Vadar
Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one
Every miniscule reaction fuels him on. Her laughter, frosty and feminine. The way he looks closely and sees her blushing lips sneer, all for him. Her obvious disdain that somehow can’t seem to hide the way she’s still entertaining him. She could’ve gone long ago, ten seconds into this conversation, but she didn’t. He’d made it clear she wouldn’t have to go through hoops or run marathons with a tongue he’d so very much love to taste himself, but there it goes: wagging.
He doesn’t remember anything about her still, and maybe that’s for the best.
However, the pegasus hen reminds him of things he didn’t like about himself instead. Dark nights and cold mornings, lonely evenings of contemplative silence. Wanting to be close to someone, anyone, but seeing the rejection mirrored in the eyes that stared back. Fuck you; Fuck them, because now when he looks around all the others can see the rejection thrown right back.
What’s she expecting, exactly? For him to jump her? Is that what she’s hoping will happen when she slices one way with her words and then cuts another with her smile? Her attitude was cute at first, albeit a welcome reprieve from the mundane. Now it was starting to grate against his last nerve. There’s something inside of him that can’t go back to sleep anymore, it’s too noisy in his head. Jude’s too good at poking it with a stick.
“What, you read minds now Jude?” He mocks her lilt, “How many dusty humps have you spread your legs for that you can assume I’ll be the next?” Vadar snaps, adjusting his expression to match. Then he laughs, something that seems incredulous and marginally disgusted. “Get a load of yourself, you crack. ‘Shimmyin in some snow melt’?!” The dark tenor growls.
Clawing, the thing awakened pulls him apart at the center. He’s trembling, enraged. A breadth of a moment passes between them where it seems like he might actually act on instinct and her sadomasochistic desire for punishment.
“Don’t you fucking push me.” He warns her, chest heaving. Angry and beaming, like sharp points of light that don’t yet cut through her, his eyes jerk away with his head. The rest of him follows, thoroughly exhausted with whatever charade they’d been playing up until this point. Her attitude and demeanor were uncouth and unwelcome; there was nothing about her that seemed to illicit whatever interest he may have had before now.
“Were you this tedious with the old me?” Vadar grunts once she’s out of sight, muttering a choice phrase that could’ve been interpreted as psycho pink tart that’s covered up by the sound of his hooves in the muddy brook. “Because I doubt even he would tolerate a rare breed of bitch.”
@[peregrine jude]