07-13-2018, 10:37 PM
[table][tr][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][/tr][/table]
SING, GODDESS, OF THE RAGE OF ACHILLES
Parties were a toss up, for Bastille. Sometimes he could get through them without so much as a blimp on the radar, finding that socializing with a drink was easier than not: no one wasted as much time with small talk, and he hated small talk. Real conversations he could do, and shockingly, real conversations seemed to crop up at parties abundantly. Other times, though... Other times he could taste vodka on his tongue even when he wasn't drinking, a haze of blurry memories shifting rapidly through his thoughts. Sometimes he'd put a hand on someone's arm to nudge his way past them, trying not to knock them over or to warn them he was close, and there'd be far too many sensory memories that he didn't want. He could never be certain which scenario he would be dealing with.
With a yawn, he slid his hands into his pockets as he strolled up to Margy. He didn't so much as acknowledge Suiteheart, which was custom these days, and greeted idly, "Hey, Margy. Is this my intervention party with you give me wine and tell me to stop detoxing?" The words were laced with amusement, and it was funnier because he could feel the burn for wine even then, the itch under his skin.
With a yawn, he slid his hands into his pockets as he strolled up to Margy. He didn't so much as acknowledge Suiteheart, which was custom these days, and greeted idly, "Hey, Margy. Is this my intervention party with you give me wine and tell me to stop detoxing?" The words were laced with amusement, and it was funnier because he could feel the burn for wine even then, the itch under his skin.
[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]