05-08-2018, 01:16 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-08-2018, 01:16 AM by BASTILLEPAW.)
[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
Bastille stopped short at her words, and glanced over his shoulder at her. He found that he was free to look at her, for she was staring into the shelves, drinking them in with a sort of reverence that he rarely saw in others. Even the way she said it was soft and cherishing, and Bast felt almost... wrong, watching her look around. There was something soft and genuine about her delight, the soft flares of her aura, something that seemed out of place in his space, his room. He felt guilty just for looking at her, and yet at the same time, he had a high appreciation for someone who seemed to love books just as much as he did. (Not that Bastille ever admitted it to others, frankly -- Rad knew because she liked to steal from his library, and Suite had seen them all at one point, but otherwise Bast seemed to slip by under the radar. When he did read in public, it was in quieter areas, and no one ever seemed to notice that his titles changed every day.)
"Yeah," he finally agreed, at a loss of what to say, "I have books." His gaze flickered away from her face, her golden eyes, towards the shelves that she was staring at. Most of the things he had there were in foreign languages, and after a beat he recalled the quiet slips of Latin she said something -- Dues, he'd heard her say before, and he could swear he'd noticed her mumbling quiet phrases to herself before. "You read Latin," he guessed aloud, his gaze back on her as she startled slightly and looked to him. Christ, she seemed embarrassed about looking, but Bast didn't have it in him to be annoyed that she knew his secret. Besides, it's not like he could blame her -- he hoarded them for a reason.
"You can borrow them whenever, if you want," he said without thinking, and for a second had to ask himself why he felt such a willingness to share with her. Sure, he'd accepted the arrangement with Rad readily enough, but that was mostly just so he could get his damn books back from her (otherwise she would just keep all of the ones she stole). Hazel, though, looked so sad to be leaving them that the words just came out before he even considered it. After a pause, he cleared his throat, and followed her to the door with a light, "Uh, right. Yeah, I'm ready."
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]