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six foot tall, came without a warning | open + "injury" - BASTILLEPAW - 07-16-2018
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SING, GODDESS, OF THE RAGE OF ACHILLES
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Bastille considered himself a helpful individual, when he felt like it. He could rattle of suggestions and generally would go about finding a solution for his problems or the challenges that were presented to him, if only because he seemed to have a natural inclination to do so. Often times he was convinced that it was a carry over from Grimm, from the host mentality that was engrained in him: he had a drive to help people, to track down the bad emotions, to take them away and the memories that came with. Whatever. It didn't really matter the reasoning: the moral of the story was that he defaulted to helping others.
So, naturally, when he realized that Rin needed their potential Halos to demonstrate knowledge in some way, he knew exactly what he was going to do. He'd been holding onto the plan since she announced the tasks, and as they grew closer to the deadline, it crossed his thoughts once more. With a yawn, the seraph strolled out of the observatory that morning with a clear objection in mind. He didn't go very far: simply far enough to give himself space, inspecting his side idly as he considered. As he set his claws delicately against his shoulder, he felt the memories flicker over him briefly, small glimpses rising up at the back of his thoughts.
The ancient traditions of the small little Tribe, painting their stories and their histories into their skin with delicate swipes of them claws. He remembered their teachings as he traced his claws through his skin now, telling his own story and pressing crushed berries into the wounds. Indigo had asked for art, and he would give her art fit for a ruthless heart such as hers: art that was painful, art that carried meaning in the flesh.
Bastille dug his claws in shallowly, just enough to tear, and drug them down his side slowly. It stung, a precise trail of flames in his wake, but his pain tolerance was high. He seemly grit his teeth and breathed out, reminding himself of how to stay calm, keep his breathing even, to follow the Tribe's teachings. "This... This is what we will do, now. I want your ranks scarred into your skin, I want you all to offer your flesh to me like this," Indigo had breathed, reverent and delighted, and he smiled to himself as he raked his claws through the middle of the wound a bit deeper for good measure.
Once he was content with his "wound", the blood starting to flow faster down his sides and legs, Bast headed back towards the observatory. He slowed his steps a bit, considered for a moment before slamming his right front paw against a tree hard (and that hurt a bit more, jesus), and carried on through the entry with a bit of a limp.
"Hey, Rin?" he called, his voice carrying deliberately. He wasn't actually looking for the Cleric, obviously, but pretenses, here. Bast was nothing if not thorough. He settled back, knowing damned well he wasn't losing blood fast enough to start feeling dizzy for another few minutes, and drawled, with a rueful smile, "I may have had a run in."
So, naturally, when he realized that Rin needed their potential Halos to demonstrate knowledge in some way, he knew exactly what he was going to do. He'd been holding onto the plan since she announced the tasks, and as they grew closer to the deadline, it crossed his thoughts once more. With a yawn, the seraph strolled out of the observatory that morning with a clear objection in mind. He didn't go very far: simply far enough to give himself space, inspecting his side idly as he considered. As he set his claws delicately against his shoulder, he felt the memories flicker over him briefly, small glimpses rising up at the back of his thoughts.
The ancient traditions of the small little Tribe, painting their stories and their histories into their skin with delicate swipes of them claws. He remembered their teachings as he traced his claws through his skin now, telling his own story and pressing crushed berries into the wounds. Indigo had asked for art, and he would give her art fit for a ruthless heart such as hers: art that was painful, art that carried meaning in the flesh.
Bastille dug his claws in shallowly, just enough to tear, and drug them down his side slowly. It stung, a precise trail of flames in his wake, but his pain tolerance was high. He seemly grit his teeth and breathed out, reminding himself of how to stay calm, keep his breathing even, to follow the Tribe's teachings. "This... This is what we will do, now. I want your ranks scarred into your skin, I want you all to offer your flesh to me like this," Indigo had breathed, reverent and delighted, and he smiled to himself as he raked his claws through the middle of the wound a bit deeper for good measure.
Once he was content with his "wound", the blood starting to flow faster down his sides and legs, Bast headed back towards the observatory. He slowed his steps a bit, considered for a moment before slamming his right front paw against a tree hard (and that hurt a bit more, jesus), and carried on through the entry with a bit of a limp.
"Hey, Rin?" he called, his voice carrying deliberately. He wasn't actually looking for the Cleric, obviously, but pretenses, here. Bast was nothing if not thorough. He settled back, knowing damned well he wasn't losing blood fast enough to start feeling dizzy for another few minutes, and drawled, with a rueful smile, "I may have had a run in."
[b]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — ASCENDANTS — TAGS
Re: six foot tall, came without a warning | open + "injury" - Grimm - 07-16-2018
[align=center][div style="width: 420px; font-family: Verdana; color: black; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px; line-height: 110%; "]Why were they continuing upon this path, allowed their mind to be swallowed by the simple task they had chosen to set before themself, taken up only so they might have a purpose, a reason for each breath once more. Pride was an ugly, twisted thing which settled heavily in their heart, pushed them on until they had become weary, the exhaustion growing bone-deep, each day dreaded until it came to an end. Halo. It was a title, a thing to hold and to mark a place within this group – home, family, it was too much after so little time – an asset rather than a mere tag along making things difficult.
Yet they had grown so tired, had no desire to see the blood of others upon their paws once more, even in an act as good as healing, but on they pushed. Long nights spend awake going over each herb, a piece of paper before them with name and use, the few basic they had needed as little more than a field medic slowly coming back, days passing in a blur of colour and movement. It was becoming too much, so why didn't they rest, allow themself the chance to step back and give another suited to the work time in the light? Because they were prideful and sought to better themself at the expense of their own health, sought to help in any small way. And yet, seeing Margaery laid out and the black blood flowing from her, it had terrified them, reminded them all too much of the blood already staining them.
Blurry eyes blinked open, the light sleep they had drifted into faded all too quickly, a grumbled huff of breath escaping through their teeth. Still they refused to enter the observatory unless it was entirely necessary and so they had set themself by the entrance, curled tight against a wall, face pressed against it and their legs to block out the light. Coppery and tangy, the blood hit them first, strong as it filled their nose, claws reflexively digging into the ground as the memory of Margaery floated into their mind. There seemed nothing different about this, however, all too familiar, the edge that had tainted the blackened blood missing.
Forcing themself to raise Atreus was confused for a moment, Bastille nothing more than a blur of grey and white, shifting and moving as they swayed slightly, only coming into focus when they narrowed their eyes. It became all too clear he was the injured one here, yet the smile he sported, and the tone in which he spoke, only worked to confuse them greatly. Stepping closer they proved hesitant, casting their gaze about the open space in search of Rin or Playerone, knowing both would be better equipped to handle this. When they came to the conclusion neither of them were present Art forced themself to shuffle forward, terrified of the prospect of working on the leader.
“I...Uh, I can help...” Mumbling quickly they had to repeat the words, forcing themself to speak louder so they might be heard. They remembered Player using a mix of marigold and horsetail, a poultice she had applied and then bound, enough to get them through at least part of this. As for the paw? Barely knowing know to tell if it was a sprain or break they could only hope another might come forward and show them how to deal with that, for now they only payed attention to the shoulder, knowing all too well the lose of blood would be the biggest risk factor in this.
Re: six foot tall, came without a warning | open + "injury" - Suiteheart - 07-17-2018
SUITE
HEART
HEART
Suiteheart hated that her nose was now trained to pick up on the scent of blood. She hated that she was drawn towards the crimson substance. She hated the way her baby blue eyes burned before shifting into molten amber whenever she caught it on the winds and air. She hated the way her mouth slowly but surely began to water as the hunger in her stomach boiled over.
She wouldn't have even shown herself if the metallic scent wasn't mingled with the smell of Bastilleprisoner.
That sent a chill down her spine and worry ignited in her chest. As quickly as she could, the white feline scurried over. Atreus was already on the scene, offering his assistance, and Suiteheart was relieved. She wasn't sure if she trusted herself to be that close to Bastille at the moment.
"Do you have everything you need, Atreus?" she asked. "I can run and grab something for you, if you need." Her now amber-hued eyes didn't move from Bastille. She studied the wound on his side, and her eyes narrowed momentarily. The gashes that littered his shoulder seemed extremely neat... Were they self-inflicted? "Who'd you have a run in with?"
She wouldn't have even shown herself if the metallic scent wasn't mingled with the smell of Bastilleprisoner.
That sent a chill down her spine and worry ignited in her chest. As quickly as she could, the white feline scurried over. Atreus was already on the scene, offering his assistance, and Suiteheart was relieved. She wasn't sure if she trusted herself to be that close to Bastille at the moment.
"Do you have everything you need, Atreus?" she asked. "I can run and grab something for you, if you need." Her now amber-hued eyes didn't move from Bastille. She studied the wound on his side, and her eyes narrowed momentarily. The gashes that littered his shoulder seemed extremely neat... Were they self-inflicted? "Who'd you have a run in with?"
[b]suiteheart folie-mikaelson . ecliptic admiral . the ascendants . tags
Re: six foot tall, came without a warning | open + "injury" - BASTILLEPAW - 07-19-2018
BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS — [color=#21201c]TAGS
Bastille glanced up at the sound of Atreus' voice, and was immediately pleased. He didn't let the smug grin slip, though -- instead he just eyed the kid idly, offering a lazy shrug as if he hadn't been trying to draw out their potential Halos. Clearly, his plan was awesome, because it had worked right away. "Yeah, sure," he provided, nodding as he cast another rueful smile and glanced towards the mess he was making on the floor, "I'm gonna start getting dizzy here soon, probably, but it's not that bad." He lifted his right paw a little higher, fairly certain he hadn't sprained it (only bruised, likely), but he went ahead and added, "Not really sure what I did to my paw, honestly."
His gaze slid to Suiteheart, and he likely would have ignored her outright if she didn't have a look in her eye like she fucking knew. Damnit, Suiteheart. "Dunno," he said, shrugging, "Loner." He shot Atreus and amused grin and added, "Be happy you don't have to deal with his wounds." Lay on the lies, there. Make it believable.
Bastille glanced up at the sound of Atreus' voice, and was immediately pleased. He didn't let the smug grin slip, though -- instead he just eyed the kid idly, offering a lazy shrug as if he hadn't been trying to draw out their potential Halos. Clearly, his plan was awesome, because it had worked right away. "Yeah, sure," he provided, nodding as he cast another rueful smile and glanced towards the mess he was making on the floor, "I'm gonna start getting dizzy here soon, probably, but it's not that bad." He lifted his right paw a little higher, fairly certain he hadn't sprained it (only bruised, likely), but he went ahead and added, "Not really sure what I did to my paw, honestly."
His gaze slid to Suiteheart, and he likely would have ignored her outright if she didn't have a look in her eye like she fucking knew. Damnit, Suiteheart. "Dunno," he said, shrugging, "Loner." He shot Atreus and amused grin and added, "Be happy you don't have to deal with his wounds." Lay on the lies, there. Make it believable.
© MADI
Re: six foot tall, came without a warning | open + "injury" - Margaery - 07-19-2018
MARGAERY FOLIE-MIKAELSON
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I'LL MAKE YOU BLEED
I'LL MAKE YOU BLEED
[b]"What a perfectly good waste of food," Margaery scoffed playfully, shaking her head at Bast as she arrived. While her words didn't quite suggest such, she was completely unaware of the fact that this injury had been intentional. "Do you want me to hunt down whatever sorry soul decided to do this to you and kill them? I will, love... I'm itching to do something fun," She continued easily, sounding more like Genevieve than Margaery in that moment. Sometimes the two did blend together, their mannerisms bouncing off one another as if they were indeed one whole person- maybe one day they'd be.
"Do you need anything, Art?" She inquired, fixating her attention upon the lion. At least Bast would be in good hands with them. After this was all over though, she was going to rip some loners apart. Nobody touched her son... Nobody.
"Do you need anything, Art?" She inquired, fixating her attention upon the lion. At least Bast would be in good hands with them. After this was all over though, she was going to rip some loners apart. Nobody touched her son... Nobody.
© MADI