06-13-2018, 08:37 PM
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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
So...Hazel had no experience with Tanglewood. Absolutely none. When she had first arrived, there had been no drama between the Ascendants and the opposing clan. At least, not that she was aware of. And even now, despite her lengthy stay at the observatory, Hazel still hardly heard of outside clans. Whenever their names were brought up in conversation, she had to backtrack, recalling that Oh, right, they exist. She wasn’t sure if it was just her obliviousness or if the Ascendants just didn’t have anything interesting happening foreign-relation-wise.
She was aware of Bastille’s favored term - Tanglefucks - for the group, and found it rather amusing; or she would, of she could correctly place her emotions at the moment. Sadly, the girl did not arrive in time to hear Pele repeat said favored term, though Hazel did pick up on Luna’s defensive tone and posture with a certain degree of concern. It was strong enough (and obvious enough) to override the rest of the impressions cluttering the air. Pele’s innocence was messing with Hazel’s interpretation of the situation, though...from what she could tell, Suite didn’t look or sound happy to see Beck. That was about all she could say for certain.
The cocoa feline took a seat on her own, assuring her small bubble of personal space and curling her tail far enough over her paws to brush against the golden bandana tied around her foreleg. She was unaware that the movement was a nervous tick, giving away her lack of knowledge on the situation to anyone who truly paid attention. Didn’t matter, though - Hazel was focused on the poltergeist sitting in front of them, regarding him with wary but curious pools of vivid gold. It felt...odd to see a spirit playing the role of something living. It set Hazel even further on edge, even if that was one of the lesser things to be noticed about Beck. She had no opinion of him yet, having lived vicariously through Bastille’s dislike of him and Suite’s glaringly obvious hatred.
She was intrigued by his question: So, whatcha got? Hazel’s immediate answer was along the lines of flipping the question on Beck. But what did he want? Something physical, or something intangible? Was he looking for a deal or for a trophy to bring home? Hazel frowned, waiting for Bastille’s answer.
(Mobile post Yikes)
She was aware of Bastille’s favored term - Tanglefucks - for the group, and found it rather amusing; or she would, of she could correctly place her emotions at the moment. Sadly, the girl did not arrive in time to hear Pele repeat said favored term, though Hazel did pick up on Luna’s defensive tone and posture with a certain degree of concern. It was strong enough (and obvious enough) to override the rest of the impressions cluttering the air. Pele’s innocence was messing with Hazel’s interpretation of the situation, though...from what she could tell, Suite didn’t look or sound happy to see Beck. That was about all she could say for certain.
The cocoa feline took a seat on her own, assuring her small bubble of personal space and curling her tail far enough over her paws to brush against the golden bandana tied around her foreleg. She was unaware that the movement was a nervous tick, giving away her lack of knowledge on the situation to anyone who truly paid attention. Didn’t matter, though - Hazel was focused on the poltergeist sitting in front of them, regarding him with wary but curious pools of vivid gold. It felt...odd to see a spirit playing the role of something living. It set Hazel even further on edge, even if that was one of the lesser things to be noticed about Beck. She had no opinion of him yet, having lived vicariously through Bastille’s dislike of him and Suite’s glaringly obvious hatred.
She was intrigued by his question: So, whatcha got? Hazel’s immediate answer was along the lines of flipping the question on Beck. But what did he want? Something physical, or something intangible? Was he looking for a deal or for a trophy to bring home? Hazel frowned, waiting for Bastille’s answer.
(Mobile post Yikes)
★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better