I RUN FROM WOLVES // OPEN

[BASTILLEPAW]

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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS

BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES

It was a surprising day indeed when he heard someone other than Hazel — Margy's absence was a struck nerve, the burning reminder that it could not be her speaking it — speaking Latin in the Observatory. The voice was vaguely unfamiliar, something he could place as a newcomers but not identify outright, particularly not in the foreign (though well known to Bastille) tongue. The language was a dear one, not only for the manner in which he was able to connect with Hazel on it, but because he had worked for it. Not in the usual manner that one acquired a language, no: he had suffered for it in his own way, searching through the vast pools of memories that Wilhelm Grimm stored from his hosts and losing himself in the fray of it all, dragging up the language with greedy paws and the fierce eagerness of youth. He'd been in a coma for three days for his hubris, but Bast would have given up even longer to come out of it successful, Latin in his teeth.

More surprising, perhaps, was familiar Latin. At this point it seemed to be fairly common knowledge that his "secret" library was in reality just the books crammed into every free space in his room, and even more common knowledge that he took a particular interest in the classics. The answering words lingered on the tip of his tongue as he approached them lazily, pale blue stare fixing on Winterwolf in interest as he heard them spoken even before they left him — it took him a moment, then, to make sure that he had not spoken after all, for the near simultaneity of his thoughts and this guy's speech.

[b]"Aeneas miratus enim motusque tumultu: Dic, ait, o virgo, quid vult concursus ad amnem? Quidve petunt animae? Vel quo discrimine ripas, hae linquunt, illae remis vada livida verrunt?" The words fell with smooth grace as he stopped beside Fey, finding himself inclined towards the original Latin. He studied these two idly, and then added, "It would be a crime not to know Vergil, in my opinion, but I do admit I'm more favorable to Ovid." Bast glanced down to Fey, and studied her for a moment; it was no surprise that she could understand the Latin — Margy's abilities in her, innately — but he waited to see how she justified it.

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