ℬᴇᴌᴌᴀᴛrix ℒᴇsᴛrᴀngᴇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
curses) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2012-10-15 11:45 pm
curses) wrote in capeandcowllogs2012-10-15 11:45 pm
Entry tags:
sweetie, you don't look so good; your bottom lip is bleeding.
WHO: bella and max gibson
WHERE: some hipster coffee shop
WHEN: two nights ago
WARNINGS: probably nothing but will update if necessary
SUMMARY: torturer and tortur-ee cross paths
FORMAT: quick
[She is restless. Always restless. The days hold nothing for her and the nights are only marginally more interesting.
Really, she doesn't know how she finds herself in this coffee shop. Or she does, but it's far more difficult to admit that she actually knows enough to be sitting by one of the small tables, sipping a beverage which has a name that doesn't escape her.
A frown lines the corners of her mouth.
It's not the fact she's engaging in a mind-numbingly mundane activity that bothers her -- it's that all the little moments pile up and she finds herself living a life she's always despised. Routine blurs each day, and nothing breaks the monotony.
It's ironic, really. Considering where she's spent fifteen years of her life.
Bellatrix was not born during a time of war. Given enough time, she fixed that. She allows herself to wonder if she could push this world off the brink, as well. She dismisses the idle thought soon enough; lingering on this particular fantasy was unhealthy enough even for her to recognize.
Instead, she turns her head to the window, waiting patiently -- or as patiently for someone like her -- for the night to twist into something more to her liking.]
WHERE: some hipster coffee shop
WHEN: two nights ago
WARNINGS: probably nothing but will update if necessary
SUMMARY: torturer and tortur-ee cross paths
FORMAT: quick
[She is restless. Always restless. The days hold nothing for her and the nights are only marginally more interesting.
Really, she doesn't know how she finds herself in this coffee shop. Or she does, but it's far more difficult to admit that she actually knows enough to be sitting by one of the small tables, sipping a beverage which has a name that doesn't escape her.
A frown lines the corners of her mouth.
It's not the fact she's engaging in a mind-numbingly mundane activity that bothers her -- it's that all the little moments pile up and she finds herself living a life she's always despised. Routine blurs each day, and nothing breaks the monotony.
It's ironic, really. Considering where she's spent fifteen years of her life.
Bellatrix was not born during a time of war. Given enough time, she fixed that. She allows herself to wonder if she could push this world off the brink, as well. She dismisses the idle thought soon enough; lingering on this particular fantasy was unhealthy enough even for her to recognize.
Instead, she turns her head to the window, waiting patiently -- or as patiently for someone like her -- for the night to twist into something more to her liking.]