06-27-2018, 09:04 PM
AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT
This thing was, Bastille actually paid attention to details. He analyzed people out of boredom, noting little things they did, interests they had, if only because... well. Because it was habit. Grimm liked a story, and sometimes the story was in the details. It lent a relatively intuitive nature to the Seraph, and sometimes it was hard to turn it off. Such as when he could feel the subtlest of shifts from Hazel, the flickers in her emotions, her aura, her very existence from the other side of the fucking territory because they were bonded and he didn't know what to do with that. He knew she didn't like it, but she also hadn't directly said anything about it yet, so he was just... biding his time. Waiting it out. Trying to pretend it wasn't there.
There was something there, though. When he looked at her and looked hard, he could see the fractures in her aura, the restlessness of her souls. He could feel the turbulence through the bond. He knew that feeling well enough, and he felt an urge to ask about it, to check in on her, but he felt like it wasn't his place. Instead, he just waited in silence most of the time, waiting for her energy to come back so that she could be angry.
As he stopped in the doorway of the bunker, his gaze sought her and Arion out. Octavia was asleep in her stall, oblivious to the crash, but Bastille only looked on with a flicker of a smile in amusement. "He's an artist," he commented, low, gaze flickering to Hazel before he looked away, down towards the floor. A pause. "Do you want some help?" Water welled up at his paws, budding in a puddle as he waited to see what she said, feeling vaguely out of place here.
[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGSThere was something there, though. When he looked at her and looked hard, he could see the fractures in her aura, the restlessness of her souls. He could feel the turbulence through the bond. He knew that feeling well enough, and he felt an urge to ask about it, to check in on her, but he felt like it wasn't his place. Instead, he just waited in silence most of the time, waiting for her energy to come back so that she could be angry.
As he stopped in the doorway of the bunker, his gaze sought her and Arion out. Octavia was asleep in her stall, oblivious to the crash, but Bastille only looked on with a flicker of a smile in amusement. "He's an artist," he commented, low, gaze flickering to Hazel before he looked away, down towards the floor. A pause. "Do you want some help?" Water welled up at his paws, budding in a puddle as he waited to see what she said, feeling vaguely out of place here.
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]