Clarke leaves, and Bellamy can feel his anger sweeping away the panic and fear of four heads on the countertop. He is angry at so many things at once, and without Clarke in front of him, he can't focus on anything else but that feeling. It's his default, the source of so much of his strength, because if he's angry enough, he can keep going forward.
He has so few outlets. He could try to move the boxes, before Clarke comes back, but he knows he can't do it alone, and that fuels the ire even harder. It cripples him in uncomfortable ways.
He turns around and kicks over one of the kitchen chairs without hesitation, snapping the leg off as it skids across the floor. His breath comes in hard, the broken chair only a temporary reprieve, tempting him to just kick it again - and he does, launching it hard into the wall where a second leg breaks off.
There's no one to hurt and no one to attack. Bellamy's always had a target, but now the Cult of the Fox just taunts them from afar. He knows the heads are a warning, and maybe a better person would take the danger the boxes represent and back off. But he can't. He doesn't have it in him, not when he thinks about Cian or Edan's eyes staring up at him and knowing he's sent two more people to their deaths. To run and hide is to allow their deaths to mean nothing. To run and hide is against so much of everything Bellamy Blake is and has become.
He storms out of the kitchen, fists balled up tight. Idleness destroys him, and he can't be passive in this. He won't be. The sensation, that temporary victory in kicking over the chair and having the power over it, fills him again, and before he even realizes what he's doing, Bellamy's fist flies up and punches hard at the wall; his knuckles go right through, colliding with the support structures inside. Bones shatter and his skin gets sliced up, but all he can do is stare at the hole his fist has gone through and know this is his doing.
When he finally pulls it out, it's shaking from anger, and probably pain he doesn't feel yet, too swept up in the reckless adrenaline of his fury. His hand is a mangled mess that isn't helpful given the current situation, but knowing what he's capable of mutes that fear. The evidence of the hole stares back at him.
It doesn't make him feel better. But it reminds him of how much his anger is a tool, of how much his anger can do for him. It can help him now in the face of the Cult, and he won't let it flicker out.
( post fox cult quest )
Clarke leaves, and Bellamy can feel his anger sweeping away the panic and fear of four heads on the countertop. He is angry at so many things at once, and without Clarke in front of him, he can't focus on anything else but that feeling. It's his default, the source of so much of his strength, because if he's angry enough, he can keep going forward.
He has so few outlets. He could try to move the boxes, before Clarke comes back, but he knows he can't do it alone, and that fuels the ire even harder. It cripples him in uncomfortable ways.
He turns around and kicks over one of the kitchen chairs without hesitation, snapping the leg off as it skids across the floor. His breath comes in hard, the broken chair only a temporary reprieve, tempting him to just kick it again - and he does, launching it hard into the wall where a second leg breaks off.
There's no one to hurt and no one to attack. Bellamy's always had a target, but now the Cult of the Fox just taunts them from afar. He knows the heads are a warning, and maybe a better person would take the danger the boxes represent and back off. But he can't. He doesn't have it in him, not when he thinks about Cian or Edan's eyes staring up at him and knowing he's sent two more people to their deaths. To run and hide is to allow their deaths to mean nothing. To run and hide is against so much of everything Bellamy Blake is and has become.
He storms out of the kitchen, fists balled up tight. Idleness destroys him, and he can't be passive in this. He won't be. The sensation, that temporary victory in kicking over the chair and having the power over it, fills him again, and before he even realizes what he's doing, Bellamy's fist flies up and punches hard at the wall; his knuckles go right through, colliding with the support structures inside. Bones shatter and his skin gets sliced up, but all he can do is stare at the hole his fist has gone through and know this is his doing.
When he finally pulls it out, it's shaking from anger, and probably pain he doesn't feel yet, too swept up in the reckless adrenaline of his fury. His hand is a mangled mess that isn't helpful given the current situation, but knowing what he's capable of mutes that fear. The evidence of the hole stares back at him.
It doesn't make him feel better. But it reminds him of how much his anger is a tool, of how much his anger can do for him. It can help him now in the face of the Cult, and he won't let it flicker out.
( and then this )