05-07-2020, 09:38 AM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
This is not at all what he expected when Nashua invited him to Taiga.
It, in his mind, has always been a quiet and bashful territory that wanted nothing more than peace. Leaders were chosen and life moved along steadily with hardly a ripple.
How much more wrong could he have been?
There’s in unrest that bubbles among the group and an unhappiness that prickles Castile’s skin. He enjoys the teetering power grabs, enjoys how Lepis’ son finds himself groping desperately for a crown that no one wants to hand to him. Of course, Castile does not smile at these mishaps and disputes. Careful to maintain this new persona – how long, truthfully, can this last? – his brows stitch together in a developing frown that deepens after glancing sideways to note Celina’s reaction toward him. Possessive, he muses, but he does nothing in rebuttal as Nash applies a balm of reassurance.
He's okay, the boy states, and Castile’s heart plummets. Is he really though? What would Nashua think if only he knew the truth?
A strained grin works across the thin lines of his lips as he quietly admires the boy until he speaks up again with a nomination.
Why don’t we give Taiga to Rocky?
Mmm… Fuck.
The offer, admittedly, startles Castile. His nutmeg eyes widen with surprise before turning his head to look at the group. No words rise to meet the nomination because he abandoned Loess to take a breath of fresh air. Politics tend to taint and thicken his lungs like smog. He doesn’t outright say no, but he also doesn’t reaffirm his agreement to Nash’s suggestion either. Internally, Castile laughs. Funny how he is thrusted into politics during his purge; the lifestyle clings to him like blood stains. The opportunity sits in front of him, a temptation and a beautifully dramatic way to confess who he truly is (this has already gone too far).
(Surprise, it’s Castile, not Rocky)
But Castile doesn’t make a grab for it. In this mask, he is placid and not so ambitious; he is kind and not brash.
Tilting his ears forward, he watches as Elio turns on him, asking who he is. The display seems forced, fake even, because within a single heartbeat, Elio has flipped his attention away as he addresses the rejection thrusted upon him. Castile knows the situation well, can almost taste the agitation boiling through the boy’s veins; he looks young, perhaps 3 or 4, barely entering adulthood. At nearly twenty, Elio is practically a colt in comparison to Castile, but he does nothing to add to the dispute between Izora Lethia and Lepis’ son. ‘Rocky’ doesn’t have a dog in this fight.
Not until a formal challenge is issued.
The women seemingly tilt toward peace; they are not warriors, but they also do not back down. Lifting a brow, he quietly states, ”Well, since Elio does not seem to have much support, let there be a fight. If he wins, the Taigan’s don’t necessarily have to accept him as their leader. There’s always a window for mutiny.” His voice is so gentle despite himself and despite the chaos swirling in his thoughts. For the first time, he is on this side of the situation – he isn’t the one trying to take claim and being refused – and an enthralling exhilaration quickens his heartbeat. ”If Elio wants to be faced with that,” a shrug ripples through his shoulders as he trails off while surveying those who have gathered around. He is familiar with how shadows come alive during takeovers.
It, in his mind, has always been a quiet and bashful territory that wanted nothing more than peace. Leaders were chosen and life moved along steadily with hardly a ripple.
How much more wrong could he have been?
There’s in unrest that bubbles among the group and an unhappiness that prickles Castile’s skin. He enjoys the teetering power grabs, enjoys how Lepis’ son finds himself groping desperately for a crown that no one wants to hand to him. Of course, Castile does not smile at these mishaps and disputes. Careful to maintain this new persona – how long, truthfully, can this last? – his brows stitch together in a developing frown that deepens after glancing sideways to note Celina’s reaction toward him. Possessive, he muses, but he does nothing in rebuttal as Nash applies a balm of reassurance.
He's okay, the boy states, and Castile’s heart plummets. Is he really though? What would Nashua think if only he knew the truth?
A strained grin works across the thin lines of his lips as he quietly admires the boy until he speaks up again with a nomination.
Why don’t we give Taiga to Rocky?
Mmm… Fuck.
The offer, admittedly, startles Castile. His nutmeg eyes widen with surprise before turning his head to look at the group. No words rise to meet the nomination because he abandoned Loess to take a breath of fresh air. Politics tend to taint and thicken his lungs like smog. He doesn’t outright say no, but he also doesn’t reaffirm his agreement to Nash’s suggestion either. Internally, Castile laughs. Funny how he is thrusted into politics during his purge; the lifestyle clings to him like blood stains. The opportunity sits in front of him, a temptation and a beautifully dramatic way to confess who he truly is (this has already gone too far).
(Surprise, it’s Castile, not Rocky)
But Castile doesn’t make a grab for it. In this mask, he is placid and not so ambitious; he is kind and not brash.
Tilting his ears forward, he watches as Elio turns on him, asking who he is. The display seems forced, fake even, because within a single heartbeat, Elio has flipped his attention away as he addresses the rejection thrusted upon him. Castile knows the situation well, can almost taste the agitation boiling through the boy’s veins; he looks young, perhaps 3 or 4, barely entering adulthood. At nearly twenty, Elio is practically a colt in comparison to Castile, but he does nothing to add to the dispute between Izora Lethia and Lepis’ son. ‘Rocky’ doesn’t have a dog in this fight.
Not until a formal challenge is issued.
The women seemingly tilt toward peace; they are not warriors, but they also do not back down. Lifting a brow, he quietly states, ”Well, since Elio does not seem to have much support, let there be a fight. If he wins, the Taigan’s don’t necessarily have to accept him as their leader. There’s always a window for mutiny.” His voice is so gentle despite himself and despite the chaos swirling in his thoughts. For the first time, he is on this side of the situation – he isn’t the one trying to take claim and being refused – and an enthralling exhilaration quickens his heartbeat. ”If Elio wants to be faced with that,” a shrug ripples through his shoulders as he trails off while surveying those who have gathered around. He is familiar with how shadows come alive during takeovers.
castile