05-30-2018, 07:13 PM
![[Image: jgC0ptA.png]](https://i.imgur.com/jgC0ptA.png)
Bastille was pretty damn removed from the incident himself. He heard about it through Observers gossiping about Suite laying into somebody, though they'd seemed a little hesitant to explain to him what the fuck they were going on about. He was rapidly losing patience when they finally just fucking explained, and Bastille was... fucking furious. The white-hot flare of vicious anger sparked instantly, and it didn't even matter that he had been avoiding Hazel for days now. Something about her just seemed to drag the worst out of him, and he could feel the ground heating up beneath his paws as he turned away from the two without a word and went to track down his victims.
He was halfway to one of their rooms when he caught himself mid-thought, realizing abruptly that he'd slipped almost seamlessly into Pollie's thought pattern -- he was going to cut their middles open and let them bleed out slowly, let them suffer for it -- without any resistance from his own. He hadn't even noticed it happening, and he knew without having to glance in a mirror that his irises were burning a mismatched green and blue. "Fuck," he swore, taking a few paces back. There were flames flickering at his paws, and he shook his head, struggling to force the murderous rage back, to push Pollutedsoul back. God damnit, the stupid bastard had been far too quick to slip out recently, as if Hazel and Margy had awaken the fucking beast and now he couldn't silence it.
He would have killed them if he hadn't snapped himself out of it sooner, and he felt that flare of temptation even as he was backing up and rapidly leaving the underground complex. He needed to get as far away as fucking possible, and he grit his teeth as he headed for the gardens, determining that if Hazel was there, he'd likely find Suite there, too. The last thing he wanted was to be near the girl or Margy, but fuck, he was afraid that if he wasn't by Suite or someone so familiar, he was going to do something he regretted.
Sure enough, just about everyone he ever relied on to ground his raging temper was clustered in the garden -- even his mentor. He felt a vicious twist as he realized Margy had beat him there, and his irises flashed as he briefly stopped short. Fuck, fuck, fuck -- he wasn't sure what was worst, going towards someone that Pollie reacted so viciously towards or going back towards the Observatory, where no one was there to stop him from ripping those idiot's throats out. Which-- which-- which he wanted to do, because they fucking deserved it, and he was going to make sure they paid for attacking Hazel of all people. He just needed to catch them in their rooms at the right time, in the middle of the night, likely, when no one else was awake or any wiser--
Fuck, he thought, jerking slightly as he caught his grasp on himself slipping once more. Fuck. His head was spinning with the impulsive desire to just kill them all, and the warring reminder that it wasn't him and he needed to get a fucking grip. The flames sparking in his steps didn't seem to be going any where, and he pushed himself forward, resigned in the knowledge that if he went off on his own, he was going to kill someone. He didn't have it in him to keep fighting Pollie, not when he could barely even realize a fight was being lost any more.
He stopped beside Luna, brushing up against her side as he usually did when he was seeking grounding support. His stare was locked on Hazel, resolutely ignoring Margy's presence as much as possible, and his irises seemed to dip in and out -- ice blue, mismatched, ice blue. They were just as unstable as his thoughts, his identity, and he scowled slightly as he said lowly, "If they fuck with you again, I'm--" going to kill them, was right on his tongue, but he caught himself before he admitted it aloud. Instead, he just muttered, "Let me know." There. Better. Less... deranged sounding.
He was halfway to one of their rooms when he caught himself mid-thought, realizing abruptly that he'd slipped almost seamlessly into Pollie's thought pattern -- he was going to cut their middles open and let them bleed out slowly, let them suffer for it -- without any resistance from his own. He hadn't even noticed it happening, and he knew without having to glance in a mirror that his irises were burning a mismatched green and blue. "Fuck," he swore, taking a few paces back. There were flames flickering at his paws, and he shook his head, struggling to force the murderous rage back, to push Pollutedsoul back. God damnit, the stupid bastard had been far too quick to slip out recently, as if Hazel and Margy had awaken the fucking beast and now he couldn't silence it.
He would have killed them if he hadn't snapped himself out of it sooner, and he felt that flare of temptation even as he was backing up and rapidly leaving the underground complex. He needed to get as far away as fucking possible, and he grit his teeth as he headed for the gardens, determining that if Hazel was there, he'd likely find Suite there, too. The last thing he wanted was to be near the girl or Margy, but fuck, he was afraid that if he wasn't by Suite or someone so familiar, he was going to do something he regretted.
Sure enough, just about everyone he ever relied on to ground his raging temper was clustered in the garden -- even his mentor. He felt a vicious twist as he realized Margy had beat him there, and his irises flashed as he briefly stopped short. Fuck, fuck, fuck -- he wasn't sure what was worst, going towards someone that Pollie reacted so viciously towards or going back towards the Observatory, where no one was there to stop him from ripping those idiot's throats out. Which-- which-- which he wanted to do, because they fucking deserved it, and he was going to make sure they paid for attacking Hazel of all people. He just needed to catch them in their rooms at the right time, in the middle of the night, likely, when no one else was awake or any wiser--
Fuck, he thought, jerking slightly as he caught his grasp on himself slipping once more. Fuck. His head was spinning with the impulsive desire to just kill them all, and the warring reminder that it wasn't him and he needed to get a fucking grip. The flames sparking in his steps didn't seem to be going any where, and he pushed himself forward, resigned in the knowledge that if he went off on his own, he was going to kill someone. He didn't have it in him to keep fighting Pollie, not when he could barely even realize a fight was being lost any more.
He stopped beside Luna, brushing up against her side as he usually did when he was seeking grounding support. His stare was locked on Hazel, resolutely ignoring Margy's presence as much as possible, and his irises seemed to dip in and out -- ice blue, mismatched, ice blue. They were just as unstable as his thoughts, his identity, and he scowled slightly as he said lowly, "If they fuck with you again, I'm--" going to kill them, was right on his tongue, but he caught himself before he admitted it aloud. Instead, he just muttered, "Let me know." There. Better. Less... deranged sounding.
[align=center]![[Image: 4ySBjji.png]](https://i.imgur.com/4ySBjji.png)
the ascendants — astral seraph — 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]