THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death""

[DANNY]

[div style="borderwidth; width: 420px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"] Death was familiar to the child in more ways than one could imagine and seem depressing yet intriguing at the same time. Many painted Death as the villain whenever someone passed and sometimes he wondered if it mattered saying that wasn’t the case. That Death itself wasn’t the bad guy in the situation. Simply doing their job and helping the souls pass on to another plane of existence– for better or for worse.

[align=center]Death did not judge those that passed.

Danny listened in silence at the scurrying of feet and flashes of bodies hurtling by in blind panic. The pale figured ghosted behind the others at a slow, lazy pace without the urgency the others were displaying. Their worry. Their fear. The sickly sweet stench of death had reached his nostrils before arriving to the scene and had hung back to watch the chaos unfold before him. Screaming, crying, and angst. Clear eyes settled on the figures crowding Bastille then the unmoving body itself.

Huh.

Surprise, shock, and grief didn’t attack him like the others, only a wave of patience with a splash of anticipation. He was coming back, the child of shadows felt it in his bones. It was written and told so. A death of many more to come and Danny was prepared to witness them all until the universe had come to its end. Shadows twitched, stretched, writhed, and quivered as he scratched his arm with a faint hum.

Then it happened.

It was a shift in this world, the return of the soul from another realm, an intangible crackle through this plane rippled through his form. And like that Bastille was there once more, no longer damaged with a fatal wound that sentenced him to death. A click of the tongue and a raised brow as Hazel slapped the male, wondering if it was hard enough to swat him back into Death’s embrace. It wasn’t but it didn’t mean the possibility wasn’t there. Then came the anger from the others considering Bast had pulled their heart strings, only to return. Not brand new but alive nonetheless.

"We all come back at some point. Whether it be our will or the will of Them."

The dark haired child came close enough to be within hearing distance and allowed his eyes to sweep over the formerly dead boy. ( The true child here. All of them. Children in the eyes of one who’s seen too much and lived too long. ) "That’s going to leave a mark for a bit." A ghost of a smile touched pale lips before continuing on. "I'll go get some ice for that, but I doubt it'll be the last time." With that, Danny spun around and ran off to fetch that ice he offered to get.

[BASTILLEPAW]

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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS

ASTRAL SERAPH ★ THE ASCENDANTS ★ TAGS

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Things were still hazy, the heady floating sensation only barely rivaled by the utter burning in his veins, the luminescent glow of her golden eyes blurring together with her aura. He pushed up unsteadily as she jerked back in her surprise, blinking as he absently noted the press of other auras and emotions, but he was too caught up in her — in realizing as the fog shifted slightly that his knee-jerk reaction to waking up to her (again) was not his best per se and that there were tears streaking her face, making faint freckles glisten. His chest burned and his throat burned and everything burned as he reached for her, absently, but he realized his mistake a bit more clearly when she slapped him.

"Ow," he sputtered, reaction time terribly delayed; when he caught her wrist it was far too light, and he was spitting out blood (fortunately not quite from her, but rather because he'd already been bloody) as he held onto her, blinking hazily. It didn't quite hurt as much as he might have anticipated, paling in comparison to the flames licking through his body, burning him to ash as they struggled to heal him — he was more surprised than injured, but then she was pulling against him, trying to move away, and he was catching up to the torrent of words out her move as she shuffled backwards.

"Hey, hey, wait," he protested, feeling a flare of desperation at the prospect of losing her already; the bond went warm and tight between them, as if he was holding fast and pulling on it, and through the heat of the fire he was pulling her back towards him by her wrist, struggling to dismiss the sluggishness clinging to him still. The worry and fear — her worry and fear was an aftertaste on the back of his tongue, swept away by her anger at scaring her, and there was a moment where he held her wrist fast and looked at her, crouched on her knees in front of him splattered in blood with messy tears and messier curls. There was a dizzying instant when he realized that she cared, cared more than he ever would have ever expected or deserved, cared in a manner that he could feel digging into him, vibrating through their bond. He could feel her anger but he could also feel just how deeply that raw terror ran and the source of her anger, could feel it as clearly as the agonizing fire working through his chest still.

His lips parted slightly as he exhaled once, staring at her with something like stunned disbelief as he forgot, for a split second, to breathe. His grip on her wrist loosened, faintly, going slack just before it tightened and he was pulled her towards him, heedless of knocking her into Onision on accident as he dragged her forward, his fingers slipping off her wrist. His hands were in her hair a second later as he ducked his head to kiss her through the tang of copper and the smoke in his lungs, the acute sensation of burning. (Fitting, that it should burn — her radiance was too much, too divine, too intense; the force of a goddess was too much for his mortality, even if he knew the flames were a product of his healing.)

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BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE [color=#b4d5ee]FLAMES

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[★ HAZEL]

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HAZEL ELISE CAELUM ★ THE ASCENDANTS ★ COCOA FELINE ★ GOLD EYES ★ IMMORTAL ★ 3 SOULS ★ 11 MONTHS

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Hazel wasn't going to pretend that there wasn't some satisfaction in hearing his sputtered "ow," though dismay would shortly overcome her smugness. Lost to the reverie that Bastille was alive (she thought...), her anger bubbled only in the form of hurt; wounded that he'd pulled some sort of stunt to land him in this position when he knew she was still aching and fragile.

And underneath it all, the burning terror that he had died right in front of her. She'd nearly lost her last tether to the good in this place. She'd nearly lost it all - everything she'd built, everything that made her life worth living - had nearly vanished under her fingertips. Hazel didn't care that the bond scorched raw between them betrayed her every feeling; she didn't care that they had an audience. What was an audience worth when all that mattered was what transpired between her and another person? (Not that she wouldn't be freaking out about it to Moon and possibly Fey later that day...)

Finally settling on the fact that he was alive and would probably stay that way if she left, Hazel leaned back a fraction of an inch, almost resorting to convincing away not only the anger in her veins but her own body away from the scene before Bastille's fingers locked around her wrist. Immediately, it was too much, never mind that it was Bastille - she'd hardly grown used to little touches, much less him seizing her by the wrist. Her pulse picked up, a small noise escaping her lips and eyes widening in the small window of time that seemed too short to comprehend what was truly going on. Then he was pulling her forward, a desperate light shining through the gloss and haze in his eyes, like he was incapable of letting go. "Wh -"

Hazel had no choice but to brace some of her weight against his palms, though she was faintly struggling against. But it didn't matter anymore; not with his lips brushing hers and the feeling lighting her blood on fire. There was an undoubted surge in her aura and a sudden blinding flash of light, both products of the kiss. He tasted like metal and something else that wasn't necessarily great, but it wasn't awful. She could still smell the smoke and pine scent drifting off his skin; she could feel his fingers in his hair, she could feel how amazing it was. Hazel leaned into it, heedless of their audience still.

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