05-19-2018, 04:57 PM
![[Image: jgC0ptA.png]](https://i.imgur.com/jgC0ptA.png)
Bastille's insomnia had passed with the outburst of his elementals, but that didn't mean he always slept well these days. There were nights where he woke up with a jerk, lingering memories clouding his thoughts and some foreign smell on his tongue. There were times when he couldn't get to sleep at all, feeling a sort of bone-deep restlessness that demanded his attention. His powers seemed to have quieted somewhat, less explosive and less out of control, but he could that in the middle of those restless nights they were most rebellious. He could feel his past lives more saliently, shifting close beneath the surface, his thoughts flickering in and out of clarity, mingling with theirs.
This was one of those nights.
He'd woken up with the taste of smoke in his mouth, the flush of warmth from the bonfire and vodka lingering for a few moments as he struggled to get his bearings. It took a few moments to shrug off Zaniel's memories, but once he had pushed the past away he was awake for good. He often found that there was no going back to sleep when he dreamed of his souls; for whatever reason, his body wouldn't let him slip back into the midst of them. So, Bastille didn't even try -- he slipped out of his room with a book, deciding he may as well go read with Octavia until morning. It was what he usually did when he was awake but not too restless to settle down to read.
It was the shouting, not the crash of glass, that caught his attention. Bastille dropped his book -- Metamorphosis, this time -- and whirled around, scowling as he stared down the hall. It took him a few moments to place the voice as Hazel's, and then he was moving forward on auto-pilot, his book forgotten as he headed for her room. He shoved her door open without bothered to stop, picking up on the distress flaring through her aura viciously -- it made his skin feel tight, his blood boiling in an agitated fashion, and there was a brief splintering noise as the basement floor cracked under his feet.
He found her hunched in the corner and fell to his knees in front of her, his hands automatically curling around her wrists before he remembered. Too late now, however, and he pulled gently but urgently on her arms, trying to get her to release her ears, his thumbs planted on her pulse to track her heartbeat as he did so. "Hazel, Hazel, hey, come on," he said lowly, forcing his voice to remain steady and calm despite the winds that were starting to rage outside of the Observatory. He could feel the pull of the storm, reacting to his surging something -- it wasn't quite fear, or panic, but a low-burning sense of frustration, of wanting to stab whatever hurt her, of concern; a twisting wrongness about seeing her life this, broken -- but he did his best to focus on Hazel, on her heartbeat.
"It's okay, it's okay, just breathe, it's okay, Haze," he kept repeating in a steady flow, pulling her towards him by her wrists before he could second guess himself. He recalled the sudden warmth of Suite's presence, breaking through the chaos surrounding him, and released her long enough to wrap his arms around her tightly, hoping the weight would ground her or at least startle her out of her daze. "Come on, Haze, match my breathing," he started to say instead, focusing on keeping his own warring distress under control so that she had a reference point, "You need to breathe, okay? You need to breathe. With me. You're okay, just breathe."
This was one of those nights.
He'd woken up with the taste of smoke in his mouth, the flush of warmth from the bonfire and vodka lingering for a few moments as he struggled to get his bearings. It took a few moments to shrug off Zaniel's memories, but once he had pushed the past away he was awake for good. He often found that there was no going back to sleep when he dreamed of his souls; for whatever reason, his body wouldn't let him slip back into the midst of them. So, Bastille didn't even try -- he slipped out of his room with a book, deciding he may as well go read with Octavia until morning. It was what he usually did when he was awake but not too restless to settle down to read.
It was the shouting, not the crash of glass, that caught his attention. Bastille dropped his book -- Metamorphosis, this time -- and whirled around, scowling as he stared down the hall. It took him a few moments to place the voice as Hazel's, and then he was moving forward on auto-pilot, his book forgotten as he headed for her room. He shoved her door open without bothered to stop, picking up on the distress flaring through her aura viciously -- it made his skin feel tight, his blood boiling in an agitated fashion, and there was a brief splintering noise as the basement floor cracked under his feet.
He found her hunched in the corner and fell to his knees in front of her, his hands automatically curling around her wrists before he remembered. Too late now, however, and he pulled gently but urgently on her arms, trying to get her to release her ears, his thumbs planted on her pulse to track her heartbeat as he did so. "Hazel, Hazel, hey, come on," he said lowly, forcing his voice to remain steady and calm despite the winds that were starting to rage outside of the Observatory. He could feel the pull of the storm, reacting to his surging something -- it wasn't quite fear, or panic, but a low-burning sense of frustration, of wanting to stab whatever hurt her, of concern; a twisting wrongness about seeing her life this, broken -- but he did his best to focus on Hazel, on her heartbeat.
"It's okay, it's okay, just breathe, it's okay, Haze," he kept repeating in a steady flow, pulling her towards him by her wrists before he could second guess himself. He recalled the sudden warmth of Suite's presence, breaking through the chaos surrounding him, and released her long enough to wrap his arms around her tightly, hoping the weight would ground her or at least startle her out of her daze. "Come on, Haze, match my breathing," he started to say instead, focusing on keeping his own warring distress under control so that she had a reference point, "You need to breathe, okay? You need to breathe. With me. You're okay, just breathe."
[align=center]![[Image: 4ySBjji.png]](https://i.imgur.com/4ySBjji.png)
the ascendants — cosmic general — tags
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Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago, Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword, Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door. [b][sup]▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃[/sup][/b]