DATE&TIME: february 15th, 2:00am LOCATION: sol’s sleeper STATUS: closed for @bloodstyled
“easy, my sweet. burning ourselves down will help no one in this moment - come, sit. we must be careful in this.”
smoke curls from red lips easily, matches the other woman’s set in a straight line, body tensed and ready to attack in comparison to her own languid lounging on chaises of sleepers, legs crossed easily.
she expected no less from a thing made of rage. no matter, she has enough patience for them both, eyes flickering to the clock above the door before returning back to the pad of paper in her lap, pen poised, still waiting.
“and none of your men saw anything leading up to the fire? were they situated more on our cryptids or ilya’s - certainly, you must have had one on ilya himself. my sources confirmed michael’s presence in russia, but even he wouldn’t be so much of a fool as to set up a scheme like this - his precious show monkeys injured and thousands in damage costs.” words are clipped, more report than emotion in how she speaks of the devastation that wrecked their home mere hours ago.
(as expected of a woman who bled black and gold - while her dear cryptids were weeping in the fire or for those trapped in it, woman was letting flower petals graze skin, soft lullabies echoing in the bath matching their screams)
“i looked at ilya’s books before the starlight carnival was shut down - absolutely dreadful. and michael’s will soon match after this.”
