06-29-2018, 07:11 PM
[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"]Suiteheart was fuming.
The rage she felt inside her chest had began as simple embers. Her inner fire would have likely stayed manageable if not somewhat smothered out had it not been for his meeting with Margaery; Bastille had been the accelerant. Margaery had sought him out and tried to repent for her actions, and he didn't want to hear it. He laid into Margy with terrible, terrible words. He brought up memories that should have remained untouched. He belittled and chided her. All the while, Suiteheart was forced to experience it through the bond she shared with Margy. So, Suite had sat and stewed and let her inner fire burn and burn and burn.
The Ecliptic Admiral had started the day wanting to apologize to Bastille herself, for the way she acted when he was drunk. Now, however, the white feline cast that aside. She didn't want to apologize. She wanted to scream and berate him. She wanted to make him wish he had never opened his fucking mouth to speak against Margaery. Deep down, she was hurting though. Her heart had been aching to repair the relationship with him, but she suppressed those feelings. Suite squashed her pain, replacing it with hell's fury.
If she had had fire elementals, flames would scorch the ground underfoot. Hot coals would pour from her mouth as she spoke. Her blue eyes, which should have been reminiscent of the sky or of water, blazed like a forest fire. She was an unrestrained inferno.
Heavy paw steps marched her to Bastilleprisoner's room, and she struck the door in three loud knocks. She inhaled deeply before exhaling. She was angry, perhaps too angry to handle this situation. Allowing herself to dial back her emotions, she let the ire within her cool momentarily. His words and reactions to whatever became of this would dictate her emotional responses.
"Bastilleprisoner," Suiteheart called, voice flat and freezing, "we need to chat."
The rage she felt inside her chest had began as simple embers. Her inner fire would have likely stayed manageable if not somewhat smothered out had it not been for his meeting with Margaery; Bastille had been the accelerant. Margaery had sought him out and tried to repent for her actions, and he didn't want to hear it. He laid into Margy with terrible, terrible words. He brought up memories that should have remained untouched. He belittled and chided her. All the while, Suiteheart was forced to experience it through the bond she shared with Margy. So, Suite had sat and stewed and let her inner fire burn and burn and burn.
The Ecliptic Admiral had started the day wanting to apologize to Bastille herself, for the way she acted when he was drunk. Now, however, the white feline cast that aside. She didn't want to apologize. She wanted to scream and berate him. She wanted to make him wish he had never opened his fucking mouth to speak against Margaery. Deep down, she was hurting though. Her heart had been aching to repair the relationship with him, but she suppressed those feelings. Suite squashed her pain, replacing it with hell's fury.
If she had had fire elementals, flames would scorch the ground underfoot. Hot coals would pour from her mouth as she spoke. Her blue eyes, which should have been reminiscent of the sky or of water, blazed like a forest fire. She was an unrestrained inferno.
Heavy paw steps marched her to Bastilleprisoner's room, and she struck the door in three loud knocks. She inhaled deeply before exhaling. She was angry, perhaps too angry to handle this situation. Allowing herself to dial back her emotions, she let the ire within her cool momentarily. His words and reactions to whatever became of this would dictate her emotional responses.
"Bastilleprisoner," Suiteheart called, voice flat and freezing, "we need to chat."
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[glow=black,10,100]GOT MY DEGREE IN THE GUTTER,[/glow]
[glow=black,1,100]MY HEART BROKEN IN THE DORMS OF THE IVY LEAGUE