#incuocation

" Don’t touch me! I am not to be touched, " shouts @incuocation

The approaching hand stalls mid-air, suspending its motion at barked command. Yet, compassion remains, with an unique curiosity staying the demi-god where he crouches. No response rings from sealed lips with a morganite gaze scanning over what misfortune has befell this woodland alcove.

With any respect for the woman's wishes, Sanguinius moves to stand at full height. The long feathers of his holy wings cascades along his towering form, cloaking him in speckled beige.

" Are you injured? " he asked, voicing the intentions of his impersonal breach of her personhood.

He was caught between two minds. A part of him, the fatherly side, wished to assure her, to soften the blow and make this a teaching moment and not a lecture, but the part of him that was the professional, the man of progress, wanted nothing more to condemn her idiocy and punish her for the failure. In the end the first course won out out of pure pragmatism, he had never found the level of aggression he craved to actually amount to something desirable. He preferred to have those under his authority actually tell him when there were issues.

Somehow Aurelius is a man who will die on even the smallest, most fucking bullshit hill and also will abandon nearly every principle he's ever had in a heartbeat to avoid an unwanted/unnecessary/unfavorable conflict.

Aurelius at his core is a deeply petty person, a pedant, and a "well actually" type person and he does not like when someone is flatly wrong (either factually or just has an opinion he doesn't like) and it goes uncontested. So he will come at you like a maladjusted rottweiler and he will not let this shit go.

I would say most parts of himself. He was not raised in an environment that allowed for self-expression and self-exploration. Unlike his older brother Narcissus who's natural reaction to the abuse and grooming was to fight, meaning here that he worked to express and individualize himself as much as possible, Aurelius' strategy to protect himself was to fawn, so he allowed his sense of self to be obliterated from a young age.

Even as an adult he has not felt safe or capable of getting into this much, only doing as the work he has because he was forced to by becoming a father. On the whole he simply does not have the tools to engage in this process, just like many real life people who are raised in these toxic communities and eventually leave. do not have the words or tools to do it either. It's just simply not something they are taught or allowed to do so he doesn't exactly know where to even begin, though he also knows if/when he does it will probably destroy him so he is... not exactly rushing to do it.

" But it was not god who spoke. It was you, " said @incuocation

Seated above all, granted an honored office, Sanguinius is once more cast into his role of Heavenly judiciary. Godhood he refuted, the notion like ash over his tongue, yet he could not escape the claims. Never did his visage aid him in sequestering his rank to match the humility of his humane nature — what remained of it, at least. At least what humanity he fervently believes lived within the flesh of his body and in the blood of his bones.

" It was me, " he agreed there," but, then, what does that make of me? A savior? A guiding voice? A God, too? "

[ SIT ]: Sender sits on receiver's lap — @incuocation ↪ a cute, cuddly quasit named grimmle curling up on sanguinius' lap, maybe~?

Very few dared so close to someone like Sanguinius. In all his gentle fairness and marbled perfection, it wasn't the smooth cut of his image that people feared to brush near as it were his random && unpredictable temper.

So, when claws clamor up his ivory and crimson robes, crushing into the brocade until it found purchase up over a wide thigh, the Great Angel was surprised to find a creature of some sort needle its talons into his chiton before banking up into his lap.

He considered it briefly, pondering if he should shoo it away so he can return to his reading, but it appeared stubborn to go. Then, came a sigh of relent, before a calloused hand brushes along the length of its spine from neck to tail in languid motion.

" The killing has gone on too long, " said @incuocation

The Choir Halls were empty of its song tonight. Tall vestibules absent of their ' instruments '; glass blown out, their metal casings slick with wet gore down the front, sullying the sacred sigils and wards of the former Choir. This last battle had taken far too much from what generous employ was stationed within the congregation. These commanders ask for far too much, demand beyond what their battalions were capable of, yet under fervent devotion to the cause, they gave.

Seraphine peers through the thickly reinforced glass, staring out into the vast depths of space upon the planet beneath them. A snowy tundra waning ashen grey as the orchestras of battles process into Act II. This ship idly floats in orbit ahead of its flotilla as it beacons vox communications for all the soldiers deployed within— leaving the broad surface of this world open for viewing.

No clouds swirled within the atmosphere anymore, having dissolved with the leading drop cases of munition. Flashes of calamitous gunfire wink over various parts of the surface, spanning hundreds of miles across several fleets and regiments. This battle had gone on for so long, the Mistress could no longer track the pathing in the snow, all such markings lost with the twist and puncture of mortar rounds and keeling bodies.

" It has, " Seraphine agreed, her mood dim and her hope a dull blade, useless to cut any inspiration into anything, " I suppose today we will see if they will spend the rest of us until our ships are hollowed out of able bodies. "

Drawing a deep breath, the Astropath shrugs on some optimism. Visibly worn by the constant chatter swimming through her perceptions, she does her best to at least embody some positivity before her company here.