#muse.sebastian

[writtcn]

out the back of hallowed grounds, ft. open

“ fucking hell, ” sebastian swears, an unlit cigarette dangling between two fingers and a lighter capped in his other hand. it's been a hectic week, not least because of the dead person in the middle of town thing — and the oppressive fog, which is getting on his nerves. it just feels wrong. and normally he tries very hard not to listen to his gut, lest it tell him things he doesn't want to know, but right now ? well. bas thinks the town could use any advance warning of shit they can get. “ it's bad enough i can't see three feet in front of me with this fucking fog, i don't need people jumping me from behind as well, ” he says. to himself, he mumbles a further, “ too tired for this shit. ”

[writtcn]

some random park around town, ft. open

bas is hanging from a tree branch, moping about the injustice of not having wings ( angels have wings, fallen angels have wings ... don't they ? and he's sure there are some demons that have them too ... so he should as well ! ) when he spots a familiar face. unfortunately, this moment of distraction is all he needs to throw off the rhythm of his swinging, and he lands with a thud underneath the tree, staring up into the leaves.

“ 'm fine, ” he groans, pulling himself into a sitting position. “ gah, mum'll be so mad at me if i've got grass stains on my shirt again. ” as if he can't get the stains out himself — if not by magic, then certainly by hand, he's had plenty of practice. but it's never stopped her, and probably never will, much to his chagrin. “ what's new with you ? ”

[writtcn]

the old haunt, ft. utp ( @silkeared )

sebastian is not usually one for drinking outside the comfort of his own home, preferring the coziness and companionship offered by the familiar place — but on occasion he'll venture to one of the bars or pubs in town and see what they have on offer. usually coinciding with trivia and quiz nights, since he's in town for those anyway.

tonight is one of those adventurous nights — though in saying that, he's nursing a glass of stout that is exactly the same as what's in the fridge at home. it's more about the company than the drinks this time.

“ ... and then the bitchass had the audacity to call me an idiot, as if they weren't the one who couldn't be arsed to look at the roast level indicator on the goddamn menu board. ” he concludes his passionate retelling of the day's most aggravating customer — someone who wanted a light roasted coffee and ordered the darkest thing on the menu — and takes a sip of his drink, looking expectantly at his companion to await a response.

[writtcn]

hallowed grounds, ft. open

it's been a long week, bas muses as he stands behind the counter at the coffee shop. a dead body found, the council silent on what this means for portum — not a great start to the new year. nonetheless, he greets each customer with a smile, though not quite as broad as his usual one.

“ how've you been lately ? ” he asks the familiar face who steps up to the counter. “ oh yeah, and what can i get you ? the usual ? ”

[writtcn]

the  first  step :  describe  your  muse(s)  arrival  to  portum.  what  was  their  first  impression  ?  how  did  they  stumble  upon  the  town  taking  in  supernatural  runaways  ?  maybe  you  want  to  expand  on  the  reason  your  muse  had  for  needing  portum  in  the  first  place.

a baby, small and wrinkled and red from crying, swaddled in white cotton, clutches at the feathers that brush past his face. the angel does not look down, continuing their steady walk towards the distant lights of a town. they skirt the edges of moonlight-dappled clearings, careful to avoid notice. wings shield the baby from view of the sky, fearful of who could be watching.

the forbidden child is laid upon the stone steps of the town's medical centre, left with only a blessing to ward against the chill of the night. he is found shortly afterwards by a shift worker on their way in, brought inside quickly to be cared for.

an agathion, the product of an angel and a demon, brought immediately to the one place free of outside influences and expectations where he can be normal. he will grow up as an ordinary child, never knowing hardship or pain, surrounded by love and community.

[writtcn]

[ ⚓ ] + sebastian

[ ⚓ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does “home” mean to them ?

in a word, family. a place is nothing without the people in it, in sebastian's mind, and to him, home is wherever his family — both immediate and tangential — is.

[writtcn]

[ 🔒 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a secret they’ve sworn never to tell ?

sebastian has very few secrets, being a remarkably open person — at least on the face of it. generally speaking, the secrets he keeps have to do with emotions — usually his own, people don't generally call on him for those sorts of conversations.

aravis has kept a few secrets in their many lifetimes, both personal ones and ones for friends. none have much bearing on their current life, however.

cristian has sworn to xemself never to tell anyone exactly what transpired that resulted in the maris becoming his. it is a memory he does not wish to relive, ever. xe doesn't really promise things to other people, though.

[writtcn]

[ 📜 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a story they love sharing with others ?

sebastian loves to share stories about his life with his friends and family. it's never the same story twice, he seems to have an endless repertoire. although a lot of them involve him falling out of trees.

aravis shares little snippets, bits and pieces of their many lives, but never full-on stories.

cristian very rarely shares anything about xyr past, mostly because it ( justifiably ) comes across more than a little horrific.