The gods are cruel. To have given her these special senses, these eyes, these ears, this nose, this tongue, and a mind of her own to process the world around her with and then to shackle her with duties that demand she ignore most of what she notices. To have given her a heart and filled it so full of desires that she couldn't chase any of them without losing the others forever. To have kept her alive, against her own wishes, and guided her to such a specific place only to put it to her again: friends? Lovers? Or family, Bella?

If the gods are cruel, then time is crueler still. In a single flash of a coin, what had once been an entire night to explore every possibility becomes a splinter of precious moments, swiftly draining away to nothing. And even those, she is obliged to share. Her ears and tail strain to their tips and her fingers flex and curl uncontrollably. She rolls her neck without a single crack or pop. Her shoulders strain against her dress. 

She gives two of her dwindling moments to Skotia, the dark stranger who made her feel desired and beautiful. She holds him tight against her in the way that he was made to fit inside her arms, so that his ear can feel the frenzied pounding of her heart against her ribs. Her muscles feel like lumps of tangled wires against his body. The tips of her claws press into his arm and his back, and it's only through raw willpower that she keeps herself from piercing him. 

Bella uncoils, and pushes him away. She opens her mouth to say something, but only shakes her head. Her eye burns like a fire as she stoops down to put her lips to his, instead. The kiss is not long or lingering, but it is hot, hungry, and full of teeth. She marks her territory with the desperate power of a huntress out of time to choose her moment. She must be swift, or she'll lose herself forever. She must be brutal, or she'll be forgotten. She brushes the blood from his lower lips with the tip of her thumb and licks it clean in front of him. And then she turns away. This is not your fault, Skotia. Your plan is not to blame. Bella's just a woman out of time. 

Her eyes scan across the ballroom, marking targets. The guests. The Satrap. The guards rousing from the slumber Beljani placed them under. And then she reaches Jil, and she freezes. They lock eyes for one second. Just for one second. But for a friendship formed in the darkness and deep quiet of the [i]Anemoi[/i], that's almost good enough. Bella's posture shifts, and her expression softens. This is pride. This is trust. Her tail flicks as she walks forward on clicking heels, and this buys them one moment more. 

Jil's hand finds Bella's arm as they pass each other. The touch is fleeting, delicate. But this [i]is[/i] enough. Good luck. I trust you. I'm glad we found each other again, before the end.

Before the end?

...Before the end.

They split. Bella turns her head again, and her face hardens to diamond in a flash.

Three times. Three times she's come to a place, and Vasilia has found a way to stand right in her way. Three times she's seen those eyes brush past her to a treasure that should belong to Bella. Three times. It's enough to know that look. Enough to know that she's made a connection somewhere in that stupid head of hers. Beautiful put her here to trust her instincts. Her eyes flick back and forth between Vasilia and the guards. Then once to Redana. She scowls. Every bird, one stone. That's how it's done, Bella.

"No."

Her voice is jarringly loud against the backdrop of Beljani's singing. Every step is the snap-crack of a knife being driven into the tile beneath her. Her right arm swings with hypnotizing smoothness against her swinging hips. Her left is held out to her side, palm up, jeweled talons glinting dangerously in the light. She passes into shadow, then light, then shadow again, at the same agonizing and horrible pace.

"That's my friend," every word is like a needle dripping with venom, "And I don't appreciate the look you're giving her."

Even this delicate dress of lace looks dangerous on her. It clings to her so perfectly that every ripple of muscle is immediately apparent to the naked eye if you're looking for it or not. It's hard not to watch the way she glistens under its silky embrace. Her mouth is full of teeth, and her eye is full of fire. It would be easier to look at without the alien deadness of the Auspex next to it. Bella tilts her neck upward and sneers. 

"You think I'll let you have her? Criminal. Fugitive. [i]Scum,[/i]" she hisses, "I've had enough! If they don't teach you manners on whatever stupid little rock you crawled out of, I'll just carve them into you myself!"

Lines of visible electricity crackle across her body as her ELF thrums to life from a dozen different nodules worked into her jewelry. It bursts across her back in a terrible flash that makes her look like she's grown wings that burn two charred holes into the ceiling. She tenses, curls forward, and howls while her field condenses down across her arms and chest. Arcs of lightning climb the spots between her talons. Her tail flicks once in warning: here she comes.

Her claws cut the air in front of her like thunder. Her eyes burn with insane zeal in the darkness she creates, until they're all that lights her face. Here she is again, Vasilia. The Imperial Praetor: this unhinged, vicious animal. What do you do?

[Keep Them Busy: [b]10[/b]]