I'm just a poor boy. I need no sympathy.
( because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low )
It doesn't take very long for the first one to show, the pale beauty, mistress of the prince, finds herself in his hands. And what she says does is little to surprise him, she has always been a sheep amongst wolves, and so as the sheep seeks for protection within the pack, so does she. What else could he do? After all he could just throw her to the wolves, and watch them tear her sweet flesh apart... but when she reaches for him, her sweet honey laced scent intoxicating him with one touch, and as she speaks his name, every bone within his body quivers with desire (no wonder why Buise kept her around).He can't help himself, and with a rather gentle embrace, he gingerly brushes his muzzle against her crest, as she speaks of the the lost prince's name, he pulls back. Ruby gems, fixated upon her, "I'm afraid to say, Bruise has long left us." He whispers. "but I know how fond he was of you, therefore I shall keep you safe." His words, are laced with honesty, as he brushes his velvet against her once more in reassurance.
Only for the moment to be struck by the piercing blade of his sister's jealousy, rather pitiful really. He stares at her with disgust, as her heavily pregnant body slams against Rheas' and he himself can't help but intervene he made a promise to the pale maiden, might as well keep it. Before Daspyar can strike again, he lunges forwards, knocking his sister into place with the sullen force of masculinity. "Was that necessary?" He hisses, his words flecked with knives. He would of thought higher of his sister, but no longer, she was so impulsive and lacked any form of restraint. Keeping her around may be a hazard, but his very own bloodline dwindled between them, otherwise he would of tossed her to the wolves, knowing the likelihood of her survival hung upon his broad shoulder.
His crimson gaze lingers upon the two, before he allows his gaze to meet his son, the sweet escuse of a pure bloodline, pathetic. And who was he to think he could speak to Rhae, who was now under his protection. Silver whisps of mane, sweep forwards, as he nips out at the boy. "Imperial. That's enough." he mutters harshly, as crimson eyes sweep over the small group catching the eye of fresh meat. And what's this? She can talk?
Her words are true, bitchy and to the point, with he enjoyed, her sweet honesty. For it had been too long, they had survived, lingering within the the very threshold of their "god's" undoing, it was no surprise that some how, the pesky mites had managed to muster the courage to steal from them, and not face the fury of Carnage's ex-followers? Quite a pity, really, but this mare... Or perhaps this Queen? Had come to them, and he can't help but wonder why, perhaps she herself wished to join them, the Nerinian Queen, for he knew who she was, and it wasn't quite hard to catch a whiff of bird shit and sea salt.
"Ah! Look what we have here. The queen of Nerine!" He remarks, a crocodile grin forming upon his wickedly handsome face, as the silver entanglement of his forelock brushes over ruby gems. "Had enough of the fairies breasts?" He jokes, with a rather unsettling tone. As he flickers in and out of sight, " Why do you wish us luck? For if anything we should be wishing YOU, congratulations, I hear your quite the conqueror, my dear." His words grow tender for just a moment, briefly held, and rare, and then it's gone. "So, darling why have you come here of all places?" He is perplexed by her notion to be here, for why would a conqueror queen, hold such an interest in a couple of little to pathetic Pangea Refugees?
Pondering for a moment, the man's eyes are misguided by the familiar seductress lingering within the crowd. The sweet cold hearted, maiden, Karsi, distracted by her, and her genuine personality. As a smirk manages to find it's way onto her lips, he can't help but stare, in longing, and remembrance of that one night they shared together. Fogged by his own memory he hardly, pays attention to the others, and course of actions in response to his carefully spoken words.
waylan
any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me
Trying to get something up in my free time...