07-09-2018, 10:24 PM
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SING, GODDESS, OF THE RAGE OF ACHILLES
Bastille wished he could say that there was a reason for it. In reality, there wasn't one. That was just the thing about relapse, though -- sometimes there was no logic behind it, nothing to push you over the edge; sometime everything was fine and then it hit in the most unexpected way. He liked to believe that he was stubborn enough to resist the shuddering cold sweats and the hallucinations, the puking, all of it, but the truth was that some times willpower just wasn't enough to combat something like this on your own. He couldn't even say with any clarity what exactly had broken him down in the first place, how hard he had resisted, if he had resisted -- all he knew was that now he was a bottle of wine into the evening, and everything was warm and a little fuzzy, close to that warm-gold-happy feeling that Hazel's presence prompted through the bond (minus the gold).
The tension in his shoulders had melted away at some point, and while this was a familiar scene to some, it was also... different, in a sense. There was absolutely no trace of Zaniel in his actions and movements. He held Player's hands captive in his, holding one of her hands up with their palms pressed flat in a comparison of their hand sizes. The other held onto her free one, loosely. She'd said something to prompt his curiosity for the comparison, but his attention was fleeting, losing interest pretty quickly. The points of contact -- their hands, his knees pressing against hers as they sat across from one another -- were warm and reassuring in a weird way, and that was good enough for him. He kept forgetting his trains of thought.
"Oh," he said, his hand falling away from hers before finding it once more, losing track of the comparison. There was slight slur to his words, face flushed and eyes too bright, but his grin was his own when he grinned lopsidedly. "Right. Um, Ovid's work. Look, people say they don't know, uh, why he got kicked. Out, I mean. Exiled. But that's such bullshit. It was Metamorphoses. I mean, look, people think it's-- Am--" The Latin was a bit choppy on his tongue, lacking his usual fluid grace with the language, "Ars Amatoria. But that's... so wrong. Look, Meta is entirely a big, um, fuck you to Augustus."
He was fiddling with just one of Play's hands now, holding it between two hands as he messed with her fingers aimlessly. Touch. Touch was good, and he grinned down at their hands before his unsteady gaze was back on her face. "Meta's all about... the gods, and how terrible and cruel they were," he said, slurring a bit, before he added, "And how modeling ourselves after them is... ironic. Pathetic, even. It's, uh, a shot. At Augustus. For that." An amused grin. "Ovid was a bit of an ass, but I like 'im."
[ [member=1166]Playerone K.G.[/member]
also i forgot this wasn't canon human au midway so here we are, with a human au version, bc im a terrible person ]
The tension in his shoulders had melted away at some point, and while this was a familiar scene to some, it was also... different, in a sense. There was absolutely no trace of Zaniel in his actions and movements. He held Player's hands captive in his, holding one of her hands up with their palms pressed flat in a comparison of their hand sizes. The other held onto her free one, loosely. She'd said something to prompt his curiosity for the comparison, but his attention was fleeting, losing interest pretty quickly. The points of contact -- their hands, his knees pressing against hers as they sat across from one another -- were warm and reassuring in a weird way, and that was good enough for him. He kept forgetting his trains of thought.
"Oh," he said, his hand falling away from hers before finding it once more, losing track of the comparison. There was slight slur to his words, face flushed and eyes too bright, but his grin was his own when he grinned lopsidedly. "Right. Um, Ovid's work. Look, people say they don't know, uh, why he got kicked. Out, I mean. Exiled. But that's such bullshit. It was Metamorphoses. I mean, look, people think it's-- Am--" The Latin was a bit choppy on his tongue, lacking his usual fluid grace with the language, "Ars Amatoria. But that's... so wrong. Look, Meta is entirely a big, um, fuck you to Augustus."
He was fiddling with just one of Play's hands now, holding it between two hands as he messed with her fingers aimlessly. Touch. Touch was good, and he grinned down at their hands before his unsteady gaze was back on her face. "Meta's all about... the gods, and how terrible and cruel they were," he said, slurring a bit, before he added, "And how modeling ourselves after them is... ironic. Pathetic, even. It's, uh, a shot. At Augustus. For that." An amused grin. "Ovid was a bit of an ass, but I like 'im."
[ [member=1166]Playerone K.G.[/member]
also i forgot this wasn't canon human au midway so here we are, with a human au version, bc im a terrible person ]
[b]BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS — ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — TAGS
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]