammed down on the Observatory within seconds, lightning striking the ground outside viciously as thunder clapped and rain poured down in sheets and the wind whipped viciously through the trees; the lights flickered and blinked in time with the pounding of his heartbeat and pain in his temple; the ground rumbled and shook with the force of an earthquake, splinting in fine cracks just beyond the observatory's walls; torrents of flames whisked into the air around him and spun rapidly, his pelt throbbing with that eery black glow once more -- and through it all, Bastille simply screamed, unleashing the energy and pain and anger that had been plaguing him all this time.

[Suiteheart]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]First, there was the screaming. There was something so haunting about it that it chilled Suiteheart to the very core of her being. It was equal parts sad and angry, the bitter screech of a soul trapped in anguish. Her heart went out to the pained creature; she -

She froze. Time stood still for a few moments as her brain processed the sound, and the conclusion it created was something that mentally and physically pained her. It was... That scream was from Bastillepaw. Her jaw clenched. She had never heard something so heart wrenching in all her days.

Despite the apocalyptic scene playing out in the Observatory's backyard, Suiteheart was no longer rooted. She was racing off in search of the Bengal. Worry was plastered on her alabaster features, and she prayed she reached him in time. The ground wobbled and seemed to sway, but she headed toward his room nevertheless.

When she reached the door, she had to shout over the cataclysmic thunder. "Bastille!" No answer. There was nothing that reached her besides his screams. Panic beat strongly in her chest while the lights flickered on and off. She waited approximately two seconds before she charged the door just enough to open it.

Dark eyes widened as she witnessed the flames and that sinister obsidian glow. "Bast...?" she rumbled, desperation in her voice. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to do. His screams continued, never faltering.

The large creature stepped forward, braving the fire and black glow. She stopped inches away from him before outstretching a paw to hopefully bring him forward for an embrace. For the life of her, she didn't know what to do but try to hold and console him.

[Roy Mustang]

[align=center][div style="width: 61%; text-align: justify; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: times new roman;"]A thrilling scream echoed throughout the observatory, causing the melanistic bobcat's ears to instantly pin against his skull. The screaming was quite loud, and unexpected, it was like the flame alchemist was covering his ears from it. The screaming did not stop, it sounded as if it was full of anguish and despair. Usually he would think someone would be getting physically attacked by that screaming, or were mortally injured, but this time it felt different. The anguish and agony that was within it, it really sounded like someone's soul was being torn into two.

And then it hit him, that scream- it was Bastillepaw. That little fucker, what the hell was going on with him? It was quite obvious that Roy and Bastillepaw didn't like each other. Bastillepaw thought Roy was shady as fuck, and Roy just found him to be quite aggravating. The two of them clashed often, despite how many times they've agreed on the same topics. Roy liked Fullmetal more than Bastillepaw, and that's saying something.

But just because he doesn't like Bastillepaw, he knew he couldn't just sit here and listen to the kid's screams. Bastillepaw was still a kid- and at times kids make stupid, rash decisions. And a lot of times those end up with them getting really hurt. He should check on the kid, see what's going on- before Bastillepaw hurts himself or worse. A huff of annoyance escaped Roy's jaws as he got up on his paws, and quickly made his way to where the commotion was.

Roy froze at the sight he saw- a complete mess, which consisted of an insane storm and an eerie black glowing on Bastillepaw's fur. The ground below him rumbled and shook, causing the flame alchemist to almost loose his balance. "What the hell is going on here?" The Flame Alchemist yelled out, as he managed to get his balance back to normal.

Not long after his fur was soaked with rain, and his ears pinned to his skull again as thunder clapped after lightning struck the ground, along with Bastillepaw's screaming. And then before he knew it, a torrent of flames began to whisk around Bastillepaw, and then he caught a glimpse of Suiteheart approaching the flames. She was probably trying to reach Bastillepaw, it looked like she was concerned for him, and wanted to help calm him down. The thing was, Suiteheart probably isn't going to be able to help calm Bastillepaw down with that torrent of flames in the way. She'll probably just get herself seriously burned if she tries to get any closer.

Usually, his flame alchemy is useless in the rain. He can't ignite flames with this rain pouring down on him, but he can manipulate the oxygen levels in those flames whisking around Bastillepaw in a rapid manner. It was apart of his flame alchemy- he has to understand the chemical makeup of it- the comprehension part of all alchemy. Comprehension, deconstruction, and reconstruction. Fire is primarily made out of carbon dioxide, water vapor, oxygen and nitrogen. He can deconstruct the oxygen in the flames- which should skill the fire. Without oxygen, the flames should die out.

The male quickly ran forward, as more rain soaked his fur, jumping in front of Suiteheart. "Wait, Suiteheart!" He yelled over the thunderous clapping, "You're going to get yourself burned if you get any closer, let me kill those flames first!"

And without another word, Roy rose his right paw into the air, flint claws exposed. Not a second went by as the male snapped, attempting to manipulate the oxygen within the flames, hoping to make the oxygen 'deconstruct' and no longer be of use to the flames. If successful, the rapid torrent of flames will die out.

[BASTILLEPAW]

[div style="background-color: white; width: 100%; font-family: Georgia; color: #576a6e; text-align: center; margin: auto"]WALKING STORM™
angstendants — #demotebast2k18 — rapsheet

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There was a moment of complete and utter stillness. The turmoil calmed, practically fucking vanished; the headache was suddenly gone, as if he'd taken 10 advils at once, and that steady buzz of excess energy just... left, all at once. It was all being released in the storm, as if his body had been holding all of this chaos back for months, letting the tension build up until he fucking exploded. It was strangely... cathartic.

Once it started, however, Bastille couldn't stop it. Even when the anger and pain left him, he kept screaming, as if he was just an extension of the storm he had brought. He had no real awareness of what he was doing; the storm was only a distant thing, the flames whipping around him mere background noise. There was nothing but the release, and his voice was going hoarse from the ungodly shrieking until there was just -- warmth.

The flames yielded to Roy's command without putting up a fight; it was not as if Bastille had any true control over them, nor did he even notice that they were gone. There was just the sudden impact of Suite hugging him, the surprise jolting him out of his near trance. The bengal blinked his eyes open, the yells dying in his throat, and was immediately blanketed in the calming familiarity of Suite's scent and aura. It was grounding, just as it always was, and crystal clear awareness hit him all at once.

Fuck. The storming -- he had no idea where the fuck that had come from, but the storm was still raging, the ground still shaking, and he registered Roy's presence at about the same time he realized that the flames were gone. Bastille mentally jerked on the storm, expecting it to react similarly to other powers, but there was no change in the raging winds or rain; instead, lighting struck somewhere in the distance once more, and he stared at Suite bleakly. "I can't stop it," he said, low, "Fuck, Suite, I can't stop it--"

The brief flare of panic made things worse, likely, but things were already so bad that it didn't make a fucking difference.

[Suiteheart]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Roy's words did not register in her mind. Or maybe they did. She wasn't sure, for she was too occupied with helping Bastillepaw. This kid... This was her kid. And it killed her soul to see him so upset. She wanted to put a stop to it; she wanted to make him believe everything would be okay, but how? She wasn't good at fixing things. She used to be, but her time alone had forced her into simply breaking them.

Her fur was only slightly burnt, but her mind was elsewhere. She didn't give a fuck. She just wanted Bastille to be okay. A slight gasp escaped her as Roy banished the flames, and she blinked her gratitude at the bobcat. "Thank you," she whispered, knowing that if he had not intervened, she very well might have been burnt to a crisp.

When he spoke, she shook her head. "It's okay. It's just a storm, it'll calm. You'll calm," she murmured, voice soft but heard over the raging weather outside. Lightning struck, loud and harsh, and her eyes left the boy for a split second. When she returned her gaze to him, she found herself checking him for any kind of injuries -- anything -- that would explain this. But she had not the ability to see inside him. She did not know of the swell of emotions inside of him that demanded to be loose.

"Just breathe, kiddo. You're alright." As she spoke, she continued to hold onto him. The embrace was just as much for him as it was for her. And it was only now that she allowed herself to shake a few times as the realization that something awful could've happen to him. The idea of losing Bastillepaw frightened her terribly. But as quickly as she began to shake, she forced the trembling away. She needed to focus on his betterment, not her own.

[guts]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 550px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; color: black; padding: 20px"]The screaming catches him off guard. His head whips around at the sound, startled by it's possible meaning. Was someone in trouble? It definitely didn't sound like it, containing more anger and sorrow than one of surprise or pain. But even so, he's hesitant to check out the source--especially when rain begins to pound down outside. He's shocked by the sudden weather change, as it moments ago it had been fairly cloudless outside. The lights flickered and caused his fur to stand on end. His hackles raised, confusion whirling heavy inside his mind.

Maes isn't sure what was going on, but something tempted him to go towards the screaming. He follows it and finds himself outside, the sight of a whirlwind of fire immediately catching his attention, despite the rain pouring down in heavy sheets. What the hell had this kid gotten into now? He had never been fond of Bastillepaw, either, not only because he was rude to one of his closest friends, but because of his bad attitude overall. Really, it would serve well to have some manners slapped into him.

Either way, he's still concerned for him, the sight and the sounds so unsettling to him. But there's not much he can do. He simply watches as Roy and Suite approach, heart heavy in his throat. They were going to get themselves hurt. Before he can rush forward and stop them, though, the fire is suddenly gone and he releases a small huff of relief.

The lab wastes no more time in hurrying over, wanting to make sure none was seriously hurt. Suite's fur was obviously burnt somewhat, but other than that, none seemed to be injured. He lets out the breath he had been holding, glancing over at Roy for a moment, his eyes asking the question he hadn't voiced. What the hell happened here? But evidently, his friend didn't know any better than he did.