06-20-2018, 04:06 PM
AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT
In the days following Margy’s death, Bastille had not managed to find any sense of peace or solace. That was, frankly, only because he had no sense of sorrow to come to terms with. He had drank himself into darkness and hadn’t felt a flicker of emotion, could only place a faint impression of regret. The briefest hint of sorrow. But that was all. It seemed he’d pushed himself so far over the edge that they only thing that could make him feel something were Rad’s pills, and only if he was lucky.
Maybe he should be grateful. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to mourn another loved one, not after Starry. He looked to Suiteheart or Hazel and felt the misery radiating off of them and knew he could only be destructive if he felt that. Knew that apathy was the only thing keeping him functional. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d betrayed her, somehow, by not feeling able to feel for her. By standing by, untouched by her loss. He hated himself a little more for every day that went by without being able to mourn her, but that was really saying much. What was a drop of hatred in the bucket at this point?
As her aura called to him, drawing him towards her, he didn’t question if he was imagining things. Imagining things would have required grief, a desperation to get her back, some sort of delusion — and he didn’t feel any sort of desperation. Not any more. With nothing in his system, he knew he couldn’t be imagining things, but at the same time… Well. At the same time, there wasn’t any relief, either. There was just nothing.
He came to a stop a few paces away, cold stare locked on Margy. Her aura was unmistakable, despite Cooper’s brief belief it might not be her; it may be darker, tinged, changed, but it was still Margy’s at the core. He could sense something about her, the flicker of divinity surrounding her, the faintest whisper of a voice at the back of his thoughts — but it was there and gone, and he didn’t give chase. Grimm might have liked to have that story tucked away, but Bastille found that he just didn’t care. She was back now, and that was that.
Maybe eventually he might be able to appreciate that fact.
”Welcome back,” was all he said, low and even.
[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGSMaybe he should be grateful. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to mourn another loved one, not after Starry. He looked to Suiteheart or Hazel and felt the misery radiating off of them and knew he could only be destructive if he felt that. Knew that apathy was the only thing keeping him functional. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d betrayed her, somehow, by not feeling able to feel for her. By standing by, untouched by her loss. He hated himself a little more for every day that went by without being able to mourn her, but that was really saying much. What was a drop of hatred in the bucket at this point?
As her aura called to him, drawing him towards her, he didn’t question if he was imagining things. Imagining things would have required grief, a desperation to get her back, some sort of delusion — and he didn’t feel any sort of desperation. Not any more. With nothing in his system, he knew he couldn’t be imagining things, but at the same time… Well. At the same time, there wasn’t any relief, either. There was just nothing.
He came to a stop a few paces away, cold stare locked on Margy. Her aura was unmistakable, despite Cooper’s brief belief it might not be her; it may be darker, tinged, changed, but it was still Margy’s at the core. He could sense something about her, the flicker of divinity surrounding her, the faintest whisper of a voice at the back of his thoughts — but it was there and gone, and he didn’t give chase. Grimm might have liked to have that story tucked away, but Bastille found that he just didn’t care. She was back now, and that was that.
Maybe eventually he might be able to appreciate that fact.
”Welcome back,” was all he said, low and even.
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]