“Hm,” Adrius hums, matching Maurtia’s grin with an equally as unamused frown. Her teasing nature rubs his rigid upbringing raw. The black of his eyes swirls and darkens, as if he is fighting saying something that desperately wants to be heard.
With a clearing of his throat, Adrius draws himself to a straight, statuesque stance (which, to be frank, looks a bit silly in the pouring rain, with his thick mane and tail sticking his scales). The frown deepens when Maurtia gives him a sarcastic response, then grows into a silent snarl when she guesses exactly what he is trying to hide.
“You’re very rude,” he finally snaps, unable to mind his manners for her sake, despite the strict customs of his homeland.
When the woman continues to press on where he is going, Adrius does not even attempt to hide his exasperated sigh. He glares at Maurtia with hardly a mask to hide his agitation, pressing his lips together because of the shame of his outburst.
Clearing his throat once again, Adrius loosens his face and answers coldly, “I have absolutely no idea where I am going. Is that what you wanted to hear? Never in my life have I been questioned so crassly.”