if i'm lucky i'll meet ya, flipside of the graveyard | p

[BASTILLEPAW]

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the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags

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Bastille didn't seem to put much thought into his room, which was ironic, given her impression of it. He treated his room like somewhere temporary; he had very few personal belongings aside from his books, and he didn't take any time to decorate or make it any more homely. He hadn't really settled here -- he'd simply started staying here, which was different, in his mind. His room could burn to the ground, and as long as his books were gone, he wouldn't even bat an eye. Bast was rarely sentimental about things, after all, and even less so about his temporary homes -- the boy had spent his entire life traveling as a nomad, and had never had a home for this long before (with the exception of his mother's Clan, where he was forced to reside until he was old enough to go on his own). Funnily enough, then, he'd never really had a room of his own either. It didn't bother him in the same way it did Hazel, though -- he could go without, frankly.

He wondered if she could look this comfortable everywhere, or if it was the books that drew it out of her. She wasn't exactly high-strung, but he would consider her nervous; here, however, absorbed in the books she was investigating -- here she seemed much calmer, much more grounder. Well, that was until he actually spoke to her again. All of a sudden the nerves were back, and Bast vague regretted saying anything at all.

He cocked his head to the side at her next comment, and he frowned slightly. She could only read Latin? Her draw towards books had given him the impression that she was an avid reader, but the limitations of Latin would make that a little difficult. Maybe she just enjoyed reading and didn't get to often? He wanted to ask but didn't, instead grabbing the book she'd been investigating off the shelf as he followed her out the door.

He should really be used to those flashes of radiance by now, but she seemed to keep surprising him with the force of it. His mouth quirked upwards with a tug of amusement at the immediate stumble in Latin, but Bast didn't point it out. Instead, he just shrugged and said vaguely, "Yeah, really. I have a lot of Latin that I don't read much, anyway." Okay, he had a lot of classics that he loved in Latin, but he was perfectly fine with reading translations while she had the original texts.

As they headed down the hall, he let the silence sit for a few moments before he asked, casually, "Do you want to learn?" A brief pause. "To read English, I mean?" He supposed there were other languages he could offer her -- German, French, a weak grasp on Greek -- but English seemed to be the most likely candidate. Gods, what was he even offering, here? It wasn't like Bast was exactly the best of teachers, nor did he even know how to help someone learn to read, frankly. He didn't even remember what the process was like for himself, let alone know if he could replicate it. It was very possible he was offering something he couldn't actually provide, but he felt compelled to try. There was something sad about her looking so lovingly at books without being able to read most of them.

He wasn't surprised to see her colt come prancing up to them, and he noted in amusement that the Thoroughbred was just about always this full of energy. Interesting -- Hazel had a backbone when it came to bossing her colt around, and Bast wondered if that sass would start to emerge as she grew more comfortable in the Ascendants. Maybe it was something reserved only for those close to her, like the colt (Bast tried to feel remorse that he was seeing it, but he didn't have it in him). "What's his name?" he asked after a moment, seeing how he had yet to hear her actually address the colt by anything. He had been watching Hazel as she spoke, a hint of a smirk present, and he didn't look away now as he asked the question.

[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

"Do you - can you read Latin?" Hazel asked, surprise lacing her voice. Generally, when someone had Latin books in their library, it was just for show - but the more Hazel had looked, the more she had noticed how soft the leather binding looked. It was possible they were soft from use, and that Bastille was...fluent? "Wait, can you speak it?" She asked, voice lilting up in her hope.

Hazel never knew where her bilingual abilities had originated; they were simply there, as if they had always been a part of her rather than something she had gained. Mother used to hate it when she spoke in Latin, but it wasn't as if it was something she could help. It slipped out when she was nervous or uncomfortable, or...overly excited. Any extreme and there would be Latin on the tip of her tongue.

She had never met anyone else with the same ability. There were people that spoke Spanish and French and German in her old home, but never Latin. It pulled her in two directions: finally being able to call herself special, or isolating herself even further from the norms of the clan. She had done the latter, and tried to stow away the language so her clan mates wouldn't see her as such a freak.

But...learn? To read English? Hazel eyes snapped upwards. The answer was yes, with all her heart - of course she wanted to learn to read English. Not only would she be like everyone else, but she would be able to read fairy tales and science fiction. She could read about fantasy worlds and finally write her own concepts on paper in words that people would understand. Christ, why was that a question?

"Yes, I do - absolutely. Want to read, I mean." She said, her hand coming to rest against Arion's withers. Her fingers bent, nails scraping against his favorite spot. The colt preened, pressing his weight further against her like a pampered cat. "I'd love to read English." Her eyes fell to her hand as the words slipped out, softer, more bashful and accompanying a small smile. Over-eagerness was something Hazel had been exuding from the moment she'd reached the Ascendants, and knew at one point or another, she would have to dial back.

As Bastille asked his question, Hazel smiled, looking at Arion with a sort of sibling fondness. "His name's Arion," She replied, shoulders easing with the ease of the topic. "I named him after the horse from Greek mythology - an immortal, supersonic horse who was the son of Neptune and Ceres." The pride in her voice died on her tongue as she squinted her eyes, a mental "Wait a minute - " as she caught her mistake. "Er, Poseidon and Demeter, I mean." She corrected herself.

That was a common mistake; Hazel knew Greek mythology very well, but when it came to naming things, she would revert automatically to the Roman version of things, and it would take her a moment to catch herself. Nevertheless, the slip-up caused a second's blush to burn at the tip of her ears before she was fiddling with the hem of her shirt and blurting out the question she'd wanted to ask since this boy appeared on the border: "What's your name?"

★ — hazel — "speech" — seven months — the ascendants — tags — ★
c) miithers

[BASTILLEPAW]

Bastille looked amused at her question, peering back at her with an arched brow. What did she think she had so many foreign books for? To stare at the words and guess at their meaning? That seemed particularly useless, in his opinion. "Possum," he drawled, the word fluid and light on his tongue as he cocked his head to the side, "There's much more meaning imbedded in Classics when you read the Latin. You can't necessarily tell just how much of a sarcastic shit Ovid is until you see the word choice." A pause, and he smiled slyly at her, "Besides, Latin has many words for emotions than we do. The kind of each one tends to matter, with myth."

He didn't usually speak so freely or openly about his reading or interests with others, but he found that he didn't mind when it was Hazel. He wasn't even sure why he felt like he needed to explain his Latin abilities; it's not like he'd taught himself entirely, per se. A lot of it was inherited from Grimm -- he'd simply had to dig up the memories, teach himself to apply them, brush up on what he lacked or didn't get right away. The truth was that he was a cheater, getting many of his languages without the effort of language acquisition, but he didn't think Hazel was very interested in that part, any way.

"I can also speak German and French," he provided, as if she might blame him later for not admitting to all of his languages. A pause, and he squinted slightly. "Well, I think there's a bit of Russian in there somewhere, too, and I've dabbled in Greek, but I don't really care for them as much. I'm not quite as interested in collecting them all like Grimm is." He didn't seem to notice the foreign name or care; although he didn't seem to ever speak about who or what he was very much, Bastille wasn't actually hiding it. It just never happened to come up.

Besides, he was already being swept up in her response to being able to read. Bastille glanced sideways at her, looking away from Arion to consider her instead. There was something... soft, and quiet, something fragile about her words. Her smile in that moment was just so... sweet, in a way, and for a beat he felt at odds with it. Nothing he said should ever prompt such a tender reaction, but he stifled the urge to say as much.

"Well, I can try to teach you," he said after a moment, looking back to Arion as he ran a hand down the colt's neck. He flushed slightly, realizing he had no idea how to even teach someone else a different language -- if he fucked up and couldn't, she was going to hate him. Bastille almost wanted to take back the offer, to say he'd only let her down, but he bit his tongue and said instead, "I mean, you can speak it, so I feel like it might not be so hard."

He finally looked back to her when she gave her the colts name, and his mouth ticked upwards in amusement immediately. Of course. He wasn't sure why he thought it was typical that the horse would be named for mythology, but it seemed expected. He arched a brow at her as she continued to explain, looking even more amused, and after a beat he drawled idly, "You know you've seen my shelves, right? I know who Arion is." A pause, and then he grinned roguishly, "That, and you don't have to use the Greek names for me. I've read more than just Percy Jackson." Actually, he hadn't even read Percy Jackson, but that was besides the point.

At her question, he paused and blinked at her, caught off guard. Did she not already know it? He supposed he hadn't introduced himself, but Suite had chastised him, briefly -- by Bast, though, and he supposed that didn't immediately indicate his name. He would have figured she'd heard it in passing by now, but then again... Bast was terrible about actually offering his name, let alone his rank or anything people usually gave joiners. "Bastille," he said, and then, "Well, technically it's Bastillepaw. Starry doesn't really believe in naming traditions as much, though, and besides, I usually just go by Bast."

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the ascendants — cosmic general — tags

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[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Brief irritation and embarrassment flashed across her expression, the short roll of her eyes and light huff that passed her lips giving her away. He hadn’t necessarily spoken his amusement out loud, but his eyebrow made it clear enough, and Hazel wasn’t about to feel stupid for asking a question like that. People kept classics and foreign novels on their shelves for the purpose of decoration instead of reading more often than not, and at first impression, Bastille hadn’t exactly struck her as the literary type.

Apparently, she was wrong.

She hardly had time to defend her position before the boy was speaking with a foreign tongue - one Hazel recognized quite well. Her eyes snapped from the surrounding landscape up to his lips, fixated on the way his deep voice curved over the word without struggle. It had been so long since she - not even, because never had she heard someone speak the dead language when it wasn’t coming out of her own mouth. Distantly, it sounded wrong to her, like he shouldn’t be speaking it because it wasn’t supposed to be a used dialect in this timeline, but the displaced thought was muted by Hazel’s excitement. There was a beat of fear as she realized that he could have understood everything she had said in Latin under her breath, but that faded the more he talked.

“Id non credo. Ego have umquam tam expedite Latine loqui possum quasi lumen aliquod probitatis!” Hazel beamed, the language falling off her tongue in a rush. She paused, sucking in a breath as he went on about Ovid and descriptors, nodding. “Ego - ” Deus, once she got going, the language switch in her brain got stuck, and she had to physically stop in order to remind herself to speak English. “I’ve never read any Ovid - or books - but I do agree that the original has to be better than the recounted thing. Sequels are rarely better than the first movie, anyway.” She flicked her hand at the wrist, dismissive but excited.

Hazel faced forward again, smiling to herself and tucking her bottom lip under her teeth. She felt like she could float - felt like she could just lay there in the grass and stare at the sky forever, the sun brushing kisses against her skin and the clouds forming pictures in the sky. There was something about talking out loud and knowing that someone could understand and respond in the same language was so inexplicably thrilling that she had to suck in a breath, her fingers thrumming against her legs. Arion was looking at her suspiciously, head curved just her way and ears canted in opposite directions, paying attention to both her and Bastille. Hazel stuck her tongue out at him.

Bastille grabbed her attention again with something that sounded like an afterthought. German and French, huh? Hazel felt herself nod her acknowledgement, because hey, that was pretty cool. As he went on, Hazel huffed, a smile tugging at her lips because: “Well now you’re just showing off.” It was a good natured jibe; she genuinely thought it impressive that he could speak six languages. She was also warming up to him just a bit, the floodgates having opened due to the newfound knowledge that she knew someone else who spoke Latin. Apprehension was still heavily present in her mind when she teased him, but he didn’t seem like the type to lash out.

Not in the way that Mother did, anyway.

Hazel fell quiet at the intrusive thought, mood darkening ever so slightly. Grass rustled beneath her feet as she walked; a hawk screech in the distance had Arion jerking his head up at its shrillness. Everything she did always, always tied back to her past: everything she said, everything she did, every way she moved. It was all tainted by the ridiculous, paralyzing fear that someone would come at her the same way Mother did - that she would never escape it, and would be forced to live in its shadow. Hazel kicked at a rock, ignoring the slight sting in her toes. Couldn’t she just live her life in peace?

“You - what?” Hazel was torn out of her rapid descent into real irritation and shame by a very sudden, very surprising offer. She found Bastille resting a hand on Arion’s neck - which the colt didn’t seem to mind - and a faint blush blooming high on his cheekbones. Damn, Hazel didn’t think he had it in him to be embarrassed. Nevertheless, she almost did a double take. Almost had to ask what they were talking about, actually, because her thoughts had derailed so completely.

Hazel’s lips parted in her surprise, feet halting as she turned to face the boy. Arion seemed to take offense to the fact that she was no longer moving and snorted disdainfully before continuing on towards the ruins. Meanwhile: “To - to -” and suddenly she was grasping at straws, unable to think of the English word in her complete and utter surprise. Hazel blinked, closed her mouth, and tried again. “Legere?” Well, Christ. That wasn’t what she wanted. Whatever. It got her point across.

He looked uncertain for the first time that Hazel had met him, and found that the look irritated her. It didn’t look right on his face. Regardless, a full-on grin lit up her expression, and she looked like she didn’t know what to do with herself. “I would literally love anything you taught me, crappy or not.” She assured him. Because heck, absolutely.

And oh, back to this? Hazel’s fingers, previously alternating between drumming against her sides again or curling into fists to contain her excitement, flew out in both directions, exasperated and running on her newfound good mood. “Just thought I’d recount it, y’know, in case.” She shoved her hands into her back pockets, biting back a smile and - great, now she was blushing. Hazel shrugged. “I don’t know what Percy Jackson is, but...congratulations?” She offered, thoroughly ruffled and anxious to continue towards the ruins.

Hazel pushed onward, still inwardly glowing. She was going to learn how to read. She was going to read fairy tales and adventures and action and mythology. Bastille didn’t seem like the teacher type, but Hazel couldn’t care less. If he sat there and read willingly to her every night and she didn’t learn a word, she would still walk out of his room, bright and happy.

When he finally gave her his name - which, yeah, she didn’t have, because he’d been in such a grumpy mood on the border - her eyes flicked up again, and she nodded. “Nice to meet you then, Bastille.” She said.


(translation, just in case google fucks it up: “I cannot believe it. I have never met someone able to speak Latin so fluently!”)

★ — hazel — "speech" — seven months — the ascendants — tags — ★
c) miithers