"I don't care."

The smile falls off her face faster than she can hold on to it as she stares straight into Beljani's eyes. Her own burn with dark jealousy. No more hesitation. No more uncertain flickers in Mynx's direction. Her muscles ripple with unsteady, awkward power as her every thought and instinct bends further toward the Oratus. Claws flex atop her sleeves. Her tail finds it purpose again, lashing behind her with powerful strokes that give no consideration to how often or how hard they rain down on Mynx's back and legs. 

"I don't care," she says again, in that perfect space between laziness and the absolute focus of keeping her words from slurring, "You're a weapon. I need stories about your past like I need an ethics lesson from Redana. And if I have to sit through another one of those I'm just going to tear my ears off, so..."

Anger fills her chest with sparks and fire. Jealousy squeezes her with python-like tenacity until she she can hardly breathe. Fear draws her feet too close together, and wine holds them stupidly in place. Her posture is a rigid mess of emotions that are tearing her to pieces even as they build her into something primal and invincible. When she finally uncrosses her arms, the dizzying speed almost manages to hide how clumsy the gesture is. Her fingers find Mynx's shoulder before her eyes can. She squeezes until she can feel the bone beneath the tendons. 

Bella's eyes are growing blurry. She squeezes them shut, rattles her head in a way that sets her leash to jangling, but when she opens them again it's even worse. She scowls. She has to force herself not to spit; she can't risk her drink coming up after it. She sways with uncontrollable and bizarre grace that is only prevented from dancing her straight to the floor by the support of the one person on the entire ship who would dare to try in the first place. 

"I've heard enough. I've made my decision. Your talents are less than useless to me right now. You'll stay on standby until... no. You'll stay on standby forever. I [i]won't[/i] fail. I... nngh. Come on Mynx, we have more important work to do.

Bella seizes the shapeshifter by the arm, using entirely too much claw for her work. She means for every step away to be powerful, sure, and straight. But each one takes greater thought and effort until, by the time her silhouette is disappearing into the murk, they loom larger in her mind than she has space to hold them. Her breathing turns to coughing. Somewhere in the motion, she's slammed Mynx into a wall, action without memory, without context. She pins her there, pushing her face uncomfortably close, until there's nothing in the world but the shapes of their eyes meeting each other and the steam and stench of Bella's wine-soaked breath, which drips heavily across the galaxy.

"You..." there's a command here, somewhere. An order. Bella's sense of strength wars with her feelings of powerlessness, and in the midst of that fight she finds herself shoved to the very bottom of everything. There's a sense of, of, of of of, of pressure, a haze, a... a... white. And in the white she has no more power to talk.