09-16-2018, 11:19 PM
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
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Running, running, running — Bastille had spent his whole life up until stumbling upon the Ascendants' border running. Perhaps not in a very literal sense, as it was really only when he got restless and jittering that he actually ran during his travels, but he did a lot of metaphorical running; running from his pasts, anger, frustration, memories, contact, himself — there was not much that he had encountered as a child and hadn't felt the urge to run from. Even now, he was frequently plagued by the deserter instinct buried deep in his bones. He might care for a good portion of the members here, but did he want to? Did he trust in the bonds of friendship and faith and trust that he wouldn't destroy them all in the end by virtue of getting too close? Not really, no. Sometimes he stared out over their border and contemplated just how easy it would be to pick up and start running again.
And then he would turn and look at Haze or Moon or any of the scattered mess of children Margy and Suite had left him with and begrudgingly stamp the impulse down. He was still trying to determine if which was riskier: staying or going; still questioning whether he and they might have been better off if he'd told Starrynight all those months ago no, sorry, I'm not here to join your new little rag-tag group. That morning felt more like he would have regretted never meeting them.
Speaking of. Bastille was only a little while behind his Fireball, looking mildly disinterested but not too bored as he stopped to regard this stranger with idle curiosity. Husky. Foreign. Evidently joining, or at least staying temporarily; all the same to him — Bast didn't really mind having wanderers stop in for a night or two on their travels. "Yo," he greeted, lacking all of the formality that Oni tended to present himself with to visitors, "Stay as long as you want; we can show you to a room and shit. I'm Bast. Where'a coming from?"
[align=center][table][tr][td]And then he would turn and look at Haze or Moon or any of the scattered mess of children Margy and Suite had left him with and begrudgingly stamp the impulse down. He was still trying to determine if which was riskier: staying or going; still questioning whether he and they might have been better off if he'd told Starrynight all those months ago no, sorry, I'm not here to join your new little rag-tag group. That morning felt more like he would have regretted never meeting them.
Speaking of. Bastille was only a little while behind his Fireball, looking mildly disinterested but not too bored as he stopped to regard this stranger with idle curiosity. Husky. Foreign. Evidently joining, or at least staying temporarily; all the same to him — Bast didn't really mind having wanderers stop in for a night or two on their travels. "Yo," he greeted, lacking all of the formality that Oni tended to present himself with to visitors, "Stay as long as you want; we can show you to a room and shit. I'm Bast. Where'a coming from?"
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE [color=#b4d5ee]FLAMES
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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]