A pale child hooks the waxing moon and draws her nearer while Chem was listlessly grazing about after some idle conversation with a passing acquaintance. He loves to wander at night and often finds the same faces wandering around when he does. This little face is not familiar. It is always special to find someone nocturnal like himself, someone who basks in moonlight. He’s always had a fondness for the chrome warmth the moon casts so generously. And tonight it’s so near he can feel it mixing with the light of his thick smoke, which spreads slowly from where he stands in the tall grass. It mimics the silver of the moon’s glow, pulsing like a heartbeat. Such power in such a young one, which makes him think of his daughter, and then his many children – he hopes they move about with the confident euphoria this little filly seems to have.
He thinks of what he might do – usually, greedily, he only gives his time for things that may gain him something. A resident for his home, an alliance, anything useful, but in the moments now, as he looks at the girl who plays with the moon, he is inclined to say hello. And so, he does, from afar but close enough to be heard. The meadow is lit well, so there’s no hiding his hulking size, his bone white face or chest, so he hopes his approach doesn’t seem predatory.
“Hello there,” his voice is soft and smooth, no growl to it, hardly any boom. He lowers his head, less big maybe equals less scary. “It is like day,” he exclaims with a childish awe in his eyes as he looks around him and then back to her, “did you do this?” His smile is genuine, as any decent adult may smile at a child. One ear propped to her and the other spinning like a satellite, listening carefully for what might be an angry parent mistaking him for some creep.
(Well, he is a creep, but not that sort of creep.)
CHEMDOG
to the window, to the wall
to the window, to the wall
i have no clue why he feels inclined to say hello but i love her shes so cute and i hope this is otay
@[cressida] ♥
