Stormclouds Gather

[Jayce]

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Meeting the glare of the Rogue, Yolande's eyes never wandered as she was relieved of the hardwood container. Though spoken with an ever-so-slight accent, the mimicked phrase brought the corners of her mouth into a minor grin. Perhaps, despite the behavior to the contrary, there was some degree of culture to the man. Bringing one of her hands to the back of her head, Yolande winced as her fingertips brushed the now-scabbing blood marring her silky hair.

"A shower et un point de suture would not go amiss, I think. But, first." Slithering away from her pinned position between the table and the man, with slow, deliberate movements, the Corsican made her way towards her wayward hairpin, still resting delicately on the deckplates. Bending at the waist and gingerly retrieving it, Yolande turned to face the Rogue once more. Pressing the thickest end against the heel of her hand, she began to twist, releasing a finely-threaded plug with an audible snick. Cupping one hand over her mouth and nose, the other was brought up to place the now-revealed aerosol dispenser beneath her palm, and with a hiss, a few wisps of orange-tinted air escaped between the gaps in those slim fingers.

"Merde..." She mumbled, the word muffled slightly by the hand over her face, before taking a long, deep breath. Almost immediately, the woman began to relax as the pangs of withdrawal slowly subsided. Her shoulders squared off with the intake of breath, and as similarly-orange-tinged trails escaped her lips with the exhalation, they slumped once more. Another breath, and another puffed orange cloud, slowly rising to the ceiling of the hall. Seemingly satisfied, the pin was sealed once more, and placed atop the table. As if all at once, Yolande's gaze softened, and she visibly relaxed, meeting the crimson stare of the Rogue once more. The color seemed so much brighter, not in a painful way, but in one of beauty. She had not grown old with the ever-present sensation of the drug, and the feeling of euphoria was still near-overwhelming at times. That, after all, was the reason her addiction was not fed prior to arriving on board.

"Now, shower." An elated giggle escaped Yolande's lips, completely incongruous with the situation she'd endured. The short-term effects of the Maltese drug were a weakness, one she'd rather not have to endure in such a place, but there was simply no other option. "Do you intend to share with me, or am I to be left alone?" As the words slipped her lips, Yolande's eyes widened. That particular sentence was supposed to remain inside her head. The now-familiar nervous energy began to return, and the matriarch did her best to suppress it, to play the statement off as comedy. "A joke, évidemment. Shall I follow one of your esteemed lieutenants?"

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