06-20-2018, 04:28 PM
AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT
Bastille had a strange relation to the newest children. On some level, he felt compelled to care for them in similar fashion to Pele and Sylva, though things were less black-and-white between he and Margaery compared to he and Luna. Sure, she had directly asked him to care for and love them, but she had returned so quickly that it was all awash. Was it necessary that he take special interest in them, with both mothers to care for them, with Hazel to dote on them? Was he supposed to look at them and feel fondness, like one might towards younger siblings? Maybe.
He didn't feel much of anything, though. The kiddos were 3 months old or approximately, and he hadn't made much progress in either feeling something again or weaning himself off of his pills. He knew that Hazel had said he must, but that was easier said than done -- particularly when he could no longer feel any sense of shame for his actions. He was caught in limbo, vaguely motivated to make a change but lacking the push to get him there.
He could grasp onto fleeting flickers of something, though. When the uppers were good and they mixed just right with a shot or two of vodka, he could hold onto feeling. He could look at the kids and feel fondness, protectiveness, a general will to see them happy. He could smile and tease them and make sure they were doing okay. He could look at Margy and feel some sort of regret, some need to speak to her, could remember her letter and feel it. He could look at Suiteheart and feel that low-burning anger, muted at it was; could feel the disconnect, the chill, the resolute certainty that she'd betrayed him and he had cause to keep her at a distance. He could look at Hazel and feel like he was burning.
Never for long, though. His brief trials of shallow emotion were only that, and there was no guarantee that every pill he popped was going to unlock that capability for him. Today, at least, was a good day -- the buzz in his veins was a good one, let him extend a little bit beyond that apathy, let him feel a flicker of amusement as he stopped a few paces from the three, gaze on Connor.
"You haven't seen the ruins yet, have you, Con? Bet those will keep you occupied for a bit," he commented, idle, gaze lifting briefly to Margy in greeting.
[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGSHe didn't feel much of anything, though. The kiddos were 3 months old or approximately, and he hadn't made much progress in either feeling something again or weaning himself off of his pills. He knew that Hazel had said he must, but that was easier said than done -- particularly when he could no longer feel any sense of shame for his actions. He was caught in limbo, vaguely motivated to make a change but lacking the push to get him there.
He could grasp onto fleeting flickers of something, though. When the uppers were good and they mixed just right with a shot or two of vodka, he could hold onto feeling. He could look at the kids and feel fondness, protectiveness, a general will to see them happy. He could smile and tease them and make sure they were doing okay. He could look at Margy and feel some sort of regret, some need to speak to her, could remember her letter and feel it. He could look at Suiteheart and feel that low-burning anger, muted at it was; could feel the disconnect, the chill, the resolute certainty that she'd betrayed him and he had cause to keep her at a distance. He could look at Hazel and feel like he was burning.
Never for long, though. His brief trials of shallow emotion were only that, and there was no guarantee that every pill he popped was going to unlock that capability for him. Today, at least, was a good day -- the buzz in his veins was a good one, let him extend a little bit beyond that apathy, let him feel a flicker of amusement as he stopped a few paces from the three, gaze on Connor.
"You haven't seen the ruins yet, have you, Con? Bet those will keep you occupied for a bit," he commented, idle, gaze lifting briefly to Margy in greeting.
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]