BLACK CLOUDS AND UNDERDOGS ; p

[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"]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."

[BASTILLEPAW]

AND I'M A LOSER IF THAT MEANS I'VE BEEN LOST BEFORE

Bastille wondered, idly, if he should give a single fuck when he felt the force of Suiteheart's anger come rolling through the basement. He knew she was headed in his direction, could practically taste the violence radiating down the halls, and he knew exactly why she was coming, but there was just... nothing. Margaery's visit had been tiring in a very off-hand fashion: she was annoying and her dramatic departure had left a bad taste in his mouth, as if he'd wasted just a little too much energy doing useless things that day. He rolled his eyes skywards at the sudden pounding at his door, and opened it with the same disinterested look he'd given her darling wife.

"Suiteheart," he drawled, flat, "Do what do I owe this displeasure?" He arched a brow at her, evidently unimpressed with the heat of her self-righteous fury, and certain not in the slightest bit concerned about what she had to talk with him about. Something in him screamed that he should care, but he didn't have it in him. She was the one who'd forced her way into his circle and then turned on him, after all, and therefore he was perfectly content to force her back out.

[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGS

[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"]The door opened, and the unimpressed look upon his features almost set her off. Almost. She was already disgusted with this whole show. She was completely fed up with the way he was acting. He was arrogant, self-center, moody, so fucking judgmental of those who were trying to help him, and he couldn't accept tough love. 'Look in the mirror lately, Suite?' her mind jabbed at her, and she cut down the thought immediately. Maybe she was a hypocrite. Hell, there was no 'maybe.' She was. She'd admit it. But that wasn't why she was here.

"Mm, you've brought this displeasure on yourself, Basty Boy," Suiteheart pointed out. Her tone was freezing, lacking in the heat of rage that rolled away from her being. She quite literally pushed her way into his room, not bothering to ask for permission. It was best not to let this spill out into the open like so much of her private life often did. Once inside, she turned, facing him. Her eyes were cold steel, but the anger was now mixed with disappointment - both at herself and at him.

"How could you speak to Margaery like that?" she demanded. She couldn't understand it. She didn't really want to understand it either. "I know we've both wronged you, but that was fucked up." She shook her head, and for the first time, she finally felt all the weight of things between them. Her fury was rising again though. She could feel it burning inside of her throat. She could feel the fire flickering to life inside of her chest. "You know, I don't put a lot passed you - because, my God, do you remind me of myself - but that? That was a low fucking blow. Even for you."