and the ones we hail are the worst of all | p

[BASTILLEPAW]

AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT

Bastilleprisoner, for the first time in weeks — months? — could feel everything with crystal clarity. There was been flickering moments of emotion before, creeping up through the cracks, but it’d gotten worse with the bond threaded between he and Hazel. But this was different. Once the hangover and lingering impressions of his sort of maybe overdose (he wasn’t entirely certain if he had or not this time) faded, he was left with the realization that his careful shield of apathy had shattered. He thought back to his fingers on Hazel’s throat and felt sick to his stomach; conversely, he thought of her fingers in his hair when he woke up and there was warmth and contentment. He might go as far to say that he was shaken by the paranoid nightmare Pollie had forced through his thoughts, the blind panic and misery that had gripped him so tightly he might not have made it out it of without his mother. Everything was just... there. Hazy. He was exhausted and feeling so much and he walked through crowds of Clanmates who stared at him because they knew or else they had heard him screaming in his room as everything hit. That in itself was exhausting, and Rin’s stern look and Cooper’s concern were too much for him just then.

Eventually, he realized where his paws were taking him. Thinking of her made his stomach twist, because he could acknowledge now that he’d pushed her too far. And while he’d been aware that what he’d said to her was terrible before, now he could feel it. The remorse, the guilt, the echo of his mother telling him he couldn’t keep going on like this, giving himself excuses. His throat still ached and it burned when he swallowed, but Bast kept moving forward. There was no use in avoiding this. It was about damn time that he apologize to her, anyways.

He paused outside her door before he finally just sighed and knocked quietly, voice low and a bit scratchy, ”Margy?”

[ [member=449]Margaery[/member] ]

[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGS

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

How unfortunate it was to be alone, surrounded by smiling images of the person you were meant to be and her wife and her children. She wanted to hate Margaery for dooming her to this life, for creating her as a sentient doormat made only to handle the brunt of all the hurt and trauma that had been inflicted upon her over the past ten centuries. She wanted a life of her own; she wanted to be able to experience joy, delight, zest for life. She wanted to be able to look at the members of this clan and feel something akin to family, not the overwhelming urge to slaughter them where they stood. But she was the monster, made only to kill and hate and kill and hate, and nothing was going to change that. Especially not Margaery. And yet, she still cared for her, still wanted to protect her from the terribleness of the world around her as well as the terribleness that was Suiteheart. The love of her life. No, that was wrong. All Suiteheart was was a shitty copy of Aerona.

They have the same eyes, Genevieve. Hold on to that at least.

Margaery’s voice, warm and compassionate and infinitely tired. It rang for a moment in her mind, a rare and genuine frown appearing only briefly upon Genevieve’s face. She would have contemplated her counterpart’s statement had a voice not drawn her from her thoughts, a wave of sudden hunger washing over her being. Every instinct told her that what waited on the other side of that door was dinner, willing and ready to die so that she may feed. Margaery’s low hiss - because of course she recognized Bastilleprisoner - told her to reign it in.

Releasing a dramatic sigh, Genevieve threw open the door to force what could only be described as a wicked smile at the Seraph. [color=#b14767]”Not Margaery, Genevieve,” She corrected before her expression twisted, [color=#b14767]”Sorry to disappoint, it’s kind of my specialty though. Anyways, what brings you here? Or do you specifically want the ever dull Margaery? She’s just as curious as to why you’re here as I am, truth be told.”

[BASTILLEPAW]

AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT

Genevieve. Right. Bastille supposed he should have seen that one coming, but in all honestly, dragging himself through withdrawals were taking up a lot of his fucking energy. He might have expected Margy to resurface on her own by now, but he knew that this split personality wasn't the same as he experienced his souls. Sure, he might be able to reclaim control fairly easily and fairly quickly, but this was... different. He had yet to figure it out, and he was too tired to bother as he blinked blankly back at the vampire for a moment.

"Right," he said, slowly, studying her intently as he puzzled at her aura. It differed in degrees from Margy's, despite being the same overall, and he only ever seemed to pick up on negativity from her. Like now, as she made that little quip about disappointment. Bast snorted and drawled, "Welcome to the club, I guess." A pause at her inquiry, and he shrugged. "Uh, I figured we needed to... talk. About what I said to her." He arched a brow, and ventured, "Well, both of you, technically. You are one soul, after all." He seemed to remember that he needed to do more than just talk, and cleared his throat. "To apologize, really."

He shrugged, and considered her for a moment. He didn't really have any cause to discuss it with Gen, but then again, she was also Margy, so he stayed still as he gauged what she said about it.

[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGS

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

Genevieve seemed to contemplate his words for a brief moment, a paw tensed and ready on the door as if to slam it in his face if he said anything that displeased her. Why would she, of all people, wish to speak to him? None of these Ascendants wanted her around and she presumed that the Seraph was no different. Everyone around her kept begging for Margaery back and yet, nobody took any time to truly study Genevieve and realize that she was Margaery. They were one being. One soul. One complete entity who’s personality had simply become fractured and split over centuries of deceit and sadness and that same, terrible cycle repeating itself over and over again. While she could try to fork over the face that everyone so desperately desired, it wasn’t that easy. And frankly, even it was, she was far from keen on humoring those who had thought to wrong her.

Something shifted within Genevieve though, and for once, she found herself actually letting someone in. That threatening paw was removed from the door as she returned to her spot in the center of the room, expression devoid of emotion. [color=#b14767]”Those awful things you said to her,” She began, voice blunt and harsh, [color=#b14767]”You said them to us. Margaery deals with her problems for about a day before conveniently piling them on me. She subconsciously created me as a place to store all of her hurt and misdeeds. We’re the same though, nobody seems to listen to that. It’s funny, nobody expects her to be a monster. But, go on, sugar, I want to hear what you have to say.”

Nobody had ever apologized to her.

Admittedly, Gen was halfway looking forward to this.