07-23-2018, 11:21 PM
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES
Bastille would like to say that he fell into a comfortable closeness with Vi instantly, that spending their entire lives apart could be overcomer through the power of blood. It might make for a nicer story, but he couldn't. Things were still vaguely awkward, the pressing urge to be close because they should be without really knowing how to get there. He had bonded with Margy's kids fine, and Pele, and others, but... Well. He'd known them since they were born. He'd watched them grow. He never got the chance to watch his sister grow up and to grow up with her. She was a stranger with a familiar name, a ghost from his childhood memories of their mother. And gods, he would give his life to protect her, but that didn't mean they were just magically close.
Never the less, Bastille was never too far behind her. He was there then, shoulder brushing against Vi's faintly as he stopped at her side and studied this newcomer with cold blue eyes. Rosetouch. He wondered if she might go by Rosie, and felt a phantom chill shoot down his spine -- their mother's name, now. He could still remember that day, when a dainty little wolf had stood over him and reclaimed the shard of Frenchie's soul that he'd been carrying with him. "That is mine," she'd said, prim and proper just like Mom, but with the hint of something smug and too boastful, "Bye bye, baby. See you later." And then she'd been gone, taking the last traces of Frenchie with her.
He glanced sideways at Versailles, before his gaze was back on this newcomer. [b]"Well, they've covered the basics," he drawled, tone neutral, "I'm Bast. Where're you coming from?"
Never the less, Bastille was never too far behind her. He was there then, shoulder brushing against Vi's faintly as he stopped at her side and studied this newcomer with cold blue eyes. Rosetouch. He wondered if she might go by Rosie, and felt a phantom chill shoot down his spine -- their mother's name, now. He could still remember that day, when a dainty little wolf had stood over him and reclaimed the shard of Frenchie's soul that he'd been carrying with him. "That is mine," she'd said, prim and proper just like Mom, but with the hint of something smug and too boastful, "Bye bye, baby. See you later." And then she'd been gone, taking the last traces of Frenchie with her.
He glanced sideways at Versailles, before his gaze was back on this newcomer. [b]"Well, they've covered the basics," he drawled, tone neutral, "I'm Bast. Where're you coming from?"
[B]ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — [color=#e2e2e2]TAGS — [color=#e2e2e2]MOODBOARD — [color=#e2e2e2]PLAYLIST
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]