draco
If Litotes were not standing next to him, Draco might roll his eyes at the bubbly nature of the nereid’s thoughts. He peers at her with a blank gaze, forcing the tendrils of fear he wants to send down her spine to the very back of his mind. A faint shimmer remains over the red, but they do not send crippling terror like he is so wont to do.
“Litotes,” the Archon responds, interjecting before Draco can, “and this is my son Draco.” The boy nods his head with a sweet smile, deciding on a whim that he is going to fool this girl into thinking he is something he is entirely not. “Aquaria is such a lovely name,” Draco murmurs, sliding his eyes over her pale sides. “It suits you.” Apprehension colors his father’s mind, but he pays it no heed. He knows his father will not make a scene, and perhaps he will not be suspicious of him.
Draco listens to the hope and sweetness of their visitor, chewing up her naivety and gearing up to spit it out at just the right time. He thinks there is much to be taught by those that are “good,” and Aquaria is a suitable candidate to mimic - that, and she is particularly beautiful. The demon boy is just becoming an age to notice such things, and he finds he likes the glistening curve her skin.
Litotes takes control once politics are brought up, and Draco is content to listen with a lazy flick of his ears; though, he does smirk at his father’s immediate mental distaste over a land considered sanctuary-like. “Pangea can make use of a place for respite. In return we may offer protection for a land lacking . . . dramatics, given Ischia ever needs it - and it aligns with our other allies. Has Adria spoken with the leaders in the South and the North?” Draco only offered Aquaria an equally confidential smile when she directed her attention toward him, simply opting to allow his father to take the lead.
“Litotes,” the Archon responds, interjecting before Draco can, “and this is my son Draco.” The boy nods his head with a sweet smile, deciding on a whim that he is going to fool this girl into thinking he is something he is entirely not. “Aquaria is such a lovely name,” Draco murmurs, sliding his eyes over her pale sides. “It suits you.” Apprehension colors his father’s mind, but he pays it no heed. He knows his father will not make a scene, and perhaps he will not be suspicious of him.
Draco listens to the hope and sweetness of their visitor, chewing up her naivety and gearing up to spit it out at just the right time. He thinks there is much to be taught by those that are “good,” and Aquaria is a suitable candidate to mimic - that, and she is particularly beautiful. The demon boy is just becoming an age to notice such things, and he finds he likes the glistening curve her skin.
Litotes takes control once politics are brought up, and Draco is content to listen with a lazy flick of his ears; though, he does smirk at his father’s immediate mental distaste over a land considered sanctuary-like. “Pangea can make use of a place for respite. In return we may offer protection for a land lacking . . . dramatics, given Ischia ever needs it - and it aligns with our other allies. Has Adria spoken with the leaders in the South and the North?” Draco only offered Aquaria an equally confidential smile when she directed her attention toward him, simply opting to allow his father to take the lead.
play it cool then smart
@[Aquaria]