the dreaded teen years

Azrael

Bastien’s laughter sparks a bit of amusement within Azrael as well, flashing a grin their father’s way. There’s a nod of their head, agreeing that it would need to be cleaned up first, cleaned up and perhaps fixed, maybe keeping some of the rustic edges of the ruins just purely for aesthetics. But they traverse deeper into the ruins and broken walls, half standing pillars, some covered with ivy and decade old mud.

“I can do it.” They say somewhat positively, albeit naively. They’re sure the Voice would help with the endeavor, should they wish to pursue it. In the meantime, however, they take mental calculations, notes that they could expand on when they got home, to draw up a plan and perhaps start it. And that’s when an idea hits them, whirling to face their father, standing still in place when their father suggests starting with one room. “Do you think the Family would want to help?” It’s said eagerly. It would make the most sense, after all. They didn’t need to sleep or drink, normal exhaustion didn’t hit them.

“Maybe we can pick… A couple of rooms and all work together and make it nice.” There’s an eager edge in the grin they shoot Bastien’s way, a hopeful childish ignorance hidden in their honeyed gaze.

mind over matter