#lysxandre

Introducing his students to Lysandre was probably a mistake--- but how could he have predicted he’d react like that?

Giving that bit of oration in the café about people being filth- that wasn’t really the Lysandre he was familiar with. It was true he’d often been passionate, and said some things that he didn’t exactly agree with, but this. 

This was new. Not to Lysandre, perhaps. Not to Team Flare. But to him. 

How could he not have noticed?

Lysandre was his friend. A good friend that he’d hoped would redeem himself. 

The sudden shock is like ice, no pun intended, as her empty stare is upset by movement. Having been lost in thought, having been subconsciously curious at the new change in HQ scenery, she'd found a bench nearby. In the vastness of the room, her attention had settled on Lysandre.

Frozen in ice.

No idea how it had happened or when, or even why. Probably having infuriated their boss, and had his dragon freeze the poor man. She'd have liked to pick his brain a bit more, work more on different projects, but alas, his untimely demise--

movement.

"JESUS CHRIST??!"

Startling so heavily backwards at the shift, st his glare. Was he.... still alive? It wasn't possible. He couldn't breathe in there, couldn't eat in there. He had to be dead. The cold was too much for him, she was shivering just in his presence. And still, he seemed to glare down at her. Furious. Forever furious, forever stuck. Forever frozen; an example.

Standing, righting the bench, Francis couldn't hurry from the room fast enough, terror gripping her chest.

@lysxandre

          “You have no right asking me that,”

     The heroine’s voice drips with acid, low and serving as a warning in its own right. She does not dignify him with her focus-- not beyond a verbal response. Her composure remains icy-- bored, almost--, inspecting her nails rather than his expression. She knows this. Oh, she knows it too well now. Trying to catch her out. Trying to start an argument in the hopes of twisting the young woman’s words and making her believe she the monster out of the two of them. A ploy to gaslight at its finest. Serena will not be a fool. Not this time; not anymore.

          “A question like that has no right or wrong answer. It’s wholly dependent on the situation at hand-- who it involves, what is at stake, what transpired before it,”

     Her hand flips over, fingers extending. She needs to repaint these nails soon-- the blush polish is chipping ever so slightly around the edges, threatening to break off and reveal the pale nailbeds below.

           “I would prefer if no-one had to lose their life. I would try every way possible to save the person who is endangered and the other party. To save them without harming someone else.”

     Redirect the question. It seems to be the safest course of action, seeing as though there is little to no escape from this conversation-- not at the moment. Yes, it is an answer to his question, and therefore a dangerous game Serena is throwing herself into, but it will be fun to watch him try. To watch him struggle to gain control of the situation, like he might have done before.

          “No-one deserves to die. And death should not be utilised by anyone as a means to solve a problem that had other solutions. I don’t care how many wrongs those people have done. I would strive to make sure both could live. Even if they are horrible. Even if they don’t deserve it. Even if they are a monster.”

     An elbow moves to rest on the table, head tilting as a cheek rests itself against fingers curled into a fist. There is a moment of thought-- consideration. And then the corners of her lips twitch.

          “Even if they are someone like... well...”

     Eyes snap upwards, narrowing and focusing on the man’s features. Cold. Unforgiving. But the smile on her features is saccharine.