who: iza & desdemona ( @hedonistherion ) where: the tribute gala
somewhere along the line, isidoros had begun to unravel.
it was the liquor. it was the manor filled with unfamiliar people, every last one gathered to celebrate iza's impending death. it was the pity in their eyes, the wealth of whispers of poor little girl, oh dear, offset by far too few that suggested perhaps iza was stronger than they looked.
it was the lights. the noise. the sophistication of it all, the party tied in a neat little bow when chaos might have been easier to swallow down.
it was that empty, lonely pit in their stomach that just kept growing and fucking growing.
the rage hurt less to feed, but iza had always struggled to temper it. they'd always been ruled by their emotions, feeling everything, all at once, overwhelmingly-- passion overruling logical thought. nearly every mentor they'd ever had, in any area of study, had said the same: you need to learn to think with your head, not your heart. it was a lesson none of them had ever managed to make stick.
once iza gave in to the anger, it swallowed them whole.
they sifted through the crowd with their heartbeat in their ears and nothing but a dull roar and the rush of blood beyond it, stomach swirling, skin hot with fury. they'd hunt this party from one end to the other if that was what it took to find that damned stylist-
- and that was when they nearly bowled headfirst into another, barely managing to catch themself.
a deep breath in, too quick; a breath out too slow to compensate. they never found balance. never.
"you're a stylist, aren't you?" iza blurted, the realization overtaking whatever minute reflex might have lead them to offer an apology instead. they swayed in close, the blind rage bleeding from their eyes just enough for hope to slither in. "...you wouldn't happen to have a pair of scissors, would you?" they asked, their words a hushed whisper.
