06-30-2016, 12:56 PM
Padma
snakes among sweet flowers do creep
Padma watches the monstrosity with a hungry stare. Two dark pits for eyes, endless and empty though they reflect all they take in. In this moment she doesn’t bother to soften her looks, to ease into some role of pristine lady for the Queen reptile, instead she smiles almost wickedly at the animals approach. The snake-skinned woman had always had a soft spot for the unusual, the unique. A soft spot but she was far from soft, no matter what sort of farce she might outwardly display in most circumstances. In reality, Padma was a lie. A fake, a pretend lady of poise. Soft spoken, kind, playful, when truly she did this only to achieve her own means, only to get what she wanted.
Some might think it shameful to play the sex card the way she did, some could piss off. Padma did not worry herself with the opinions of mice, when she was a viper in need of no approval. She did not ask for counsel on the matter, instead she was a woman of her own mind, carefully positioning pieces until they fell into place where she wanted. Lately the pieces were more meaningful, called for a bit of attachment at times like the one beside her. A frightful thing he was to some, or less he may have been a hideous view to others, but to Padma he was radiant in his eccentricities.
The Queen before them is no less unusual in this state, beastial and feral and exuding all things power. If Padma knew of ways to grow manhood,she would likely have begun plotting her next move to obtain such in that moment. Alas, she would settle only for her open glare, the slow steady movement of her eyes tracing each jagged tooth against the monter’s jaw. If she were feeling frisky she may have made movement to touch them, to trace their sharp edges ever so carefully but Padma knows when things are appropriate- and this is not such a time. Even if it were the display is fleeting as the lizard turns to a sleek, mousey horse hide before their very eyes.
As words fill her mind her ears flatten for a moment, except the realization it is a female voice settles her poison reaction. How many little secrets did her Highness hold she wondered but she did not ask. Instead she lets Elysium speak, he is far more suited for exchanging words of diplomatic sense than she was. A nod follows his pledge, her ivory mane falling in fine tendrils over her dark eyes. “Oh indeed Ely, long live the Queen.”, she responds with coy satisfaction, flicking her tail against his side as she speaks.