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branches from a dying tree / joining - Margaery - 04-15-2018
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[align=center][glow=GLOWCOLOR,2,300]▶ MARGAERY FOLIE - tags - THE ASCENDANTS - OBSERVER - SHE/HER- FELINE ◀[/glow]
Aching. Longing. Lost. [align=center][glow=GLOWCOLOR,2,300]▶ MARGAERY FOLIE - tags - THE ASCENDANTS - OBSERVER - SHE/HER- FELINE ◀[/glow]
How long had she been wandering? How long had it been since she belonged anywhere? Loneliness had grown to be a part of her, no different than the blood that coursed through her veins or those blue eyes- weary now, oh so weary. She supposed she could call herself a nomad of sorts, a drifter, but she despised both terms. This lifestyle did not fit her. She was not meant to simply let the wind carry her from place to place. But she had no choice in the matter. All that she knew was gone, wiped clean from existence and forgotten to the sands of time. Even reminiscing brought forth the bitter sting of tears and she could not cry. Not anymore. Too many tears had already fallen for her friends, her family, her lover.
She wanted a home again, but such a desire would have to go unfilled. To her, home was not a tangible location. It was a soul, a single entity that she had pledged her life, her love, to. And as far as she knew, it was gone. Suiteheart was gone.
A tear did fall at that realization, and she paused, inhaling deeply and fixing her composure. She needed a break, she needed to be around others... she needed to feel alive again. Because she could not lie, something had died within her, wilting the once lovely rose she had been. She wanted to feel that passion, that zest, for life again. She didn't want to be hollow.
And perhaps that was why she was here, situated at the border expressionless. She knew nothing of the clan she sat before, nothing save the fact that she had stumbled upon them and that they would have to do.
[color=black]"My name is Marg-" She hesitated for a moment, contemplating her name, wondering if she truly wanted to give it to them, to these strangers, [color=black]"My name is Margaret and I've come to join."
Margaret. It felt strange on her tongue. Foreign.
But like everything in this situation, it would have to do.
Re: branches from a dying tree / joining - BASTILLEPAW - 04-15-2018
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LOVE
MARGY ]
Bastille was constantly patrolling, these days. He was itching with energy, wound so tight that he felt like snapping, tossing glances into the distance beyond their borders as if he could simply make Luna magically appear. He felt an increased anxiety to get her back, his skin tight; seeing Indi had truly shaken him, and it seemed to have made the bengal all the more desperate to find his mentor. He wanted to go interrogate the other Clans. He was convinced that they must have her, or have seen her on the way out if she truly did just leave them. (He doubted it. Luna wouldn't just leave like that. She'd at least tell him.)
As it was, he knew Starry didn't believe she'd been taken. Their leader was far too kind and optimistic to assume the worst of others. He didn't want to believe that someone would kidnap their members, and so he didn't. But Starry didn't know Luna like he did. Starry didn't understand. And Bastille was getting impatient, the longer they waited without doing anything.
He was on the border then, staring out towards foreign territories, when he heard the murmur of a voice. His gaze snapped towards the source, on high alert as always, and it landed on an unfamiliar aura a few yards away. He didn't think she'd noticed him in particular; her voice carried, firm and assertive, as if she intended for any sort of patrol to pick up on her presence.
In a flicker of teleportation, Bast was standing in front of her. He didn't seem concerned with startling her; he never did. He didn't usually rely on his powers to get around, but she was already speaking when he noticed her, and walking over would likely mean missing what she had to say. Besides -- he found that wasting his energy on powers actually helped alleviate his headaches.
"Bast," he supplied in response, eyeing this Margaret briefly. She didn't really look like a Margaret, somehow. The name was too typical and dull, ill-suited for her, though he couldn't say why. Perhaps her aura just suggested something more. After a beat, he added, "You're welcome to stay with us. This is the Ascendants, in case you didn't know. I'll show you to a room, and someone can give you a tour if you want one."
Short, simply -- to the point. Bast wasn't highly suspicious of everyone like Roy, and didn't possess the same unfailing joy and excitement like Starry. He liked to skip meaningless small talk and get shit rolling. He turned towards the Observatory, clearly ready to start walking back, and added, "We also have a communal map and shit if you'd rather explore on your own."
Re: branches from a dying tree / joining - Margaery - 04-15-2018
[glow=GLOWCOLOR,2,300]▶ MARGAERY FOLIE - tags - THE ASCENDANTS - OBSERVER - SHE/HER- FELINE ◀[/glow]
(THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY TO HEAR OMG!!)Margaery regarded the adolescent that appeared before her with nothing save a lazy blink. She was not easily startled, not anymore, and as a former user of teleportation herself, she knew of its abilities quite intimately. Sometimes she longed for the power back, but when her bond had been severed with Suiteheart, it had been lost. Oh what she'd give to have that stolen part of her back again... oh what she'd give to just feel complete for a few fleeting seconds.
But there was no use in thinking about all of that right now, not when she had been given a name to associate with the place she now stood before. The Ascendants. There was something different about it, almost otherworldly. It wasn't a clan though, not by conventional standards, and she appreciated that. Everything was different and, while nothing was good, she quite liked how this place, this extraordinarily strange place, fell in line with that.
A smile, restrained and ingenuine, touched her maw and she nodded her thanks in the direction of the male. [color=black]"A room with windows would be nice if such a thing is available," She responded, her stare unwavering. There was something about Bastillepaw that the old Margaery would have found intriguing. Ever the people person, she'd probably jump at the attempt to get to know him. The new Margaery - Margaret - couldn't be more different. She sensed something different but cared little in getting to the bottom of what that something was. She simply wanted to close her eyes and rest.
But there was still more that needed to be said and one burning question that she had to ask, even if it was seemingly out of character for the new her. The empty her.
[color=black]"I'll explore on my own but I must know, are there any gardens within this territory?"
If she couldn't find refuge within Suiteheart, she supposed she had no other choice but try to find happiness again among the flowers and plants that she loved so dear.
If she even still loved them, that was.
Re: branches from a dying tree / joining - BASTILLEPAW - 04-15-2018
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[div style="background-color: #e3dfdf; width: 305px; border-bottom: 1px solid black; border-left: 1px solid black; border-right: 1px solid black; padding: 10px; line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; margin: auto; color: black; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]Bastille had considered the foreignness of these lands and groups to be vaguely frustrating. Sure, he was looking for a change -- he had left the realm of his mother's Clans for a reason, and had wondered on his own for most of his life specifically because he had no interest in their idle lives. He had no interest in most group-living, really. His early life had been plagued with anger and resentment, the sense of hopelessness that came along with knowing that he was ultimately damned to failure.
At some point, the anger had faded. Bastille wasn't sure when, nor could he put a paw on what had led to it. Maybe he had just gotten tired of so much aggression. Maybe he had simply accepted the inevitable; there was a certain calm in acceptance, in moving forward with little regard for what the future held. Of course, he knew it wouldn't end well -- look at his souls. Look at the lives all three of them lived. He couldn't fathom why Grimm had chosen such a fucked up set of degenerates to attach himself too, but at this point Bast had stopped trying to figure it out. He had stopped caring. Sometime around 7 months, it stopped mattering to him -- and 2 months later, he was finally ready to start living in something other than apathy again.
Still, though. He had not been prepared to be the first true joiner Starry encountered. He had expected something more established, something with tradition. Instead, he got a leader who looked confused by even the most simple of Clan norms: a leader who knew nothing of warrior naming styles (despite having a warrior name), who thought weekly tasks and ranks were novel, who seemed confused when Bast asked too many questions that simply felt normal to him. Even if he had left them young, Bast was still influenced by the Clanners, and he had found it frustrating to be forced to explain the customs of a group he had never wanted to belong to.
It had been a month or so since he'd joined them, though, and things seemed more normal. More as he expected it. It wasn't the same as those Clans, not really. But it was home for him, finally -- and Bastille would defend it to the death, which was all that mattered, he supposed. He had regained a sense of purpose.
At her request, he paused slightly, weighing his options. His footsteps didn't falter as he headed towards the Observatory, but he was clearly considering his response. Their rooms were in the underground complex, and the nature of the dome meant that there weren't really "above ground" floors -- not really. There was the central area, but the walls steepled up into the retractable roof. So, there wasn't really any floor to host rooms with windows.
Bast didn't seem to care much about people, but he could be astonishingly helpful in an off-hand way. "Well, we don't really have rooms with windows at the moment," he said, straight-forward. No point in lying to her or offering false comforts. "I'm thinking of trying to build an off-shoot to the Observatory, though -- something for our larger members." Well, mostly, for dragons like Daunte who didn't quite fit any where but the Great Circle. "Maybe we can come up with a rooming system in there, with windows. For now, we have paintings." He shrugged, as if admitting that a painting of the outside world didn't really compare to the real thing.
Maybe someone else would have apologized for the inconvenience. Bastille saw it as simple fact of the matter -- there was nothing he could do about it, and besides, he didn't design the Observatory. It's not like the structural lack of windows was on him. After a moment, he commented as an after thought, "The roof of the Observatory is usually open all the time, though, so at least there's one giant ass window above the main portion of camp all day. Our leader is fond of stars."
He didn't ask any questions himself. As he let that rest, he felt no need to interrogate her about her past or ask her if she had any nicknames (ones that sounded more accurate and fitting than "Margaret"). He was more of the sort to let others talk as they wanted, and he'd match their level of interest.
At the next prompting, he glanced sideways at her as they walked. They were near to the Observatory now, a few minutes away; the border she'd come upon had been a close one. He nodded towards some place beyond the dome-like structure emerging ahead of them, though. "There's a flower field on the other side of camp, a ways off. Lots of... well, flowers and shit. We don't have any cultivated garden yet, though. I'm sure Starry would be fuckin' thrilled to make one, if you wanted." Starry was fucking thrilled about everything, to be fair.
It wasn't exactly kindness or comfort, the way he seemed to address her issues and wants. It was more of practical suggestion: she wanted things, and Bast could provide ideas. He didn't seemed too concerned with making her happy, as if some altruism guided his words; in reality, he was just a thinker, and tended to think aloud in conversation. That, and despite his sometimes gruff speech, he wasn't a complete asshole.
Re: branches from a dying tree / joining - Margaery - 04-16-2018
[glow=GLOWCOLOR,2,300]▶ MARGAERY FOLIE - tags - THE ASCENDANTS - OBSERVER - SHE/HER- FELINE ◀[/glow]
While she was slightly disappointed that she could not inhabit a room with a window, she refused to let that show upon her face. She had just arrived here, she was exhausted, and she was not among friends from her old clan... seeming unappreciative seemed like a bad idea. Besides, paintings weren't so bad, right? She could bring her room to life with flowers and images of the things she once loved, reminders, painful almost in nature, that they were nothing but memories now. That was, if she was even permitted to paint in her room. If not, she supposed she could live next to unfamiliar artwork, there was beauty in everything after all. Yes, there's beauty in everything but you lack the means to appreciate any of it, Her mind halfway taunted, causing her face to twist. Why could she not feel anything except for sadness, regret, and disappointment? Why could the simple things that once made her light, alive not bring her the same joy? Did she lose the very capability to feel when her bond had been severed with Suiteheart and her powers lost? Did that mean that, no matter how hard she tried to live normally with no thought towards the past, she'd always be this thing? This hollow, broken thing?
[color=black]"Anything you can give me will be fine," She finally managed, dismissing her thoughts before they grew powerful enough to consume her. [color=black]"As for building, I would not be opposed to helping," She offered with a slight nod. It'd distract her, keep her busy enough so she wouldn't have to contemplate what was wrong with her.
[color=black]"If nobody has any qualms with me doing so, I'd like to establish and grow a garden myself. Of course everyone can enjoy it but... gardening is very personal to me."
For a moment, she was brought back to a time long ago when her garden had went up in fire. She had almost died that night, suffocating on the smoke as she fought to extinguish and save her roses. She'd ensure that nothing like that would ever happen again.
[color=black]"Thank you, by the way. It's been a long time since I've interacted with anyone much less in a clan setting, if I can even call it that. It'll be good for me, I think, to be among others again," She confessed.
Re: branches from a dying tree / joining - BASTILLEPAW - 04-17-2018
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[div style="background-color: #e3dfdf; width: 305px; border-bottom: 1px solid black; border-left: 1px solid black; border-right: 1px solid black; padding: 10px; line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; margin: auto; color: black; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]There was something morose about her. Bastille couldn't quite place it, but it felt like he was talking to a somber, subdued version of the bright aura that radiated from her. She reminded him acutely of the sort of people who came seeking his business, looking for a way to forget the things that were haunting them -- in fact, he could see her being the type to ask that he erase the memory of the memory removal all together. The type that didn't even want to remember that they were missing something, wanted to live on as if they'd always felt so free. Perhaps one day he would in fact find himself taking memories from this stranger.
As it was, that wasn't his current business with her. Right now he was focused on getting her settled and somewhat comfortable, before he left her to explore. Someone else might take it upon themselves to give her more attention than Bastille did, but hey -- he had shit to do. Such as track down his missing mentor and generally avoid people. It wasn't that he was antisocial, per se -- it was that he was so on edge lately that people were driving him crazy after prolonged exposure. Not this one, not yet; she was too mellow and centered to really draw irritation out of Bast's rapidly shortening temper. He would not mind sitting in silence with her, honestly. She seemed like a good thinker, like someone who wouldn't bat an eye at his library and would gracefully settle in to read for hours in silence. He might even let her in to do so.
"Yeah. I'm going to talk to Starry about it, we had a dragon join recently who doesn't quite fit," he supplied, providing the context for the building. "So, you know, we'll probably start working on it this week if he's fine with it. Don't really see why he wouldn't be." Starry would probably be excited about the job, really. Might even frame it as a group bonding activity. At her next comment, he nodded and added, "Yeah, that's fine. No one will have any qualms with you growing shit."
His casual use of foul language seemed to be pretty typical of his attitude, and clearly he meant nothing by it when he referred to just a personal hobby as "growing shit." At this point his frequent swears and use of shit was too obvious, probably, and besides that, his voice lacked any heat. Bast didn't even register the need to clarify or apologize for it, but continued walking to the Observatory in peaceful silence for a few moments. They were pretty damn close by now, and Bast could make out the entrance when she spoke once more.
He glanced at her, and then offered a slightly awkward shrug. Bast wasn't exactly good with any form of praise or appreciation, really, and he just offered her an idle, "Hey, it's kind of my job. No thanks necessary." A pause, and then slightly more earnestly, "I think it's a good place. To settle back into being with people, you know? I spent ages alone before I finally came here, and I think it was a good choice. It's... easy, adjusting back to that life style with them. I dunno why. Maybe because they're just friendly." Another pause, and then he nodded at the Observatory. "Here, I can show you to the rooms."
Apparently ready to let the moment pass, he headed into the strange dome-like structure, glancing back briefly to see that she was still with him. The roof was open as always, so it was pretty much just as bright and sunny inside the Great Circle as outside.