05-06-2018, 01:29 PM
![[Image: 14d37f4495b531c0637ef5dd49926909.jpg]](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/14/d3/7f/14d37f4495b531c0637ef5dd49926909.jpg)
[div style="background-color: white; width: 100%; font-family: Georgia; color: #576a6e; text-align: center; margin: auto"]WALKING STORM™
angstendants — #demotebast2k18 — rapsheet
[div style="line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; color: black; padding-top: 10px; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]angstendants — #demotebast2k18 — rapsheet
There was a moment of complete and utter stillness. The turmoil calmed, practically fucking vanished; the headache was suddenly gone, as if he'd taken 10 advils at once, and that steady buzz of excess energy just... left, all at once. It was all being released in the storm, as if his body had been holding all of this chaos back for months, letting the tension build up until he fucking exploded. It was strangely... cathartic.
Once it started, however, Bastille couldn't stop it. Even when the anger and pain left him, he kept screaming, as if he was just an extension of the storm he had brought. He had no real awareness of what he was doing; the storm was only a distant thing, the flames whipping around him mere background noise. There was nothing but the release, and his voice was going hoarse from the ungodly shrieking until there was just -- warmth.
The flames yielded to Roy's command without putting up a fight; it was not as if Bastille had any true control over them, nor did he even notice that they were gone. There was just the sudden impact of Suite hugging him, the surprise jolting him out of his near trance. The bengal blinked his eyes open, the yells dying in his throat, and was immediately blanketed in the calming familiarity of Suite's scent and aura. It was grounding, just as it always was, and crystal clear awareness hit him all at once.
Fuck. The storming -- he had no idea where the fuck that had come from, but the storm was still raging, the ground still shaking, and he registered Roy's presence at about the same time he realized that the flames were gone. Bastille mentally jerked on the storm, expecting it to react similarly to other powers, but there was no change in the raging winds or rain; instead, lighting struck somewhere in the distance once more, and he stared at Suite bleakly. "I can't stop it," he said, low, "Fuck, Suite, I can't stop it--"
The brief flare of panic made things worse, likely, but things were already so bad that it didn't make a fucking difference.
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]