seveninchmotto: ([neg] My eyes are rolling.)
Isabelle's room was a mess. Of course, Isabelle's room was always a mess, but tonight it was a particular kind of mess. The usual mess was still there, comprising mostly of clothes and related accessories strewn all around the room, but there was another mess on top of it. Subtle things, mostly. Like the shoe scuff mark on her door, at around waist-height, far too high to have been an accidental kick or anything of the sort. No, she'd been throwing things around after she'd made it back to her room from Wonka's this afternoon.

And for an extra melodramatic kick, all of Flick's things were in a box by the door. (Inside the room, though, so there was that.) T-shirts, some of his gifts, a few random minor items he'd left behind, all stuffed in a box which she'd also kicked for good measure.

Maybe next time she'd know better than to try and attack a relationship issue when she was tired. She had these things all backwards. This thing she was doing right now, trying to make a cocoon out of her blankets? This was what she should have done first. Maybe that would have prevented at least fifty percent of the absolute crap that had happened today.

But maybe not. After all, she was not very smart when it came to her emotions.

[ooc: Door closed, but post can be open!]
seveninchmotto: ([neg] My eyes are rolling.)
The good news was that Jace was alive. Of course, Isabelle had believed he was alive this entire time, but confirmation was a good thing to have. But that was where the good news ended, because Jace was with Sebastian, as they'd feared. And - according to Clary, who had seen them in the Institute's library – he seemed like a willing accomplice. Isabelle hoped it was an act. That he was tricking Sebastian and just couldn't risk sending a message to them. And they couldn't tell the Clave. If the Clave thought Jace was cooperating with Sebastian, the mandate would be to kill him on sight, because that was the Law. Sed lex dura lex, and Isabelle had never hated that fact more than right now.

And they couldn't go back to the Seelie Queen because Clary had gotten so upset she'd forgotten to get the rings.

So now all they could do was talk to Magnus and see if he had any insight. He wouldn't go to the Council despite being a member, because of Alec, and he'd been trying to decode Lilith's spell since the night Jace had disappeared, anyway. But Magnus had been busy all of Sunday. Alec had gone to him in the evening, but last Isabelle had heard, they weren't going to do anything before the morning.

And Isabelle had felt sick and angry, and a multitude of other things, and, well. Long story short: she'd ended up back on the island in the middle of the night. She needed Flick. But she didn't want to need Flick, and anyway, Flick was sick and she had the sickening feeling it was because of her, and that made her feel guilty, and she hated feeling guilty, especially over some mundie boy, and then she decided Flick probably wasn't even on the island, anyway, because he was probably hiding out in New York or Connecticut or something, like an idiot, so she ended up waltzing two doors past his, and banging her fist against the door to room 512 instead. Sharply. Also loudly.

Maybe she'd had a drink or two already. Or maybe she was just this off her balance for other reasons.

[ooc: NFB, and for the guy mentioned, pls and thank you! Summary and some of the content in the thread from City of Lost Souls. Up early as hell because Europeans. ETA: Warning for light alcohol abuse.]
seveninchmotto: ([neg] Sapping my strength.)
Today was the day they were laying Max's body to rest in the necropolis in Idris.

And Isabelle was exactly where she'd been for the last two days. In her room, wrestling with her guilt and her sorrow. She hadn't eaten a whole lot. Or slept a whole lot. But enough not to be a complete wreck. No, the crying had taken care of that.

She knew she needed to pull herself back together because the quiet in Idris wouldn't last forever and she would do no one any good by wallowing in self-loathing, but she hadn't quite gotten to there yet. She would, but until then... She'd sit on the edge of her bed, rubbing her eyes and feeling wretched, yet somehow not wretched enough.

[ooc: Primarily for one, but can be open if you feel like dealing with the angst. Ghostly Jude's ghostly visit NFB due to ghostliness, the rest is fair game.]

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Isabelle Lightwood

November 2018

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