Andy, Seraphim
She/Her
24
July 15th
Hammerlocke, Galar
Bisexual
Socialite
Cadet
"I also know that blood smells like. Call it a gift."
TAG WITH @andraste
Andraste Breathnach
a strike against you. [past/closed]
POSTED ON Oct 20, 2022 23:48:59 GMT
This... wasn't really happening. Was it? Was this happening? Arceus above, it was. Standing beside Antoine at the side of the ballroom, she had nothing to really cling to. No glass, no wine to sip at to pretend she wasn't entirely enthralled with the absolute gall of this man. Not Antoine, but Thomas fucking Benoit. Thomas Fucking Benoit who was her damn betrothed, though he didn't know it yet. Would he have held back if he had? If he had known that him doing anything like this would be absolutely fucking humiliating to his intended?
Andraste's gaze narrowed sharply, though it slid very slowly in Antoine's direction while Thomas continued his literal temper tantrum. Like a child. In the middle of a court function. She caught her mother's gaze, and her brother's. Both utterly horrified, it was Lachlan that seemed to school himself first before touching Catriona's arm. Her mother seemed to remember herself, and Andraste watched her mother and brother talk quietly between themselves before both of them looked to Andraste once more.
Was she okay?
No, she absolutely wasn't. There were many different ideas swirling through her mind, and setting Thomas Fucking Benoit on fire was at the very forefront. She wouldn't cause a scene here, however much she wanted to, she knew better. Andraste was the picture of poised and proper, if not a little rigid from her years in the Galarian military. Still, she could play coy like the best of them and simply reached aside of her to a waiter who was hesitantly trying to get back to work. This time, Andraste took up a glass of Galarian whiskey and took a slow, measured sip of it.
Thomas kept on, and each moment drew the lady closer and closer to cuffing the man up the back of the head. The soldier saw red and she had to take a second sip of her drink to calm those mounting feelings, those nerves. It was noticing her father's simmering anger from across the room that had Andraste straightening. 'Oh no,' she thought to herself, though he seemed to key in on Patrice Benoit instead of any of his family, casually pulling the other man into conversation as Thomas was escorted out of the room, the hall, the building. Hell, hopefully someone escorted him off the fucking planet for the stunt he had just pulled.
When the man was gone, Andraste finally looked to Antoine, "You were saying you had a handle on your cousin, earlier. This does not look like the situation being handled," the lady pointed out to the lord, taking the rest of her whiskey in one whole gulp before she placed it very hard onto a pretty little side table to just the left of them. "Insulting this Gala's benefactors, for one. Insulting my family, for two. Presenting himself in an uncouth manner, for three. You best hope that your father can save face, for the Benoit's sake. Excuse me, Lord Antoine," Andraste said, giving him a proper curtsy before she left him on the other side of the ballroom and exited after Thomas and the guards.
On her way, she grabbed her coat and her clutch and was stepping out onto the street where she continued to watch the situation between Thomas and the security guards. Reaching into her clutch, she pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and began her watch. Making sure that her betrothed didn't fuck himself over more on the way to his respite for the night. Then the security guards cleared out, Andraste cleared her throat and spoke up, "Do you have a safe way home, Lord Benoit?" she asked, looking at the screen of her phone for the time, "Or will I be yelled out of my own car while I transport you to your lodgings?" Andraste asked.
Thomas Benoit
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