Bastille laughed as he caught the pillow she launched at him, evidently not very surprised or offended by her retaliation. He had a natural inclination towards children, even those closer to him in age such as Thea, and she was feisty: he never actually minded when he discovered her hanging out with their group, and would admit to dissolving into play fighting with her very easily. For having grown up a supposedly single child (clearly not, given Vi's appearance), he felt very easily into the role of older sibling, and hated to admit that he enjoyed it. (You're basically an antisocial extrovert, Hazel had told him once, sounding very serious in her analysis. Bast grudgingly admitted she had a point, there.)

[b]"Yes, my mistake; you are quite mature,' he said seriously, smirking at her over his claimed pillow, and he promptly chucked the trophy at Moon in retaliate to his jibe. Bast chose not to rise to the bait of being referred to as Hazel's plus-one, instead stating in a deadpan, "Oh, you're quite right, Moon. I left my edibles at home." A hint of a smirk shifted upwards, though a sidelong glance at Hazel seemed to suggest he did not actually possess any edibles any more. Rehab didn't look favorably upon them, it would seem, so he'd finally thrown the lot of his stash out a few months ago.

As Hazel sat, he dropped down beside her instinctively, carefully avoiding knocking into her as he did so: he knew better than to touch her unexpectedly, even now, and at her promptly he shot her a mockingly offended look. Bast caught a strand of her damp hair in his fingers to give it a playful tug (he'd learned by now that touching her hair was less likely to startle her than her skin), and teased, "What, are my services not good enough for you any more? Rude." He didn't seem to carry any of the same reservations Moon had about being able to braid hair, and in fact had braided for Hazel a few times. At the other boy's offer, Bast eyed him critically, forcing down the flicker of irritation in favor of reminding himself that it was Moon and settling for a jesting, "I don't think I'd trust you with fetching a hairbrush without shit going to hell, let alone to actually braid." A hint of an amused smirk.

[B]ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — [color=#e2e2e2]TAGS — [color=#e2e2e2]MOODBOARD — [color=#e2e2e2]PLAYLIST

Hazel let a little snort slip from her lips at Moon's protest, despite his crude wording. She'd long since adjusted to barbed teasing - Bastille - and was proud to say that she could now successfully differ actual insults from friendly jests. "Don't be rude, Moon; Bast has a couple of those." She chided, clearly mocking her previous rude remark. The girl flashed a smile, though it wasn't directed at anything but the fingers trying to card through her unruly, tangled curls.

When Moon pointed to the ground at his feet, Hazel's shoulders sagged with exaggerated relief, though she was genuinely grateful. "You're amazing, Moon." She groaned, scooting over to sit in front of him. He could be the worst hair stylist in the world and she wouldn't care; she just wanted those obnoxious curls out of her face. The girl let out a small yelp as Bastille tugged on one of said curls, causing her head to dip as she made to wave him off. "Your services are fine," She grumbled, "but won't be needed if you keep pulling my hair like that." She was bluffing, naturally; she wouldn't give up letting the boy braid her hair for the world. "But if Moon can't do it, you're next in line." Hazel huffed, rolling her eyes.