07-04-2018, 10:54 AM
I'LL BE GOOD, I'LL BE GOOD
Bastille didn't bother to return Suiteheart's smile, but he had a feeling she wasn't really expecting him to. He'd kept a wide breadth of her in general, incapable of avoiding her completely but doing his damned best to keep her at a distance; he might speak to her out of necessity, but that was it. She got no humor, no additional attention, no warmth from him, and perhaps he was stubborn but so was she, evidently, if she took no interest in fixing the rift. All he needed from her was to be a good Admiral and to take care of the group once she finally stabbed him in the back, and he had that. She was otherwise nothing to him.
He rolled his eyes as he caught the distaste shifting between her and Gen, and ignored them as he opted for eyeing his choices in partners. His attention alighted on Roy, and there was a hint of a smirk there as he realized that he never actually got to try him out for a spar. Sure, they both seemed to be fans of training, and Roy certainly shared his views on pacifism, but Bast only ever got to see him practice from the outside. What was the fun in that? "Roy," he drawled, jerking his head slightly in an indication that he join him. Wash would be an interesting match, too, but he'd probably call him "sir" in response and get all tensed up, which was... to be avoided. Desperately. Roy didn't respect him in the slightest, which was significantly less horrifying to deal with.
His attention was torn away by Gen, however, and he tensed the second he realized who her attention had fixed on. There was a split second of processing before he was between the two, as if Gen might make a physical advance even if Bast knew logically that it was unlikely. He couldn't help it, though -- his first inclination would always be to defend Hazel, and he could feel the distress starting to filter through their bond in degrees; he didn't have to look over his shoulder at her to know the words were going to hit and hit hard.
And there was anger there, brewing violently in his veins -- he could feel the flames of it crackling in his blood, his paws heating up against the ground as he struggled to rein it back, to hold his temper in check. Because how fucking dare she, but also, who was he to judge? He knew exactly how hard Margy might be fighting against herself just then, and he grit his teeth hard as he glared at Gen evenly. Keep it in check, keep it in check. He was no better than her, not when it came down to it, and what he'd said to Margy was probably worse than this.
"Don't say anything Margy is going to regret, Gen," he finally breathed out lowly, despite the fact that he wanted to spit that she already had, "Fighting doesn't prove worth, and neither does tearing everyone else down. Hazel doesn't have to try it yet if she's not ready, and you don't need to comment on it." He pushed back hard against the nasty flare in his gut, the temptation to lash out in response, and reminded himself that it was still Margy. That it wasn't her fault, not really, and yelling at her would only make shit worse. He didn't dare to glance at Hazel because he was certain that if she saw her face he'd lose it.
[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGSHe rolled his eyes as he caught the distaste shifting between her and Gen, and ignored them as he opted for eyeing his choices in partners. His attention alighted on Roy, and there was a hint of a smirk there as he realized that he never actually got to try him out for a spar. Sure, they both seemed to be fans of training, and Roy certainly shared his views on pacifism, but Bast only ever got to see him practice from the outside. What was the fun in that? "Roy," he drawled, jerking his head slightly in an indication that he join him. Wash would be an interesting match, too, but he'd probably call him "sir" in response and get all tensed up, which was... to be avoided. Desperately. Roy didn't respect him in the slightest, which was significantly less horrifying to deal with.
His attention was torn away by Gen, however, and he tensed the second he realized who her attention had fixed on. There was a split second of processing before he was between the two, as if Gen might make a physical advance even if Bast knew logically that it was unlikely. He couldn't help it, though -- his first inclination would always be to defend Hazel, and he could feel the distress starting to filter through their bond in degrees; he didn't have to look over his shoulder at her to know the words were going to hit and hit hard.
And there was anger there, brewing violently in his veins -- he could feel the flames of it crackling in his blood, his paws heating up against the ground as he struggled to rein it back, to hold his temper in check. Because how fucking dare she, but also, who was he to judge? He knew exactly how hard Margy might be fighting against herself just then, and he grit his teeth hard as he glared at Gen evenly. Keep it in check, keep it in check. He was no better than her, not when it came down to it, and what he'd said to Margy was probably worse than this.
"Don't say anything Margy is going to regret, Gen," he finally breathed out lowly, despite the fact that he wanted to spit that she already had, "Fighting doesn't prove worth, and neither does tearing everyone else down. Hazel doesn't have to try it yet if she's not ready, and you don't need to comment on it." He pushed back hard against the nasty flare in his gut, the temptation to lash out in response, and reminded himself that it was still Margy. That it wasn't her fault, not really, and yelling at her would only make shit worse. He didn't dare to glance at Hazel because he was certain that if she saw her face he'd lose it.
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]