JULY 9, 2014.
Post by ASHTON ARTERIUS on Mar 28, 2014 18:09:33 GMT -5
⇝ |
Sigh.
Ashton sat in the midst of a small outdoor bar, safeguarded from the radiant sun of the Sending-Off Wolf Palace by the hanging fabrics behind him. His vacant golden eyes stared at the steaming tea cup before him, the natural scents of the drink fading from his nose, the engaging ambience of the village falling deaf on his ears. Despite being impoverished, the culture of the gathering was rich, and breathtakingly serene. And all he wanted to do, was share the experience with his best friend; lover, but he had abandoned her in the pursuit of peace.
Knowing her, she was most likely bottling in her emotions, struggling without any semblance of support, and she was probably fighting for his name. He simply couldn’t forgive himself for that—for hurting the only person he truly cared about; his anxious heartbeats wouldn’t allow him to forget.
He sighed again, taking a sip of his drink and unconsciously nodding at the bartender. He was a staunch and jovial man, and aged enough to know that the young lieutenant was suffering, but he stayed his tongue. His hand rose, and gave a prolonged swiping to the stressing sweat of his forehead. “You’re mighty torn for a sarcastic sociopath.” A withered and almost familiar male voice said. Ashton eyed his right, noticing an unorthodox garbed in full black, a slip of gray escaping from the mask on his visage. He scoffed, knowing his sights were confused. “This is not the lieutenant you’re looking for.” Ashton chuckled, waving his hand through the air as if he were in a different universe.
The man got up from his seat, crossing his arms about his chest and gouged the lieutenant out with his eyes. The redhead rolled his eyes, taking a wide side of his tea before turning to face the man—and he choked on his drink. He coughed, gagged spraying steaming particles atop the mahogany counter. He blinked, getting another sight at the elder.
He could have sworn he was losing his mind: full-blown Onmitsukidō uniform, one pale and dysfunctional eye shown from a masked face, a gray bang covering the other, with an abundance of sternness. There was no mistaking who this man was; Yamato, the former Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō, and mentor of Ashton during the Bount crisis. And it made no sense to see him here.
The lieutenant eyed him up and down, struggling to control his lungs. “Did he enlist you too, old man?” Ashton asked, his voice perfectly reflecting his taken aback he was. The veteran didn’t answer; he simply shook his head and beckoned the younger soul to stroll the village with him with a twist of the finger. “We’ve been watching you for years, Kazuya-sama and I.” Yamato said, giving his senses a twirl to find his protégé pacing to catch up with him. The elder stopped both of them in their tracks with a foot imprinting halt. “And never have you been this clueless.”
Ashton sat in the midst of a small outdoor bar, safeguarded from the radiant sun of the Sending-Off Wolf Palace by the hanging fabrics behind him. His vacant golden eyes stared at the steaming tea cup before him, the natural scents of the drink fading from his nose, the engaging ambience of the village falling deaf on his ears. Despite being impoverished, the culture of the gathering was rich, and breathtakingly serene. And all he wanted to do, was share the experience with his best friend; lover, but he had abandoned her in the pursuit of peace.
Knowing her, she was most likely bottling in her emotions, struggling without any semblance of support, and she was probably fighting for his name. He simply couldn’t forgive himself for that—for hurting the only person he truly cared about; his anxious heartbeats wouldn’t allow him to forget.
He sighed again, taking a sip of his drink and unconsciously nodding at the bartender. He was a staunch and jovial man, and aged enough to know that the young lieutenant was suffering, but he stayed his tongue. His hand rose, and gave a prolonged swiping to the stressing sweat of his forehead. “You’re mighty torn for a sarcastic sociopath.” A withered and almost familiar male voice said. Ashton eyed his right, noticing an unorthodox garbed in full black, a slip of gray escaping from the mask on his visage. He scoffed, knowing his sights were confused. “This is not the lieutenant you’re looking for.” Ashton chuckled, waving his hand through the air as if he were in a different universe.
The man got up from his seat, crossing his arms about his chest and gouged the lieutenant out with his eyes. The redhead rolled his eyes, taking a wide side of his tea before turning to face the man—and he choked on his drink. He coughed, gagged spraying steaming particles atop the mahogany counter. He blinked, getting another sight at the elder.
He could have sworn he was losing his mind: full-blown Onmitsukidō uniform, one pale and dysfunctional eye shown from a masked face, a gray bang covering the other, with an abundance of sternness. There was no mistaking who this man was; Yamato, the former Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō, and mentor of Ashton during the Bount crisis. And it made no sense to see him here.
The lieutenant eyed him up and down, struggling to control his lungs. “Did he enlist you too, old man?” Ashton asked, his voice perfectly reflecting his taken aback he was. The veteran didn’t answer; he simply shook his head and beckoned the younger soul to stroll the village with him with a twist of the finger. “We’ve been watching you for years, Kazuya-sama and I.” Yamato said, giving his senses a twirl to find his protégé pacing to catch up with him. The elder stopped both of them in their tracks with a foot imprinting halt. “And never have you been this clueless.”
CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS
