04-07-2018, 09:25 PM
(Edited 04-08-2018, 12:14 AM by BASTILLEPAW.)
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[div style="background-color: #e3dfdf; width: 305px; border-bottom: 1px solid black; border-left: 1px solid black; border-right: 1px solid black; padding: 10px; line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; margin: auto; color: black; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]Ugh. Bastille had no idea what Starry saw in him, but it was rather upsetting. He was not, under any circumstances, the ideal role model; he had a strong opposition to authority, and a general unwillingness to just go with commands unless they made sense; he was headstrong, temperamental (these days), and no longer in control of his powers, even; and to top it all off, he was damned. There was no getting past that little tid bit. All three of his past lives were wastes of air, absolute degenerates, and there was no point in Bast even trying to escape his fate. Even now, he was starting to lose it -- headaches, restlessness, flighty powers, a shorter temper, general instability... What did he expect?
With all this in consideration, there was nothing Bast hated more than responsibility. Sure, he was more than willing to take on tasks and do what was needed, and fine with taking charge of minor shit, but... this? This? Starry had got to be fucking joking.
"Weekly tasks," the bengal called gloomily as he stood in the usual location, rather morose. Bastille didn't look exactly thrilled to be in charge of anything on importance, and he wasn't. His head was throbbing faintly, though they seemed to have faded mildly since the black-out. [b]"Come and get them and shit."
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]