[div style="; width: 55%; margin-left: 180px; text-align: justify"][size=9pt]From the platform, he clears his throat, and it echoes. It's never done that before. Or, he hasn't realized. Now he does. "Excusez moi," he calls, because his muscles are sluggish when they move and he's feeling glassy, distant, with exhaustion and all things are cured by bad accents and foreign languages. "Listen up for a second. I've got some news."
Golden eyes scan the slowly gathering crowd. He's spent some time thinking of how he'll handle this. It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion that there was no other way than to turn it into a massive fucking joke. That was essentially his trademark by now. Anything else would look faked. "In the early hours of the morning, Bastilleprisoner finally succumbed to his long-suffered battle with stick-up-the-ass syndrome. He passed peacefully. May he rest eternally among the stars." A pause. "Jokes. That's not what happened. Kinda' wish it did, but no-- He knocked on my door at 2am with Hazel on his arm and told me he was upping-sticks and getting the fuck outta' dodge. Insufferable motherfucker saw his get out of jail free card and used it." There's a hint of something in his voice. Moon'll miss him. "He's probably on his way to the Bahamas, by now. Let's pray his pina colada gets spiked.
"If you've pieced two and two together and realized what this means, congrats. If you haven't, here goes." For a moment, he looks almost hesitant, drawing his tongue over his lips and shifting in his step. "This means I'm Leader, now. Astral Seraph. Whatever the fuck it's called." He stops for a moment, and if he were asked, he'd say it's to give them some time to register the news, but, in reality, Moon was at a loss for words. For the first time in a long time. "Listen, if this strikes fear in your heart, like it probably should, feel free to drag ass outta' here and find me someone better suited for the job. But if you're dumb enough to stick around--" Another pause, and when he speaks again, it's slightly more serious, slightly more sincere. "Thanks. I appreciate it. I'll try not to burn the place down on day one. No promises, though.
"Most promotions and demotions will happen next week. I need some time to figure this shit out. We'll be hosting some Cleric tryouts soon, so keep an eye out for that. For now, though, Zjarr is demoted from Cosmic General, Isidore and Roman from Starstruck Guardians. Alex, Starstruck Guardian. Gabe, I see your feathery ass doing rounds at the border and if for some inexplicable reason you wanna' climb the ranks again, keep it up. That goes for the rest of you, too.
"How the fuck do you end these things, again? See, this is the type of shit Bast should of fuckin' prepped me for. I don't know. I'm done. Y'all can go. Thanks."
Golden eyes scan the slowly gathering crowd. He's spent some time thinking of how he'll handle this. It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion that there was no other way than to turn it into a massive fucking joke. That was essentially his trademark by now. Anything else would look faked. "In the early hours of the morning, Bastilleprisoner finally succumbed to his long-suffered battle with stick-up-the-ass syndrome. He passed peacefully. May he rest eternally among the stars." A pause. "Jokes. That's not what happened. Kinda' wish it did, but no-- He knocked on my door at 2am with Hazel on his arm and told me he was upping-sticks and getting the fuck outta' dodge. Insufferable motherfucker saw his get out of jail free card and used it." There's a hint of something in his voice. Moon'll miss him. "He's probably on his way to the Bahamas, by now. Let's pray his pina colada gets spiked.
"If you've pieced two and two together and realized what this means, congrats. If you haven't, here goes." For a moment, he looks almost hesitant, drawing his tongue over his lips and shifting in his step. "This means I'm Leader, now. Astral Seraph. Whatever the fuck it's called." He stops for a moment, and if he were asked, he'd say it's to give them some time to register the news, but, in reality, Moon was at a loss for words. For the first time in a long time. "Listen, if this strikes fear in your heart, like it probably should, feel free to drag ass outta' here and find me someone better suited for the job. But if you're dumb enough to stick around--" Another pause, and when he speaks again, it's slightly more serious, slightly more sincere. "Thanks. I appreciate it. I'll try not to burn the place down on day one. No promises, though.
"Most promotions and demotions will happen next week. I need some time to figure this shit out. We'll be hosting some Cleric tryouts soon, so keep an eye out for that. For now, though, Zjarr is demoted from Cosmic General, Isidore and Roman from Starstruck Guardians. Alex, Starstruck Guardian. Gabe, I see your feathery ass doing rounds at the border and if for some inexplicable reason you wanna' climb the ranks again, keep it up. That goes for the rest of you, too.
"How the fuck do you end these things, again? See, this is the type of shit Bast should of fuckin' prepped me for. I don't know. I'm done. Y'all can go. Thanks."
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; height: auto; text-align: center; font-family: ; font-size: 9pt; color: COLOR; letter-spacing: -.5px;"][i][b]and die like a hero going home.[glow=black,2,300]