07-17-2018, 09:24 AM
BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS — [color=#21201c]TAGS
Bastille's gaze barely flickered sideways as he felt Peri approaching, the cool moonlight of her aura shining at the edges of his vision. He didn't move, seeing her as no threat to Hazel, but as she stepped past him and moved to keep moving forward, he realized where she was going. Warring instincts, rising and clashing together: he could feel the curl of possessiveness, of Pollutedsoul's jealousy snarling at any one who dared to get in her space when even he was being mindful of it, but there was a more convincing flare of protectiveness. Hazel barely tolerated his or Margy's touch; he had no idea how she would react to Peri getting too close or touching her. Cluttered motives aside, the result was the same, they both urged him to one action.
"Peri, don't," he breathed, trying to grab her wrist before she could step too far past him or breach the two feet divide. Bast held her fast (possibly), glancing sideways at her once more as he said lowly, "Don't touch her." He looked back to Hazel, then, stare running over her slowly, trying to regain that forced quiet that he'd imposed as he added, lighter, "Not unless she asks." Because he could remember the way her body went limp against him, how she relaxed eventually and leaned into the contact, the vague flutter of comfort in the bond -- but this was different. She wasn't panicking, not any more. This was the aftermath of her distress, the silence, the exhaustion. He wasn't sure that touch would be calming for her when she was already drained, had already fallen off the edge. His gaze dropped to the jagged crack separating them once more, and he smiled a bit ruefully as he dropped Peri's wrist.
Bastille's gaze barely flickered sideways as he felt Peri approaching, the cool moonlight of her aura shining at the edges of his vision. He didn't move, seeing her as no threat to Hazel, but as she stepped past him and moved to keep moving forward, he realized where she was going. Warring instincts, rising and clashing together: he could feel the curl of possessiveness, of Pollutedsoul's jealousy snarling at any one who dared to get in her space when even he was being mindful of it, but there was a more convincing flare of protectiveness. Hazel barely tolerated his or Margy's touch; he had no idea how she would react to Peri getting too close or touching her. Cluttered motives aside, the result was the same, they both urged him to one action.
"Peri, don't," he breathed, trying to grab her wrist before she could step too far past him or breach the two feet divide. Bast held her fast (possibly), glancing sideways at her once more as he said lowly, "Don't touch her." He looked back to Hazel, then, stare running over her slowly, trying to regain that forced quiet that he'd imposed as he added, lighter, "Not unless she asks." Because he could remember the way her body went limp against him, how she relaxed eventually and leaned into the contact, the vague flutter of comfort in the bond -- but this was different. She wasn't panicking, not any more. This was the aftermath of her distress, the silence, the exhaustion. He wasn't sure that touch would be calming for her when she was already drained, had already fallen off the edge. His gaze dropped to the jagged crack separating them once more, and he smiled a bit ruefully as he dropped Peri's wrist.
© MADI
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]