who'd you think you'd fool baby | open + :fire: :rose:

[BASTILLEPAW]

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

[div style="line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; color: black; padding-top: 10px; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]
When all else fails, Bastille likes to pretend that reading actually calms him down. It doesn't always have a therapeutic effect, but sometimes it can help. Today, however, he couldn't seem to get anything under control. Even his old fucking powers were on the fritz, leaving the bengal randomly disappearing either entirely or partially as he moved through camp. His invisibility was clearly fucking around, there had already been three earthquakes that morning, a brief flash of rain, and random things kept conjuring up at his paws. He tripped over a book earlier that decided to appear directly under his paw as he was walking, like fuck, really? He was getting sick of the strange looks thrown his way, so eventually the corporal decided to get the fuck outta Dodge and get some air.

At some point, he ended up by Margy's garden. It was highly possible he was just subconsciously seeking her out, honestly -- he tends to take comfort in her and Suite's presence, using them in the same way he used Luna as a comfort zone. For a while there, before Tanglefuck took her, he'd gone to find her whenever his temper was flaring and asked to patrol with her, or train, or anything. Now he tended to just follow her around anyway, lest she wander into danger again.

The ground kept cracking under paw as he walked. They were fine, slender lines that branched off only a short distance, but still -- it was starting to annoy the fuck out of him. Frustrated, he tried to concentrate on the ground, to force it to bend to his will, but the harder he glared the larger the cracks seemed to get with each step. "God damnit," he hissed, smacking at the cracks with an paw, as if hitting it would make any difference.

Instead, all he got was a minor rumble of an aborted earthquake -- and behind him Margy's roses went up in flames.

Bastille jerked around in alarm at the sudden burst of warmth, and swore under his breathe. "Fuck, no, bad, stop that," he hissed, frantically trying to reign the fire back in as he batted at the flames with a paw, "Stop, stop, stop-- fucking hell, why doesn't this shit ever listen--" He was getting more and more frustrated, trying to force water to conjure at his command, or simply to get the flames to listen, but it seemed his frustration was only making things worse. The flames leaped higher, and the ground started to shake under paw once more.

[Margaery]

Once upon a time, Margaery had taken care of a large rose garden she had appropriately deemed 'Highgarden'. She had poured her heart and her soul into the flowers that she had grown with so much love, watering them daily, trimming their weeds, and even cultivating the land in which they lived upon so that visitors might comfortably appreciate them as well. It was her favorite place to be- a sanctuary for her when things got to be too much... and then it was burnt to the ground like it was nothing. She remembered that day vividly, how it felt like her heart was being wrenched from her chest as delicate petals were reduced to ashes. She remembered how the smoke filled her lungs, strangling the life out of her just as it was done to her roses.

What a shame that history had to repeat itself.

The moment she smelt the aroma of burning flowers, she knew something was wrong. Her roses had just begun to bloom too, delicate blossoms sporting all different shades.. her geraniums and lilies were thriving as well- a happy family of flowers that would be nothing but a memory if she didn't get there fast enough. But her lungs weren't cooperating and as much as she wanted to sprint to the scene, she could only go for a short distance without getting winded.

Luckily, she made.

Unluckily, most of the damage had been done.

What surprised her most though was who was at the center of it all. Bastillepaw had been the culprit this time and for some reason, that hurt her more than watching her precious flowers wilt away into nothing.The smoke was once again filling her lungs and she had strayed too close to an open flame, her heart skipping a beat in her chest. She couldn't do this... not anymore.

[color=#b14767]"How could you?" She spluttered, finding that it was getting significantly harder and harder to breathe. She wanted to try to salvage something, anything, but she couldn't... her vision was already darkening, her poor lungs unable to continue to supply oxygen to her brain.

[color=#b14767]"W-Why?"

And then, Margaery fainted.

[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 smell of burning makes him stop in his tracks. It's hefty in his nose, the smell of destruction and waste. It was something he had come to be quite familiar with, for better or for worse. For a moment, he's worried that Roy had gone and set something ablaze, so he turns tail and runs to the scene, following his nose.

Hughes is led to the garden, which he had unfortunately not seen before it was ruined by the flames. He doesn't have time to admire the remaining plants, though, as Margaery's limp body catches his eye. Of course, he can only assume the worst. His eyes settle on Bastille then and they harden into a glare, one that's full of distrust and suspicion.

He remembers the incident a while ago, with the storm and fire. But still, he can't help coming to the conclusion that he had done it with some ounce of meaning. He wasn't sure how these powers worked, as the closest thing he had seen before was alchemy, and even then it was different in a lot of ways. But he can't dwell on that for long. Again his gaze moves to the female and he quickly goes to her side.

"Margaery? Margaery, it'll be alright. We'll get you some help," he isn't sure what had happened or why she was unconscious. Either way, he knew they were gonna need someone--fast. But he didn't trust the bengal at all right now, so leaving them alone wasn't much of an option. So he opts to yell out towards anyone who may be nearby. "Someone! We need help over here!"

[Character Graveyard.]

LUNAFREYA N.F.

✯ — take these broken wings and learn to fly

space

Led to the scene by the smell of burning flowers, Luna would look around in her concern for her Clanmates before she saw her apprentice. He had been moody recently and she was worried about him.

"Get Radeken!" Lunafreya would tell Maes before she took a seat beside Margaery. "Bastille, what happened?"

space

✯ — Luna. The Ascedants. Easy. — ✯

#psychosocial.

[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"]Fire. Suiteheart was no stranger to the element. She had spent many nights curled up beside a campfire in her travels. She had attended many parties where campfire pits were alight. She had also huddled around many small flames, listening to stories from lands far off, laughing with her friends. The only time she had ever seen fire out of control was when someone had burned Margaery's garden to a crisp in the middle of the night.

The blaze had been wild, furious, born from hate or mischief or both. It terrified her. And the scariest part about the inferno was that Margaery stood in its wake, too upset to move. Her eyes had been wide and crying, and Suiteheart remembered the way the fire seemed to be trapped in Margaery's gaze. If she thought long enough on it, she could still feel her fur burning as she dragged Margaery away from the raging blaze. She could still smell the smoke, and she could still taste the ash that choked her. That had been one hell of a night, and she had hoped to never experience something like that again.

But hoping and getting what you hoped for were two different things.

The familiar scent of ash drifted towards her, and her look hardened. In her bones, she could feel that this was Margaery's budding garden. She knew it. It had to be what this inferno was, there was no other way around it. The chocolate point was not lucky enough to have her garden spared.

Large paws hurried for the scene, and she arrived as Bastille was cursing. In horror, Suiteheart witnessed Margaery faint. The polar bear rushed forward, moving passed Maes and Lunafreya, eyes wild with worry. "Nononono," she whispered, picking her wife up. The smoke was killing her, depriving her of oxygen. She needed to be moved. Tears pricked at her eyes as she hurried to move Margaery upwind of the flames and smoke.

She could not... She would not lose her again.

The mighty creature trembled like a terrified child, and she could not remember what to do in these situations. Her mind and heart were racing. After placing Margy a safe distance away from the smoke so that she may breathe, Suiteheart gently shook her wife. "W-wake up, Margaery," she pleaded though her voice was small. [color=#73B1B7][b]"S-someone, do some-something now! Help me, please!"

[Margaery]

[align=center]

MARGAERY MIKAELSON

Margaery, to her knowledge, had never fainted before. She was acutely aware of the turmoil transpiring outside of her body, but found herself appreciating the peaceful weightlessness she felt as she floated deeper and deeper into the black of her subconscious. Her chest was barely rising and falling, only the slight movement betraying the fact that she was indeed still alive... that her lungs had not ceased in their function just yet.. but other than that, she was as still as any presumed deceased creature might be.

She quite liked the lack of responsibility and stress she felt and wondered why she had not encountered these feelings before. You haven't had many run ins with smoke since the original incident, Her mind supplied lazily, though Margaery lacked the comprehension to understand. She supposed that she should trust whatever her conscience told her. In this state of blissful ignorance, the "awake" part of her brain was the only thing keeping her rooted to the real world, preventing her from teetering over into the abyss of, well, death.

Suddenly, she was painfully aware of the feeling of being moved, once muddled, clouded thoughts becoming sharper and sharper- easier to understand. Was she returning to the concious world? Was she ready for that?

"W-wake up, Margaery."

There was a voice, a familiar, calming, wonderful voice and she, in spite of her strong desire to remain peacefully existing inside of her own head, began struggling to return to the real world. Stormy eyes would flutter open and she, confused, sick from smoke, and a bit delirious saw Suite only as the feline she remembered her most fondly as- not the bear that had saved her.

"Suite..." She coughed softly, wincing as a sharp pain radiated through her chest, [color=#b14767]"Save the lilies, okay?" Those were the only flowers she cared about and she was unaware that they'd already been claimed by the flames- just as she and Lil's relationship had been. Oh well, it'd do her no favors to fret about something that was already gone and there was blackness again, eating at the corners of her vision.

She had been strong enough to regain her consciousness but her lungs were growing fatigued and now, all she wanted to do was sleep.

So amidst the chaos and the flames, she did.

[font=georgia][COLOR=black][size=14px]the ascendants [color=#b14767]| observer | wilting rose | vampire | tags

[Roy Mustang]

It seems like Bastillepaw has been on fire lately with his elemental powers. The smell of charred wood and smoke has been invading his nostrils far too often lately. Roy wasn't getting disgusted by the smell if anyone was concerned; Roy was used to smelling even worse kind of smells. For example, burning corpses, that smells far worse than burning flowers. Roy knew that this had to do with Bastillepaw, lately the kid has been quite a fireball and has been becoming a nuisance to the melanistic bobcat. With a sigh escaping his jaws, the flame alchemist followed the smell of the smoke, and walked in right in the middle of a dramatic scene. Bastillepaw was burning some roses, and apparently Margaery didn't take it very well, considering she apparently fainted on the ground. Those roses must have been important to her.

The roses are most likely too destroyed to be restored to their original state. But he could at least stop the small fire, if that would make Margaery happy. Without saying a word, the male would snap his paws, attempting to 'deconstruct' or manipulate the oxygen in the small fire to cause it to go out. He didn't bother to ask for permission from Bastillepaw, as he assumed he didn't have control over it. His gaze quickly snapped onto Margaery, his ears pricking up at her raspy voice. Alright, so she is now awake, that's good. But a medic is still needed most likely, it's not good that she fainted. "Go get Radeken!" The flame alchemist commanded at a npc who had been watching nearby, who quickly nodded and ran off.

He then looked over towards Bastillepaw with narrowing, blue eyes. "What the hell happened here, Bastillepaw? You underestimated yourself again with your fire power, am I right?" He questioned with a calculating tone, ears drawing back to his head.

[BASTILLEPAW]

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

[div style="line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; color: black; padding-top: 10px; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]
Of course Margy would be the first one to find him. Of course it would be her, arriving as the corporal glared and fumed and struggled to force the flames to just listen to him this once. What he wasn't anticipating was the accusation in her voice, the assumption that he had meant to do this for some god awful reason. "Wait, Margy, no--" he said desperately, jerking after her as she lunged for the roses, but he was too afraid to touch her; not when the ground was splintering under his paws in fine cracks and everything he touched seemed to be going up in flames lately. "Margy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-- they won't stop-- Get away from the flames, Margy, stop, you can't save them--"

And then she fainted, and Bastille lunged forward without thinking, shaking her gently as he swore, "Fuck, Margy, come back--" There were others there, he could feel their auras, and there was Suite; Bastille seemed to remember himself and the threat he posed, and he shifted back a step, letting Suite take her and move her away from the smoke. Bastille trailed a few steps behind her, glancing towards the others before he turned a pathetic stare on Suite. "Suite, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, and she wouldn't listen to me--"

The fireball was disheveled, his frustration and guilt eating away at him; Bast tended to seem like he didn't get a damn about anything, caring that apathy that only gave way in the face of anger, but this was different. This was Bastille looked vaguely unhinged, the ground starting to shake underpaw as he stared at Margy, leaning forward slightly as she spoke only to take a step back once more when Roy appeared. Gods, he fucking hated that it was so easy for him, and Bastille looked morose as Roy turned on him. He had never seemed as young as he did in that moment, muttering, "No. I was just trying to get the ground to stop doing this shit," he made a sweeping gesture towards the fucking cracks that seemed to be sprouting in his steps, "And instead, this happened." He glared viciously towards the charred garden, as if somehow it was at fault here, and the wind swirled in response to his distress.

[imperia]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]Flame paints the sky a dull orange. Smoke permeates the air, polluting the lungs of everyone nearby. Someone wails, perhaps mourning the loss of something important, or the memory of something terrible. It’s bad. Wrong. Dangerous. All Imperia can think about is the chaos of a week before. Did the mass slaughter of her friends only happen a couple of days ago? It feels like ages since the Hart’s chest exploded in front of her, painting the albino female’s pristine pelt a dark crimson. Eons have passed since she darted over and around patches of flame consuming her home, leaping over the fallen bodies of her people. Animals, fae, and mystical creatures alike all fell. Fear propelled her into a sprint for her life. She did not even notice when the jaws on a hound clamped around her hind-leg. She kicked backwards on instinct and kept running. The adrenaline numbed everything. Every wound, every sight, every sound.

Peri shakes her head, chasing away the dark memories. Somewhere, there are people who need her help. She cannot allow the memory of fire and smoke to lead down a path from which she cannot return. The doe cannot carry water—it simply is not within her physical ability to grasp a container with enough capacity to do any good. However, she does possess some knowledge of healing in case anyone might require her assistance, so the lovely female slings a pack around her torso containing various tools of basic healing and races in the direction of the fire. ”Is everyone alright? What happened?” questions the fae as she bursts onto the scene, nimbly avoiding the assembled creatures with the characteristic grace of a deer. Immediately, she notices that the flames she detected earlier no longer burn, leaving behind a vacant landscape. Only the skeletons of the garden remain. How tragic, it must have been so beautiful.

Next, the girl notices that no one seems injured. Physically, at least. That is always a plus. However, it appears that Margaery has fainted for reasons unknown. Unable to resist the urge to care for someone in need, Imperia is drawn to the feline’s side. ”Is she alright?” the doe looks to Suiteheart, concern distorting her angelic visage. Large, argentium eyes shine as if she is close to tears. Peri knows that Margy is probably alright physically, and that all she needs is a bit of love and moral support from those close to her, but she needs to ask. It’s the right thing to do. ”Pehaps I can prepare a tea for when she wakes? To help soothe her?” it’s posed as a question, because even though Peri is sure that a nice calming tea will help, the anxiety that she might get something wrong or people will disagree cause her to take a position which will allow some sort of denial to her offer. She cannot be wrong if she does not claim to be right.

Her attention is redirected to Bastillepaw, whom she effectly overlooked at first amidst her own worry, by the rather harsh line of questioning from Roy. Or maybe it’s the way the wind whips across the courtyard, angrily tugging at fur. ”It was an accident,” reassures Imperia in a soft, yet firm, tone as she pushes herself up into a standing position. She gazes at Roy with conviction—she believes in her words. There is no way that Peri can know that the whole fiasco was an accident, but from based on Bastille’s obvious distress and frustration, her heart tells her that it must have been out of the poor boy’s control. ”Clearly he feels awful about it, so let’s skip the interrogation and focus on making sure that Margaery is alright.” Margy does not need to awake to people bickering and arguing. Furthermore, Imperia gets the sense that Bastille needs to calm down. The more worked up he gets, the more out of control his powers become. She offers the aforementioned male a reassuring smile. ”Do not beat yourself up too much. You can always make it up to her later.” Helping to replant, cleaning up the mess, repairing the damage. Once everyone has calmed, Imperia is sure that Bast can makes amends with Margaery, and work to repair the garden.

/ in class, sorry if this makes no sense

[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"]"Suite... Save the lilies, okay?"

"O-Of course," she rumbled, lingering just a hair, watching her wife. Margaery's breathing was slow, painful. She wanted to stay, to make sure the love of her life was okay, but she knew Margy was in good hands. So many others had gathered around, and the outpouring of love made her feel relieved. A few more seconds ticked by, and then she turned and ran toward the blaze.

The first feeling was warmth. It was welcoming. It extended a kind hand, offering a place for Suiteheart to rest. And then, all at once, it became violent. The heat was overwhelming, and the smoke was almost worse. The fire lapped at her paws, burning them. Her white fur grew dark with ash and the ends of her snowy coat burned. Everything in her screamed to run, but she had a job, and she would rather die than fail it.

As quickly as she could, she dug up the lilies. By the grace of God, Bastillepaw's fire had not yet destroyed the delicate plant entirely. Embers burned holes in the leaves and broke a flower head here and there, but the flower was intact and alive. Holding her breath and feeling lightheaded, the polar bear escaped with the symbol of her daughter - their daughters. And just when she thought she could hold her breath no longer, the fire vanished.

Roy was always there just in the nick of time.

Shaky paws brought her back to the gathered group. She set the flowers down, inhaling as much clean air as she could afterwards. The young boy's words reached her as she began coughing and sputtering, and she simply shook her head.

"Ac-" she coughed, "Accidents happen, kiddo. You're okay. Margy'll be okay." Despite her words, there was pain in her eyes. She did not and would never blame Bastille for this, but this incident scared her more than she dare put into words. This was reliving a nightmare all over again. This was the worst reoccurring dream.

The look on Bast's face made her chest ache. So often, she could easily forget that he was just a kid. He was so confident, so brave. But now, he looked like a terrified kitten, and there was something so incredibly heart-wrenching about that. Suiteheart placed a paw on his shoulder, a silent gesture to reaffirm her words: it was okay and she forgave him.

As Roy began to chew him out, she continued coughing, but she tried to silence it. "Roy, he just needs a good teacher, that's all." Even though Bastillepaw was at fault for this, he was not entirely to blame. He had not the ability to control his elemental powers, and he was in desperate need of a teacher who would show him the way. "Imperia's right - it was just an accident. And he's still just a kid... Maybe... Maybe you could help teach him?"

She figured it might be a long shot, but why not try? That was all they could do anyways. "And Roy? Thank you." Her words were rough sounding as her throat felt like it was still burning, but her tone was sincere as could be. She meant it from the bottom of her heart, and her expression showed just how grateful she was.

Dark eyes then turned on Imperia, and she nodded. "Tea would be great. Maybe something with camomile and honey?" Calming and soothing. Perhaps the angelic doe could whip something up. She offered her a small, thankful smile.

Suiteheart then looked at Margaery. She prayed to everything she could think of that her wife would recover nicely, but that was perhaps wishful thinking. Still, she offered Margy a gentle yet pained smile. [color=#73B1B7][b]"I-I saved the lilies... I wanted to save the roses too, but I wasn't fair enough. I'm s-sorry."