05-08-2018, 12:59 AM
[div style="background-color: white; width: 100%; font-family: Georgia; color: #576a6e; text-align: center; margin: auto"]BASTILLEPAW AURELIUS ✧
the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags
[div style="line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; color: black; padding-top: 10px; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags
Bastille's gaze swept over the girl as she came into view, and he recognized her immediately. He had not actually met her at their little event, but he'd identified an interesting aura from afar well enough, and sure enough -- here she was once more. It was almost entertaining, the strange decrees of fate, and Bast found the faintest of smiles slipping upwards as he regarded her with an intent stare. Who was this girl with all those souls, and what misery was she carrying with her? What was it about her that called Grimm to her?
"I was just following a hunch," he drawled lowly, studying her aura a little more closely at this distance. He could see the markings of her frustrations, the anger and a deep-seated pain imbedded there; he could practically sense a tension waiting to spill forth, and with ease Bastille found himself stepping into the role of listener. The host of Wilhelm Grimm was practically designed for it, no matter who they were, and Bast had always shouldered the burden exceptionally well.
"I'm Bastille," he supplied as he sat down, clearly lacking any intention of going anywhere now that he had found her. He cocked his head to the side slightly, and questioned idly, "Do you want to talk about it?" He gave no indication of what he was talking about, or how he knew she was struggling; that wasn't his role. Those who summoned Grimm were usually on the brink of giving up, desperate for someone to talk to, desperate for a solution -- whether that was simply venting or giving up their memories. Bastille was a jack of all trades; he was no-one when it came to these situations, shrugging off everything that defined him and molding himself to be what they wanted. If they wanted to talk, they would -- with or without explanations, usually; sometimes he didn't even have to say anything, for that had heard about his business and come to seek him out on their own.
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]