“Pyre suits you with a mouth like that.” A wicked little grin spread across Pyre’s face, though he couldn’t quite say why. Something in the turn of phrase had oddly suggestive words fighting to dart back at the other man, but he didn’t quite remember how to shape them. The moment was gone before he could sort it out, though, and no great loss there, vanished into the distraction of Wyrm’s next words. He eyed the emerald stallion, considering. Perhaps there were more similarities there than an appreciation for the taste of a fresh corpse. “Yes. My body was...a good bit more malleable on the Mountain. Wasn’t stuck in this shape ‘til I came down. I rather like fangs and claws, great leathery wings, and fire. But I tried on a few shapes trying to find the one that fit best.”
It certainly wasn’t this one. But none of them had quite felt right, either. Or. No, they’d all felt fine, it was just that none of them had felt...complete. Something was missing, and it grated beneath his damn sunshine yellow hide, making every shape feel wrong, and even worse when he was anchored in one indefinitely. He twitched his skin, trying to dislodge the feeling like he would a particularly irksome fly, but to no avail.
“None of them quite managed. But you’re right, I suppose it doesn't matter now.”
It certainly wasn’t this one. But none of them had quite felt right, either. Or. No, they’d all felt fine, it was just that none of them had felt...complete. Something was missing, and it grated beneath his damn sunshine yellow hide, making every shape feel wrong, and even worse when he was anchored in one indefinitely. He twitched his skin, trying to dislodge the feeling like he would a particularly irksome fly, but to no avail.
“None of them quite managed. But you’re right, I suppose it doesn't matter now.”