HEARTFELT PROMISES { .:*・°☆ } ——— [size=10pt]TAGS

Of course the piebald had managed to only be as fashionably late as ever, his paws carrying him towards the meeting grounds as he took a seat a bit off way from Luca. From Pincher's voice alone he could hear the pain that laced it and instantly he knew why. Jacob had recently passed with the arrival of Pincher's newer children and while Marcel didn't know what that felt like, he definitely sympathized with the guy. His thoughts were broken as more members of the Typhoon began to gather around, his head switching from side to side as he looked around him before his head turned back to Pincher as he began the second part of the meeting. Marcel had only really been listening here and there before he heard his name escape the Captain's mouth and for a moment his expression was nothing but confusion. Shit, what did Pincher call him for? Hesitantly the male looked around as a wave of congratulations broke out and he didn't exactly know how to respond to that. Hoping that it was a promotion he received, the male would step fully up onto only three able legs. "Thank you, Pincher?" His voice was very questioning as he looked around him, trying to gain some confidence and not let on that he wasn't paying attention at all.

"I uh, won't let you down. Also, congratulations to the others promoted." To prevent any further embarrassment, Marcel turned and began to walk off.

Bakugou says nothing at first. He's not clairvoyant, he can't recognise clashing auras let alone convey the innermost emotions of others. In many ways, the privateer was a tragic walking contradiction. Many came to a realisation that Bakugou was dishonest with how he felt but the most boggling of facts was that Bakugou was an honest character. He was dishonest because he refused to acknowledge his own feelings, recognise how he truly felt for others. Perhaps, underlying his thick cream fur, there was a sense of deep altruism for the ones around him. He wanted to be a hero, after all. Always he'd say it was for the glory, to win and be known, but perhaps it was him seeking approval in the world. All he really wanted was that satisfaction, knowing he has done something well and succeeded his expectations. But it was this ambition which leads him to this dishonesty, this blindness to his own soul. At least...when Bakugou recognises his emotions, he's never been afraid to show them. If he was sad and frustrated, he's never held back on crying. It's nice to cry once in a while, this feeling of sadness that he enjoys to dwell on and amplify until there wasn't any sadness left.

Bakugou's ears are like satellite dishes, turning until they tuned in to Pincher's booming voice. The ragdoll's eyes don't resemble their usual flame, but they appear cold like coals, darkened by the overlay of ashes. No one demoted, keep busy, shout outs to an array of names. Bakugou grimaces. He thinks of Goldie, he thinks of Kirishima. They worked hard and he can almost feel the soreness of their limbs, the pain which reverberated across their bones. His own ribs feel as though they'll shatter under the overbearing guilt. Bakugou looks again at Captain Pincher when he is about to begin promotions, wondering who this time will receive the tea that he admittedly didn't really like the taste of. So far, Bakugou has found himself with a streak of promotions, unsure as to whether or not it be a good thing for him. In human years, he's sixteen. As a feline, however, he's ten moons - hardly much older than their Dealer Goldenluxury. He doesn't want to crumble like her. No. He can't stand the idea and yet this ambition possesses him, the desire to be more.

Promoted to Reaver. Bakugou adjusts his sitting position, now with a straighter back and a big smug look on his face. It seemed that Lucifer was his promotion buddy, they were always a pair when it came to meetings. He knows it's unintentional but it was an amusing pattern for the now-reaver. He doesn't stop there, however, because he hears Pincher call the name of his friend. He flickers his sanguine gaze to Eijirou, toothily grinning. Striker, huh? He feels old for remembering how it felt to first be promoted, the sense of amused bliss which admittedly took over him. "Congrats to you too," the ragdoll murmurs, dipping his head in a respectful but almost superior nod.