blood-spattered angel

[Art room spam]
[Bea's almost made it to a thousand paper cranes. When worry or anger overtook her in the days since port she parked herself in the art room and began working on the origami; several sessions later, she's hit nine hundred and is still working hard. She's surrounded by her handiwork, cranes of different sizes and colors littering the table around her as she folds another piece of paper sideways.

The look on her face, however, is not one of determination or concentration. She's frowning, eyes downcast, brow furrowed as she works. The task is obviously not what's on her mind.]

[Filtered to friends]
I've got something for you. Can I come see you?

[After Silent Hill, Beatrix is in no mood to discuss her struggle or to explain what happened. It was exhausting, it was humiliating and dangerous and painful and sick and emotionally torturous, and all she wants to do is retreat to her cabin to lick her wounds. But she still isn't sure how many of her friends made it back, and how many are still in Silent Hill with that strange, sweet girl Zev.

Video would show her cut and tearstained face and her voice would crack under the strain of crying: text is the only good option to ask what she needs to.]

Who do I need to mourn?

[Sometime later, private to Thassarian and Sylvanas]

I owe you both a debt I can't possibly repay.

[Private to Jeryline]

I'm sorry.

[Here you have an image of a grim-looking woman dressed in yellow, her dour demeanor in stark contrast to the cartoonish world behind her. Her face is stony, body language carefully controlled, but her eyes are strangely bright and furious, hinting at a storm surging away in her brain.]

What the fuck is wrong with everyone?! Are your brains really that fucking fragile, or were you all always this crazy and just showing it off now? [Her eyes narrow into slits, her hand worked into a fist so tight her knuckles have gone white.] God damn it. This is pathetic. All of you. I hope you've got the decency to be humiliated, you goddamn weak fucks.

Blonsky and Dracula snapped like rubber bands. I'm making my way back to the Barge, so you fuckers are on your own.

[She reaches forward to turn off the feed, but stops her hand at the last second.] If you've gone the slightest bit native, here's a little advice. You try fucking with me, and I will make the most nightmarish tortures your sad little queen's ever doled out look as innocuous as a child's skinned knee.

You've been warned. Come and find me, motherfuckers.

[Click.]

OOC: Beatrix can be found trying to find her way back to the Barge, a little more lost than she'd like to admit. None of this has helped her sanity at all, so if you choose to contact or run across her, you're likely in for some abuse.