09-19-2018, 04:06 PM
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
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Bastille had never really stopped to question much about Echo's life. The memories snaked through him at odd hours, but they never cared the same emotional charge that his other lives did; his memories lacked sensation, in an odd way, coming and going when he found himself staring at another lone wanderer or faced with the grim realities of death. His life was a flat line, apathetic, quiet: group to group, death after death, a steady tide of traveling and training and feel nothing. A brief blimp on the radar when he thought of the Tribe — memories of Dawn and Indi, of the kits — and that was all. It was... almost steading, in a way. Not to have to feel anything when one of his live's took over. To feel the relative blank emotional slate that Echo brought to the table, a stark contrast to Zaniel's daddy issues and Pollie's craziness.
Maybe he should have thought harder. Maybe he could have looked back on the small black kitten who walked in Death from the day he was born, could have questioned the eerie fate of death following in his wake every where he went. He knew his names, the stories that chased after him, that sometimes reached new groups before him; knew they whispered the name Death and applied a legacy that did not actually belong to him. Echo of Death's Call was only one name of name, and there was a darkness in his path, but Bastille knew he was a mere mortal. An unlucky one, maybe. A damned one, certainly.
The simple fact of the matter is that he had accepted the fate he was given and never looked back to ask why, to ask how. There was a burning certainty in his veins that they were all doomed to die around him, just like the past; a morbid daydream of illness and surprise raids and freak accidents. Death was Death.
He arrives on the border paces after Hazel, brushing close to her side without touching her outright, pale blue stare locked on this tiny form. A memory crops up, unbidden: he is reminded instinctively of Indi's runt of the little, of the fray tom who carried a mild temperament and was almost so must nicer than his siblings; he is reminded of laughing when Indi looked at him in disgust and made bets about when he'd die. Bast blinks, and tries not to feel bad for the dark recollection when he greets, quiet, "Hey, kiddo."
[ this got abruptly rushed oops ]
[align=center][table][tr][td]Maybe he should have thought harder. Maybe he could have looked back on the small black kitten who walked in Death from the day he was born, could have questioned the eerie fate of death following in his wake every where he went. He knew his names, the stories that chased after him, that sometimes reached new groups before him; knew they whispered the name Death and applied a legacy that did not actually belong to him. Echo of Death's Call was only one name of name, and there was a darkness in his path, but Bastille knew he was a mere mortal. An unlucky one, maybe. A damned one, certainly.
The simple fact of the matter is that he had accepted the fate he was given and never looked back to ask why, to ask how. There was a burning certainty in his veins that they were all doomed to die around him, just like the past; a morbid daydream of illness and surprise raids and freak accidents. Death was Death.
He arrives on the border paces after Hazel, brushing close to her side without touching her outright, pale blue stare locked on this tiny form. A memory crops up, unbidden: he is reminded instinctively of Indi's runt of the little, of the fray tom who carried a mild temperament and was almost so must nicer than his siblings; he is reminded of laughing when Indi looked at him in disgust and made bets about when he'd die. Bast blinks, and tries not to feel bad for the dark recollection when he greets, quiet, "Hey, kiddo."
[ this got abruptly rushed oops ]
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]