09-24-2018, 11:22 PM
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
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Bastille has nothing personal against roses. Sure, they remind him distinctly of Margy, but those memories are not tinged with negativity; on the off day, he might see a rose and think of Rosie, of baby blue eyes just like his own staring down at him just the once before she was gone, but even that memory was dulled and faded with time. He could look back on that day and feel nothing, as if he was watching it happen to a stranger — could wonder, absently, where Rosie was these days and find that he didn't really care a whole lot. She wasn't his mother, not really. She did not carry her souls in the same manner as he did. She was... different. Foreign. Unfamiliar in her cruelty. If not for her eyes he wouldn't have thought anything of it.
Today it was not Peri's roses that brought back the flickering memory of his mother, however. He had stopped beside Moon, idly studying the peculiar roses and contemplating if he should take one to be nice, when he stopped short. The nickname fell from his mouth innocently, but Bast was staring at Moon blankly, briefly taken aback to hear it. Frenchie. His pale stare flickered to Peri and he cringed, slightly; it was all the worse that she did tend to remind him of his mother from time to time, with her light voice and delicacy and French, and the weirdness of that association was multiplied by... well, hearing her called by the same name. It was unnerving, and Bast shook off the vaguely disturbed feeling as he instead just muttered, "Uh, I guess I'll... take one."
He had absolutely on use for the thing, but he suddenly had the impression that if he rejected Peri's offering she would pin him with a look that reminded him far too much of Frenchie and that would just be... too much. Way too much. He was grossed out just thinking about it.
[align=center][table][tr][td]Today it was not Peri's roses that brought back the flickering memory of his mother, however. He had stopped beside Moon, idly studying the peculiar roses and contemplating if he should take one to be nice, when he stopped short. The nickname fell from his mouth innocently, but Bast was staring at Moon blankly, briefly taken aback to hear it. Frenchie. His pale stare flickered to Peri and he cringed, slightly; it was all the worse that she did tend to remind him of his mother from time to time, with her light voice and delicacy and French, and the weirdness of that association was multiplied by... well, hearing her called by the same name. It was unnerving, and Bast shook off the vaguely disturbed feeling as he instead just muttered, "Uh, I guess I'll... take one."
He had absolutely on use for the thing, but he suddenly had the impression that if he rejected Peri's offering she would pin him with a look that reminded him far too much of Frenchie and that would just be... too much. Way too much. He was grossed out just thinking about it.
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]