06-20-2018, 04:18 PM
AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT
Bastille would probably be at a loss to know that he was a comfort to anyone, much less to someone with such a timid nature. It wasn't that he tried to put other on edge, per se -- it was simply that he tended to walk a fine line between in control and not, and when he wasn't he was... chaotic, might be a good word. Chaotic and vengeful and impulse and bringing down storms with the twists in his emotions. He had never claimed to be a good person, even if he might want or try to be, and while his general apathy and typical nonchalance in the face of others' quirks or insecurities might be a nice change of pace for some, he wouldn't consider it very... comforting. Maybe a relief, in a sense -- most could count on him not to over-react or make a big deal out of things (so long as they weren't anything that set Pollutedsoul off, that was). He would never look at Gordon as anything other than normal or baby her for being closed off.
As it was, though, he did feel vaguely compelled to try to care. To give the impression he could feel something, or that he was capable of connecting. It seemed like what he was supposed to do, anyway. Why turn her down when he didn't even feel strongly one way or another about flower crowns? Seemed like pointless refusal, when he was meant to be a welcoming member of society, or something. As Gordon's prompting, he paused and then shrugged. "Why not, I guess," he supplied, peering at her assortment of flowers idly, "What kind'a flower do you think I am?"
[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGSAs it was, though, he did feel vaguely compelled to try to care. To give the impression he could feel something, or that he was capable of connecting. It seemed like what he was supposed to do, anyway. Why turn her down when he didn't even feel strongly one way or another about flower crowns? Seemed like pointless refusal, when he was meant to be a welcoming member of society, or something. As Gordon's prompting, he paused and then shrugged. "Why not, I guess," he supplied, peering at her assortment of flowers idly, "What kind'a flower do you think I am?"
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]