05-15-2018, 03:55 PM
[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
The downfall to this plan was that Bastille actually had to navigate the exceedingly awkward task of showing and/or receiving affection. The boy was downright apathetic in most situations, but one only had to pick out his lack of social cues and general socialization to see his casual regard weaken. Make societal expectations and the necessity to be nice to joiners salient to him? He'd start to falter a bit, losing his usual easy delivery and starting to stumble as he focused too hard on being kind. Show any form of appreciation or "too much" kindness towards him? A disaster (Imperia's level of intensity had made him feel like he was trapped in front of a row of judges who could pick out every single one of his social failures). Somehow trigger guilt? Watch him struggle in nearly every interaction with you (Hazel) until he eventually felt like he'd made up for it. Long story short, Bastille did do emotions, per se.
Which was going to make this... interesting.
"Uh," he supplied, eloquently, as he peered back at Margy. He was at a bit of a loss, not quite sure what "all this" was, frankly. An apology? A forced mother's day gift at Suite's prompting? A token of friendship? A thank you? Putting any of these explanations into words seemed horrible, but after a beat he settled on what he'd been meaning to do for a while: apologize. "Well, in part, I still needed to apologize for fucking up your garden," he ended up with, cringing inwardly. Okay, not exactly as heartfelt as he could have gone for, but... Good enough?
Thankfully (or maybe not), Suite was there to rescue him from his botched apology. Sure, she was a welcome distraction, but that also meant he had to deal with her attention, too. Could someone kill him? Please someone kill him. He was vaguely flustered at her open happiness (why was Suite always so vocal about her appreciation for things?), and even more at a loss about what to do in response to her hug. (It seemed increasingly that the only person who had actually hugged him was Suite, aside from his mother's friends when they'd discovered who he was and heard of her demise. He didn't really count them, seeing how he felt that they were hugging the memory of Frenchie, not her scrap of a son.)
"I, uh..." he started, scowled, and then tried, "You're kids aren't here, you know, for mother's day, so I figured..." Nope. That was about as far as he was going to admit to anything, and he finished lamely, [b]"Y'know, until you find them, I'd thank you for them."
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]