The talons she wears on her front two fingers feel sharp and cold against her skin. She squeezes until she can feel the rush of her pulse against her hand. The sharp pain feels good; all the tension that's been welling up in her body finally has somewhere to go, and when she feels the wet trickle finally start to make its way down her cheek she sighs with audible relief. Her fingers go slack, and idly flicks them clean before she runs both hands through her hair to smooth it back down. 

When she puts her hand on the priest's shoulder, she is not gentle. There's enough force in the clap to rattle the bones in his arm. When she offers a reassuring squeeze, she doesn't use any less pressure than she had just a moment ago when she was lost in her own thoughts. The silver talons tap an amused little beat on the fabric of his sleeve. Her bells are singing. She leans in close to whisper the council of a conspirator, a wicked smile growing on her lips. Her golden eyes are sharp and all-knowing, filled with the wisdom of a lifetime's worth of snubs and disappointments. 

"What's the matter, friend? Why don't I see you gathering yourself for the charge? Are you somehow less insulted than our glorious brothers and sisters? Doesn't it wound your... mm, [i]professional[/i] pride to see the Admiral blaspheme in front of the entire pantheon like this?"

She chuckles to herself, a rich and rumbling sound that's half a purr in and of itself. Her hand releases the priest's shoulder so that her fingers can dance their way down his arm. 

"Don't worry," her voice drips with equal parts honey and malice, "I already know the answer. You're smarter than the rest of them. You've worked out it's suicide. Well. And you left your sword at your other banquet hall. So [i]you,[/i] you're thinking of just sitting here nice and quiet-like while the brave young heroes pile up to meet your god. But the Admiral won't care that you behaved. I know her type: you may not be worth the spit Jas'o leaves on her boots, but you've made her list. Same as me. As soon as she gets word she's got the princess in her clutches, this banquet will end. And then, with all our guardians already dead..."

BAM! She slams her hand into the table. Plates and cups rattle three places on either side of her. Already her claws are digging into the metal as she curls her fingers halfway to a fist. 

"Doesn't it make you mad? Doesn't it make you [i]furious?[/i] She's snubbed you, and soon she's going to snuff you out, the bitch. All because she can't see a place for you after she's toppled the Empress from her throne. The arrogance! The cruelty... she won't even bother breaking out the clever tricks or kings when our time comes, because we? Don't. Matter."

Just ahead of the sacrilegious melee that's about to unfold, the air fills with the sound of screeching. The banquet table screams its own particular brand of agony as Bella drags her claws across the surface. The metal tears beneath their sharpness, sending little spiral shavings popping off and rolling onto nearby plates. Bella picks up her hand and flexes her fingers, and her joints do not so much as crack. Her smile may well have swallowed a canary. 

"I know the way out, friend. I know the Princess. I know exactly where that little dunce is going to wind up before she gets here. I might even know a way to reach her before the lapdog does. And all you have to do is follow. Which sounds better, hm? Tell me, which sounds better? The Admiral's way? Or mine?"

There is a space exactly long enough to fit a single breath before her smile recedes into a full snarl. Her eyes shrink back into angry slits, and she drags the priest to his feet by the back of his collar before he has time to tell her 'no'.