08-29-2019, 10:20 AM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Ruinam is unsettled. There are peaks and valleys to his comfort in Castile’s company. A flashing stare accompanies every muscle twitch and jump in the stallion’s heartbeat, Castile’s curiosity and amusement masked by a stern expression.
It would have been a warmer greeting were they allies, or even individual friends outside of political ties. Alas, there is no love existing between them; the draconic king perceives the porcelain male as a threat, an enemy. Confirming this with a suddenly proud stance, Ruinam wins a narrowed stare. ”Was,” he echoes, clutching the word immediately after it tumbles past his lips, ”You’re no longer loyal to the mutt?” Although Sinner possesses no land and no title, his influence still has the capability to extend across Beqanna. A contemplative hum vibrates through the Loessian King. Perhaps, with the crown of twigs stripped, Sinner has lost everything, including his friends. With a blink and nonchalant roll of his shoulders, Castile tucks the information into the dark vault of his thoughts.
That can either work against him, or it may work in his favor.
Ruinam introduces himself, but it’s acknowledged through a silent and curt nod. He is the new leader of the Island Resort, he supplements, and says nothing of the lavender family that once littered its tropical shoreline. With them gone – and likely Wallace, too – and Mary coming to Loess, who remains on the spit of land? A lungful of air comes and goes, but nothing notable can be deciphered. It’s a quiet place, he decides.
A relaxed posture ripples across Castile as he cocks his hip and considers the request disdainfully. He allows the foreigner to finish reiterating himself before finally responding, his voice gruff. ”Well, there’s a problem there,” he begins and pauses to thoughtfully clench his jaws, ”because I typically only share advice with friends. And you, boy, don’t quite fit that bill.” But Castile doesn’t turn away yet or usher out the islander, because even as he begins pulling the rug out from underneath Ruinam, he enables an opportunity for him to ground and balance himself. ”I enjoy chatting, but I need a damn good reason to give a complete stranger advice, especially one that was loyal to my enemy.” The opportunity flirts with the edges of his tongue. His mismatched eyes gleam mischievously underneath his unruly forelock, even as he disinterestedly glances away toward the mountain peaks before returning to Ruinam’s expectance.
After a long enough pause – enough to build the suspense and suspend it in the air between them – he continues enticingly. ”I suppose we could become friends, and then I can advise you. Perhaps the Island Resort can become a territory of Loess. We, and our extensive list of allies, could provide your island great protection.” Castile settles back and allows a blanket of silence to envelope them. He bides his time and allows the opportunity to marinade and sink in, to flood Ruinam’s mind with possibilities before reiterating, ”Friendship for advice.”
It would have been a warmer greeting were they allies, or even individual friends outside of political ties. Alas, there is no love existing between them; the draconic king perceives the porcelain male as a threat, an enemy. Confirming this with a suddenly proud stance, Ruinam wins a narrowed stare. ”Was,” he echoes, clutching the word immediately after it tumbles past his lips, ”You’re no longer loyal to the mutt?” Although Sinner possesses no land and no title, his influence still has the capability to extend across Beqanna. A contemplative hum vibrates through the Loessian King. Perhaps, with the crown of twigs stripped, Sinner has lost everything, including his friends. With a blink and nonchalant roll of his shoulders, Castile tucks the information into the dark vault of his thoughts.
That can either work against him, or it may work in his favor.
Ruinam introduces himself, but it’s acknowledged through a silent and curt nod. He is the new leader of the Island Resort, he supplements, and says nothing of the lavender family that once littered its tropical shoreline. With them gone – and likely Wallace, too – and Mary coming to Loess, who remains on the spit of land? A lungful of air comes and goes, but nothing notable can be deciphered. It’s a quiet place, he decides.
A relaxed posture ripples across Castile as he cocks his hip and considers the request disdainfully. He allows the foreigner to finish reiterating himself before finally responding, his voice gruff. ”Well, there’s a problem there,” he begins and pauses to thoughtfully clench his jaws, ”because I typically only share advice with friends. And you, boy, don’t quite fit that bill.” But Castile doesn’t turn away yet or usher out the islander, because even as he begins pulling the rug out from underneath Ruinam, he enables an opportunity for him to ground and balance himself. ”I enjoy chatting, but I need a damn good reason to give a complete stranger advice, especially one that was loyal to my enemy.” The opportunity flirts with the edges of his tongue. His mismatched eyes gleam mischievously underneath his unruly forelock, even as he disinterestedly glances away toward the mountain peaks before returning to Ruinam’s expectance.
After a long enough pause – enough to build the suspense and suspend it in the air between them – he continues enticingly. ”I suppose we could become friends, and then I can advise you. Perhaps the Island Resort can become a territory of Loess. We, and our extensive list of allies, could provide your island great protection.” Castile settles back and allows a blanket of silence to envelope them. He bides his time and allows the opportunity to marinade and sink in, to flood Ruinam’s mind with possibilities before reiterating, ”Friendship for advice.”
castile
@[Ruinam]