09-01-2018, 10:09 PM
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES
One would be hard pressed to prove that Bastille liked Roy, but the truth was that he did. Sure, the older male was incredibly stubborn and antagonistic, and seemed to take particular joy in telling Bast he was an idiot for this reason or that — but he was right, half the time, possessed a logical knowledge and fierce determination to do his best for his Clan. And he did care, even if he was frankly awful at showing it sometimes, which Bast could appreciate. They might not seem close, but Bastille actually did find that Roy was someone he could and did respect.
Unfortunately, that meant that his usual apathy failed him as he found himself answering yet another desperate call, pale blue gaze blank as it landed on Roy's still form; the ground cracked and splinted under his paws in thin slivers, giving away the sudden jarring shock and dismay that held him immobile for a moment. There were no tears — he so very rarely cried — but he was briefly at a loss for words, his thoughts shifting and adjusting to try to accept this new world reality. It felt wrong.
His voice was tight when he said, low, [b]"May the Stars accept him with grace." The words were both hollow and genuine: Bastille carried no faith himself, except for the general acknowledgement of fate, but he still used the words of the Ascendants to honor their dead and meant it. His stare flickered to Thea, and he studied her silently, analyzing the odd fluctuation in her aura. He supposed witnessing a murder might shake even someone as brazen as her, but it still struct him oddly, somehow.
"We'll have to visit our neighbors," he said, after a moment, "Thea, you'll come with me."
Unfortunately, that meant that his usual apathy failed him as he found himself answering yet another desperate call, pale blue gaze blank as it landed on Roy's still form; the ground cracked and splinted under his paws in thin slivers, giving away the sudden jarring shock and dismay that held him immobile for a moment. There were no tears — he so very rarely cried — but he was briefly at a loss for words, his thoughts shifting and adjusting to try to accept this new world reality. It felt wrong.
His voice was tight when he said, low, [b]"May the Stars accept him with grace." The words were both hollow and genuine: Bastille carried no faith himself, except for the general acknowledgement of fate, but he still used the words of the Ascendants to honor their dead and meant it. His stare flickered to Thea, and he studied her silently, analyzing the odd fluctuation in her aura. He supposed witnessing a murder might shake even someone as brazen as her, but it still struct him oddly, somehow.
"We'll have to visit our neighbors," he said, after a moment, "Thea, you'll come with me."
[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]