Something sour twisted in her stomach at the tone of Flax’s reply. She was being unfair, probably, but there were few other ways to exorcise her frustrations; there were too many worse endings that Falon could have found the girl in. She jumped back from the door, reading in Flax’s stance and her eyes that she wanted something destructive. She winced at the sound of slamming even so, the crash jarring into her teeth, giving her irritation something physical to echo within. Falon grimaced at the MLE, hand tapping absently at her leg as she wished for patience. She set her jaw as Flax explained the full story, staring over the girl’s shoulder at the wall. The worst part was that she agreed with Flax: she’d have done a lot worse than Flax, maybe. The only difference was that she was underhanded enough, terrible enough, to get away without being seen. “I don’t care about the money. It’s not a problem, it wasn’t even a high bail.” She muttered, pressing her lower lip into her teeth. Without another word, she fished her wand out of her pocket and reached forwards to tilt the girl’s chin upwards. “Might sting.” She warned, flicking her wand to a muttered episkey, and waiting for the skin to knit back together. “Listen. I - uh, I don’t blame you, for doing what you did. And it was a noble thing, and all. But it was stupid, and if you’re going to make it out of petty bar brawls and that long list of priors that’ll end you up someplace worse than this someday, you gotta work on your subtlety.” She chastised. She stepped backwards and swallowed. “I didn’t mean to explode. Well, I mean, I did, but it’s only because one day I’m bound to get one of those owls asking me to come identify a body if I don’t die first and - and I’d rather that day wasn’t soon. I’ve spent long enough terrified for my roommates’ lives.”
Her eyes faltered at the other girl’s wince, stepping back as an anger pulsed through her. She didn’t like…being like this— fiendfyre, an overgrown tantrum, all the tumult of her early years. Maybe that’s why she ran: because she couldn’t stop it. Maybe that’s why she held herself close. “I didn’t mean to—“ Flax began, looking out towards the door, not quite sure how to conjure the words. She knew Falon had traumas, ones she may have just spiked, and felt increasingly bad for her lack of foresight. But something told her it’d irk Falon if she treaded lightly, a conundrum that rendered her antsy. “I’m sorry,” she settled on, fingers threading together. And even that may have been the wrong phrase. Her body tensed at Falon’s touch, jerking back in surprise, gritting teeth as the skin sewed itself. “What are Gryffindors for if not to make a big scene?” She joked, less irate as the burning subsided. For Falon didn’t know half the shit she got into, all the heists she’d pulled over her time. Bar fights, for her, served a strange, yet specific purpose— a vigilante catharsis that kept her from imploding. But what Falon didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and Flax nodded with a sincerity even God would buy into. “I know,” she replied, a soft smile on her lips. And she did, somewhat fearfully-- the law’s patience grew thinner with each additional charge. But old habits died hard, and though it seemed no one could see it, Merlin, at least she was trying. “I guess...err...I guess I’m sorry as well,” Flax conceded, “for all the shit and the tantrum and all. This place tends to bring out the worst in me.” She shivered out towards the hallway, collecting her wand and a fancy looking wallet before basking into the warm, night air. At some point, she could’ve told Falon a lot of things to assure her— how she’d grown up on the streets, had brushed death several times. How she’d fought for her life every day since she was seven. How survival ran through her like water. And yet... “You do care,” was all that came out, winking slyly as she prodded the girl. “What do you say we raid the corner store and go home?”
