07-13-2018, 12:13 AM
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SING, GODDESS, OF THE RAGE OF ACHILLES
[ asfh head's up that mii and i both restarted bast and hazel so that these two are not ff ones but, since ro would have known ff hazille, we're just gonna.... pretend fate did a lil reincarnation thing that they'll never know about oops / make shit up to explain why ro would be like ?? who are these mini versions
also hi hello welcome home ! ]
Once upon a time, Bastille might have had siblings. He wasn't entirely certain what might have dictated that, frankly. He had tried to see a scenario where things weren't so grim, or he weren't the only one left from his litter: maybe if his mother had gone into labor in camp, or if someone had found them sooner, or if it weren't so hot out. There was nothing to do about Frenchie, or about his siblings who were born still: they would have died any where, he was convinced. But what about the others? The ones who died later, within hours or days? Could they have been saved if they'd been found sooner?
Often, Bastille said no. No, fate didn't work that way. Echo had been born to a dead mother with dead siblings, once: he knew that somehow, fate always would have found a way. It was funny, he thought; death had always followed Echo closely, every where he went, and it seemed that it had followed him even here, into his next life. Bast might resent his soul for it, for inevitably killing his birth family, but he'd learned that resentment was useless. It changed nothing. It was what it was.
His mother had told him about them, though. In those early months, when that little sliver of her soul stayed with him, she'd told him stories and sung in French and talked wistfully about the children she might have had, in another life. He knew their names. "I wanted the girls to be Versailles and Paris. Aren't those pretty? Versaillespalace, maybe. How darling. And the boys: British and Roman. I wonder who they'd be, one day, if they lived. Do you think we would have had a Romantemple or Romancolloseum?"
Her voice filtering through his thoughts slowly as he caught wind of this stranger's name, coming to a slow stop beside Margy. Fate was a funny thing, it would seem. Bastille could look at this stranger and wonder if his dead brother might have looked like him, had he borne the same name. Somehow he didn't think the burn marks would quite fit his mental image of the dead kitten, but it was an entertaining notion none the less.
There was tension here, however, and his ice blue stare flickered over this guy slowly before it shifted briefly to Margy. "'M Bast," he provided, feeling a flicker of interest. For a beat, he wondered why, and then realized that Grimm was intrigued. That was... not unusual, but interesting. He scrutinized this stranger a little more, as if he might detect what it was that alerted Grimm, before he added, "I take it you're sticking around?"
also hi hello welcome home ! ]
Once upon a time, Bastille might have had siblings. He wasn't entirely certain what might have dictated that, frankly. He had tried to see a scenario where things weren't so grim, or he weren't the only one left from his litter: maybe if his mother had gone into labor in camp, or if someone had found them sooner, or if it weren't so hot out. There was nothing to do about Frenchie, or about his siblings who were born still: they would have died any where, he was convinced. But what about the others? The ones who died later, within hours or days? Could they have been saved if they'd been found sooner?
Often, Bastille said no. No, fate didn't work that way. Echo had been born to a dead mother with dead siblings, once: he knew that somehow, fate always would have found a way. It was funny, he thought; death had always followed Echo closely, every where he went, and it seemed that it had followed him even here, into his next life. Bast might resent his soul for it, for inevitably killing his birth family, but he'd learned that resentment was useless. It changed nothing. It was what it was.
His mother had told him about them, though. In those early months, when that little sliver of her soul stayed with him, she'd told him stories and sung in French and talked wistfully about the children she might have had, in another life. He knew their names. "I wanted the girls to be Versailles and Paris. Aren't those pretty? Versaillespalace, maybe. How darling. And the boys: British and Roman. I wonder who they'd be, one day, if they lived. Do you think we would have had a Romantemple or Romancolloseum?"
Her voice filtering through his thoughts slowly as he caught wind of this stranger's name, coming to a slow stop beside Margy. Fate was a funny thing, it would seem. Bastille could look at this stranger and wonder if his dead brother might have looked like him, had he borne the same name. Somehow he didn't think the burn marks would quite fit his mental image of the dead kitten, but it was an entertaining notion none the less.
There was tension here, however, and his ice blue stare flickered over this guy slowly before it shifted briefly to Margy. "'M Bast," he provided, feeling a flicker of interest. For a beat, he wondered why, and then realized that Grimm was intrigued. That was... not unusual, but interesting. He scrutinized this stranger a little more, as if he might detect what it was that alerted Grimm, before he added, "I take it you're sticking around?"
[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]