Set
“It’s not really about pleasing me,” he says to her with a seemingly self-deprecating grin. “Not here, not anymore. There was a time that I mattered to this kingdom very much.” He is back at the edge now, lowering his head out over empty space, as if he were drinking from the valley below. “And then not at all …,” he finishes. Though he mumbles it so quietly, with his back to her, that she may be hard pressed to hear it. He remains there as if in suspension, the bright gold of his eyes dull and unfocused, no breath in his lungs - oddly still given his restlessness just moments ago; as if he were a bit of painted rock, a statuesque ode to an old, long forgotten, king.
A rogue breeze, one with a chill on the back end of it, picks listlessly at his dreaded locks, breaking whatever spell holds him captive. He is back now, chucking her under her bloodied chin with casual familiarity as he moves past her gaunt form, ignoring blood that now stains the white bit of his muzzle. On second thought … he pauses, cocking his head back in her direction, meeting and holding her gaze from the corner of his, thoughts hidden behind a lifetime of guarding them.
“I hope you’ll stay, Red,” and he chuckles at his very obvious nickname, his face bright with youthful mischief. He runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth. “Though if you do, we will have to do something about the trail you leave behind,” he fades off, frowning. By stay he does not mean here, in the Chamber - though he has no intentions of leaving it any time in the near future, not now that it's back after so long. No, by stay he means with him, in his orbit. She is a curiosity, no doubt, a great power forced to be a shadow of itself here, outside of the afterlife. He cannot help this habit of being drawn to such curiosities, following some innate urge to surround himself with the powerful and interesting alike; even the grotesque and unnatural. Albeit, fewer and fewer pass for unnatural these days in Beqanna.He reaches out with just a bit of magic, a featherlight touch, enough to confirm his suspicions and to arouse new ones. “Who created you, love? Why aren’t you with them?” His tone gives little away, all the restlessness of moments ago gone.
A rogue breeze, one with a chill on the back end of it, picks listlessly at his dreaded locks, breaking whatever spell holds him captive. He is back now, chucking her under her bloodied chin with casual familiarity as he moves past her gaunt form, ignoring blood that now stains the white bit of his muzzle. On second thought … he pauses, cocking his head back in her direction, meeting and holding her gaze from the corner of his, thoughts hidden behind a lifetime of guarding them.
“I hope you’ll stay, Red,” and he chuckles at his very obvious nickname, his face bright with youthful mischief. He runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth. “Though if you do, we will have to do something about the trail you leave behind,” he fades off, frowning. By stay he does not mean here, in the Chamber - though he has no intentions of leaving it any time in the near future, not now that it's back after so long. No, by stay he means with him, in his orbit. She is a curiosity, no doubt, a great power forced to be a shadow of itself here, outside of the afterlife. He cannot help this habit of being drawn to such curiosities, following some innate urge to surround himself with the powerful and interesting alike; even the grotesque and unnatural. Albeit, fewer and fewer pass for unnatural these days in Beqanna.He reaches out with just a bit of magic, a featherlight touch, enough to confirm his suspicions and to arouse new ones. “Who created you, love? Why aren’t you with them?” His tone gives little away, all the restlessness of moments ago gone.
@miseria