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Starlin apparently has social anxiety. haha
Beqanna
Assailant -- Year 226
"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
burning cities and napalm skies; Castile
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11-05-2017, 09:40 AM
Starlin apparently has social anxiety. haha
11-08-2017, 03:59 PM
Solitude, as of late, is more highly welcomed than conversation. Forming in the pit of his chest is a hardened encasement around his heart, a protecting barrier to save him from further ache. During the early hours of morning, Castile brews on his mistakes and weighs their outcomes. It would be more beneficial to be like mother, to be so independent, but when he thinks of his parents he can reflect only on the love they share. It’s what he has yearned for since his childhood, but his desperation has clouded his better judgment. His desperation broke him. It would be much simpler to tuck himself into the cave system of Nerine, but he cannot entirely abandon Isobell, not again. Her inner light is what keeps him from withdrawing into the darkness. She, among all else, is his saving grace. She is the reason Castile is harboring himself at the river instead of being recluse, but he still keeps to himself until there is a gentle voice behind him. With a lackadaisical pivot, he looks at the girl and inclines his head slightly. A feeble grin struggles to find the edges of his mouth, but it last a few heartbeats once it does. ”Hello,” he offers in a flat voice, lacking the enthusiasm and amiable nature he typically boasts. His mismatched eyes trace her skeptically as he prepares to address her as Djinni, but there is a subtle difference between the two that saves him from the embarrassment. A brow lifts then both furrow as he straightens himself thoughtfully. ”Are you Djinni’s daughter?” The genie, mother’s closest friend, and practically an aunt to him. She had more children, siblings to his closest friend, Ivar. It gives new perspective to this encounter; it softens the hard ridges of his face as they search each other curiously. ”I’m Castile.” Because he isn’t quite sure how else to engage with her without mentioning their parents again. lmao he's so awkward
11-08-2017, 08:51 PM
#teamawkward
11-08-2017, 09:25 PM
Surprisingly, it rattles him how torn she looks in response to his nonchalance. When he looks at her, he almost sees Isobell when she had been just as young. It would have been torture to see her crumble in front of him like this, which is why he reaches toward her to lift her chin. Although it’s a struggle to smile with Ciri so heavily painted across his thoughts, he puts a greater effort into it as he withdraws from her innocent touch to search her eyes. ”And how do you know me?” He already has an idea, truthfully, but he tries for a conversation because he knows that’s what Isobell would push him to do. She wouldn’t let him spiral into darkness.
Her scent mingles with that of Nerine, a familiarity that overcomes him in reassuring waves. It entices him to one day visit and to lie on the sand beneath the sun just like when he was a colt. Perhaps she knows mother then, or Isobell. It would help connect the dots as to how she knows him since he hasn’t accomplished anything great to stand out of the crowd. Isobell is an heir while Castile is just… Castile. While her eyes cast down, he struggles for conversation. He still pictures her as his sister to dote on, to never let grow unhappy. It’s his fault, he knows. The solemnity of his voice was enough to push anyone away and yet she remained, though slightly distressed by it. ”I’m sorry,” he finally admits while groping for an explanation, ”I just have had a lot on my mind.” He doesn’t have to justify himself to her, and yet, it’s oddly comforting to.
11-09-2017, 08:27 AM
11-16-2017, 09:30 PM
There are probably a few surprised by how Castile’s demeanor contrasts his mother’s. For decades she avoided the hassle of delving into love or really caring for anyone. It was a distraction to her, an unnecessary part of life that she always avoided. It’s only in the past few years that a softer side has breached, gasping for air after so long of having been suppressed by the iron queen. She was never led by her heart until she began a family. Where Nayl had always been fierce, Castile was apathetic. There was no heated passion that drove him or an unsurpassed need for power; he was content just being himself and eventually finding a couple friends.
How odd for a child of Nayl and Lior, indeed, to be lovesick. Ciri has weighed heavily on his mind, but Castile can’t bring himself to admit this to Starlin with her long lashes and stormy eyes. They peer up at him as he lifts her chin, his smile broadening slightly. He cannot trouble her innocent mind and ignorant heart of the pains he has already experienced; he won’t be the one to tell her of the darkest places where loneliness reigns. With a contemplative shrug, his head lifting away from hers now, he scrambles for an answer. ”Just thinking about how to master my shifting,” what had once been so embarrassing to admit has seemed to be a magnet for conversation, attention, and help, ”and actually start battling more.” The position of General is open in Loess. For someone who never craved power, Castile finds himself longing to find his niche, to unleash himself in a way he never thought possible. With a thoughtful breath, he looks up to the treetops then back to Starlin. ”What are your plans in Nerine?”
11-18-2017, 09:51 AM
Starlin Starlin’s eyes meet Castile’s, a piercing directness in their depths. For a moment, it seems as though she will see through his deceptive answer – her long silence certainly indicates that something is amiss. But on, it is simply the time that it takes the filly to reply, an oddly uncomfortable silence that she seemingly has no control over. “What is your shifting?” She asks curiously. Her dark eyes flick back to the joint of his wing and body, wondering if he is like his father: a dragon. He certainly looks strong enough to be a dragon, the filly thinks, tall and muscular, with a handsome face and …oh. She blushes, realizing how detailed her inspection has become, and glances back at the ground. The ant is long gone, but Castile is asking her a question and despite her best efforts she has not yet melted into the ground and disappeared. “I uh…I want to be a warrior too. Like the Amazons were before the Reckoning.” Starlin has never voiced this to anyone but her mother, this desire to become something greater than herself. Djinni had not understood, but then Djinni had never been truly meant for kingdom service. Perhaps Castile will understand, Starlin thinks, if he has not tired of her odd behavior yet. “I’m Starlin,” she adds belatedly. “And yes, Djinni’s my mother.” grit & grace.
12-08-2017, 10:40 PM
”A dragon,” he answers rather quietly, but with a proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It kindles thoughts and memories of father. He remembers being a boy and peering up at Lior for the first time, drinking in his immeasurable strength and size. The leathery wings held his attention longest as it awakened a child’s elaborate imagination. Of course, in his mind, father was above all others. He could never be defeated or replaced; he was a titan in the eyes of his young boy.
But Castile has since grown. His size almost mirrors his father’s, and while he understands that no one is invincible, pride still permeates his mind at the idea of sharing a trait with him. Just like father, he is dragonborn. Castile notes Starlin’s bashfulness as her eyes dart back and forth in desperate search for a distraction. This time, he doesn’t lift her chin to search her eyes. He doesn’t press closer or dreamily blink his eyes, but he observes her with an occasional glance to the river to break his own stare. The lurking primal instincts in his gut intensify the ridges of his face often times without his realization. He would’ve continued to divert were it not for her admission of her future in Nerine. The answer stirs him and brightens the gaze of his mismatched eyes. ”A warrior,” like him, he muses but never says, ”you will fit in perfectly then.” He would offer to mock with her, but he reflects on his battle with Krigare, and how he could not control himself. Castile would never forgive himself for hurting Starlin. ”Ivar’s sister,” he adds thoughtfully as a lighthearted grin bears down on her, ”You’re practically family.” | |||||||||
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