location: aboard the agathe. time: flashback. with: @thespicn cont. from here.
teo almost believed he had grown used to the strange troupe --- their blazing mischief, their sharp and fae-like grins, their calls to play. each one had their own unique flare, each one danced in firelight between worlds. ( the world of work, the world of the supernatural, the world of meadows and eternal sunshine, the world of somewhere else. ) yet, at some point, bastien had turned those glowing eyes on teo, and the ice-master realized he had not grown fully used to the troupe after all.
in truth, their lifestyle was not entirely removed from teo’s lived experiences; he remembered once, as a boy, when his family had insisted on hollow shows of a wealth they no longer possessed, seeing a troupe of master performers. the troupe was excess and air; the troupe was a hollow show. he had loved and hated them both. they were a lightness he would never possess and a freedom he could not understand.
speaking to bastien was this: it was being caught between names, between something he wanted and something he did not.
they had their purpose, he was sure, but it was not here, amongst his cannons and tools.
the demand in bastien’s voice was enough to calm the flare of annoyance that had appeared. excess and air, a hollow show. “it is easier to be a bore when there are men to kill. wouldn’t i be cruel if i laughed during slaughter, papillon?” had he before? certainly. when his weapon found its mark, when his words burrowed into his intended --- victory required celebration. but he had not spoken of it before, that cruel laughter that accompanied death, and he would not do so now, with such a creature balancing so precariously on his cannons. the sigh that came was exasperated, annoyance creeping back. “now, down.” he tried shooing bastien from their perch. “would you rather me drag you out of here by your hair?”
