Azrael
do you like walking in the rain?
when you think of love, do you think of pain?
when you think of love, do you think of pain?
They’re silent while Wessex looks it over, watching curiously for any sort of idea of a reaction they might be able to glean from their fellow demigod. And when the question reaches them, they spend a few long moments staring at their papers, their designs, a hand rising to their lips – a very much inspired look of Bastien overcoming them as they calculate it out – before they’re grabbing a piece of charcoal and a new sheet of paper and creating a sort of wireframe, where they might be able to turn the underground into a bunker of sorts, where they could all connect.
“I don’t think it’s impossible. It would take a lot of work and a lot of time… Unless perhaps our goddess would be willing to help?” Their gaze lifts to Wessex with this, the charcoal tapping at the paper they’ve made. “We could turn the Underground entirely into a bunker, perhaps.” They also offer as another tidbit of information. Because they’re not completely unaware of what looms on the horizon for all of the Ascended.
As for their father, though, Azrael’s smile is bright and fanged, creasing the corners of their eyes as they peer back at Wessex. “He has told me.” They offer by means of confirmation. “But it still means a lot to hear it more than once, especially not from one’s parent.” They can’t help the soft laugh that leaves them – airing in almost a chime, so oddly similar to Rex’s despite having little to no memories of their mother.
“I don’t think it’s impossible. It would take a lot of work and a lot of time… Unless perhaps our goddess would be willing to help?” Their gaze lifts to Wessex with this, the charcoal tapping at the paper they’ve made. “We could turn the Underground entirely into a bunker, perhaps.” They also offer as another tidbit of information. Because they’re not completely unaware of what looms on the horizon for all of the Ascended.
As for their father, though, Azrael’s smile is bright and fanged, creasing the corners of their eyes as they peer back at Wessex. “He has told me.” They offer by means of confirmation. “But it still means a lot to hear it more than once, especially not from one’s parent.” They can’t help the soft laugh that leaves them – airing in almost a chime, so oddly similar to Rex’s despite having little to no memories of their mother.
you can tell me what you see
i will choose what i believe
i will choose what i believe
