[color=8882be][h3]Lauren Negasi[/h3][/color]

Amy Desire was tucked safely into the protected, silent enclave of Bastille's Bastille ([color=8882be][i]Bastilleception![/i][/color] as Lorena herself had coined it) by the time that Lauren went to go get lunch. Her mood was a little bit stormy - least of all to the pounding that echoed in her unmedicated head, idiot that she was - and she'd ended up skipping history class as a whole in order to help Ben make sure that the half-Faunus girl on their team was properly cared for. Even that wasn't the sole root of what bugged her, though. What bugged her was...was...her mind kept going back to Amy's feathers, ruffled in agony, cringing underneath headphones, and the way that the bombastic music had suddenly just [i]given out.[/i] Then there was Sangue, alone, dutifully taking notes for her absent, wayward teammates. That troubled her, too. Had she expected them to show up at all?

There was the root of her trouble. Lauren Negasi was a tank. A laughing, carefree tank in dark skin and a bleached leather jacket, sure. A tank with a weakness for a pretty face? Could be argued. But she was a tank, and she was put in this life - [color=8882be][u][u][i][b]put into Beacon[/b][/i][/u][/u][/color] - to grab whatever threatened those she cared about at both ends and rip it in half.

But there were some things you couldn't grab, no matter how good you were in close quarters. And Negasi wasn't so great at that. Not like she could tell anyone that though. Amy was asleep, Ben would just tell her she was tough enough as it was, and Sa--

Sangue!

The lunch bell had rung five minutes ago. She was probably waiting for them at lunch. The thought of the 'S' in Bastille (a pretty vital letter!) sent a twist through her stomach that wasonly tangentially related to hunger.

[color=8882be][i]If I were a soft-spoken altruistic cutie who liked putting the team on her back, where would I eat?

[s]With Ben[/s][/i][/color]

Hrmm.

At lunch, Lauren immediately began seeking out the distinct red hair and claw that marked Sangue Naga. Finding the girl by herself dissecting a slice of pepperoni pizza with the care of a biologist, the hyped up, concussed addition to BASL grabbed herself a BLT and a bag of chips. Sauntering over to Sangue was a woozy experience; getting walking was hard by the hour [i][color=8882be][wait, what does that even mean? was she even thinking straight? freaking ben][/color][/i], but she kept her legs steady with the power of all the lunchtime idle chatter and sat across from Sangue with a wave. 

[color=8882be]"Hey, babe." [/color]She grinned impishly as she unwrapped her sandwich. A small piece of lettuce, flecked with a couple dots of mayo, tumbled out onto the wax paper, and she popped it into her mouth before taking a voracious, crunchy bite of lunch. Her grin found itself directed at the greasy cheese-meat-sauce hybrid in Sangue's hand, and she nodded at it with a wink. [color=8882be]"Discovered anything new about the makeup of a piece of pizza?"[/color]

[@NarayanK]