i think i'm okay; Nylon/Bastian post bb
Oct 19, 2021 8:02:53 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 19, 2021 8:02:53 GMT -5
↳ BASTIAN FRAY
It’s kind of hot to watch Nylon set her shoulder back in place.
She may well be torturously vain, with a large enough ego to match, but beneath all that is a a girl ruthless enough to be another volunteer for this killing sport. She’s the same as him in some twisted way. Hungering and empty, wishing a crown and the title of victor can fill their hollow insides.
“Stand stil—” he starts, only to get cut off by her howl of fury. Bastian laughs at that. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Exactly.” Had his own screaming moment a few minutes ago, felt the residue of it clinging to the back of his throat like lumpy, expired milk. In fact everything was a scream on loop, something that had been incessantly played over and over that it soon became nothing but static. Nothing but wind to his ears.
And it whistles gently.
“Stand still,” he repeats the complete request from earlier as he tears more of his shirt. It’s barely there now, and every inch of skin he is showing is caked in blood and dirt, apt for a boy born of grave-dirt and battlefields. Bastian always is in some form of strife—either internal, or with the remnants of it fresh on his skin.
His hands though, are surprisingly gentle when they begin wrapping the roughspun bandages around her stub with care. It’s intimate, tender, and almost too much for him to handle that he is quick to shatter the quiet moment by letting himself speak. “Can’t have you dying on me too, at least not yet.” He tautens the knot he’s made. “There. Patched.”
He catches Nylon’s wrist before her finger can poke him. He holds it midmotion. “Liza has the wealth,” Bastian husks. “And she’s a career. A 100% career. We need her.” His tone does not allow for dissent. He drops her hand then, having said his piece, having made the message clear.
They can’t survive alone.
They didn’t even survive when there was four of them.
Her weight sinks on his shoulder again, and this time he doesn’t ponder twice about wrapping his good arm around her. “Indeed Miss. Gingham,” his chuckle is wry, tinged with fatigue already. “You look rather ravishing. Must be the missing forearm, yeah?”