11-03-2017, 03:48 PM
He often wonders the reason as to why he hasn’t mastered this skill. There are other shifters, like father, that easily manipulate their bodies on a whim. They learn to control it, to master it, so quickly and yet Castile, who was born like this, still struggles years later.
There is still one feathered and one reptilian wing sprouting from his shoulder blades, unable to be uniform. Jagged teeth, then blunt. Talons, then hooves. Bit by bit, he tries to shift, but it never lasts. It always reverts back, unable to be controlled to its entirety.
When she arrives, it’s with hushed footsteps and a sly grin. He doesn’t trust the manner to which she addresses him, but he doesn’t betray the onset of mistrust either. Instead, he blinks his mismatched eyes and rolls his shoulders in a mild shrug. ”Perhaps,” his tone hints at curiosity as he hungrily devours the sight of her. She is familiar… Maybe. When he drinks her scent, he desperately gropes for reasons he knows it. It’s just barely out of his reach, hovering delectably in front of his hands as he racks his mind for a few heartbeats before resigning without an answer for the time being.
He doesn’t yet realize that her scent once mingled with Ivar’s.
With a sharp intake of air, Castile suppresses his hesitance and admits (albeit uncomfortable) his faults. ”Can’t quite master the whole shifting thing, I guess.” Is it because of what he is that makes it difficult? That it isn’t a feeble rabbit or snake? He is something greater, stronger. Dragonborn, he muses while straightening his posture. His leathery, reptilian wing transitions smoothly to feathers, his slit eyes normalizing. ”I’m Castile,” he finally offers as he takes another observant sweep of her body before leveling on her intense stare.
There is still one feathered and one reptilian wing sprouting from his shoulder blades, unable to be uniform. Jagged teeth, then blunt. Talons, then hooves. Bit by bit, he tries to shift, but it never lasts. It always reverts back, unable to be controlled to its entirety.
When she arrives, it’s with hushed footsteps and a sly grin. He doesn’t trust the manner to which she addresses him, but he doesn’t betray the onset of mistrust either. Instead, he blinks his mismatched eyes and rolls his shoulders in a mild shrug. ”Perhaps,” his tone hints at curiosity as he hungrily devours the sight of her. She is familiar… Maybe. When he drinks her scent, he desperately gropes for reasons he knows it. It’s just barely out of his reach, hovering delectably in front of his hands as he racks his mind for a few heartbeats before resigning without an answer for the time being.
He doesn’t yet realize that her scent once mingled with Ivar’s.
With a sharp intake of air, Castile suppresses his hesitance and admits (albeit uncomfortable) his faults. ”Can’t quite master the whole shifting thing, I guess.” Is it because of what he is that makes it difficult? That it isn’t a feeble rabbit or snake? He is something greater, stronger. Dragonborn, he muses while straightening his posture. His leathery, reptilian wing transitions smoothly to feathers, his slit eyes normalizing. ”I’m Castile,” he finally offers as he takes another observant sweep of her body before leveling on her intense stare.