He can scent vulnerability, taste fear, smolder in the density of exasperation. Murc should be bones in the sand but some magic of Beqanna kept him alive. If they could count the granules of sand through the hourglass, Murc would have twice died over by the time a sweet, young Hestia had been born but the lavender-steel eyes man had been simply stored away in a dark, damp place until one light a light appeared and plucked him from the endless ticking away of seconds.
Murc watches her, his eyes unwavering, his lips thinned by her jagged words and poisoned glare. He does all he can do to keep from grinning broadly and scooping her against him. The man does not know why he drawn to the butter vibrations of her demeanor (perhaps it's the sway of her hips?) Murc does not sway. She is a smaller thing, womanly with her physical capture but her essence is strong and cold as the ice in the Tundra. Murc is amused by her expression.
Ears flick forward as he listens for her reply. She seems to struggle with herself but his eyes never falter from the twitch of her lips or the pull of muscles in the thickness of her jaw. He can watch how her pulse races just beneath the oil slick of her skin and it is exciting and causes the man to want to stare further, a stiffness in his loins suddenly making itself aware though he tries to stifle the reaction that was natural and shameless. The large man clears his throat, shifting his form so that his gaze rests now upon the beach with it's dark sands just beyond her, weighted. He no longer steals glances with a boyish grin.
"Is that so?" Murc replies casually, his mouth moving slowly and deliberate as he murmurs the words for her alone. The paleness of his eyes reflect the horizon with a soulful deepness. Nerine was quite pretty and he finds that he likes the scent of salt in the air and the way the shoreline's breath tugged at the length of his tangled mane. He can feel her gaze finally dare to explore his dark body, to follow tributaries of scars from a life he lived long ago, one she would not be able to remember though he still retains them despite the decades of confinement.
Murc contemplates his folly to follow a woman so clearly hellbent on his disposal. She was a contrary, beautiful, coarse thing with tattered edges and the prettiest green eyes he had ever seen. Murc shuts her out with a seamless effort, stonewalled flawlessly...till she gives her name. The dark man twitches an ear, his muscular form shifting so he may look upon the smaller woman once again with her hard mouth and scrutinizing eyes...
Murc smiles, nearly lopsided as the edges tug at one corner of his lips. "It's lovely to meet you Hestia." The beast bows deeply with great dramatic sweeping feathered hooves, his nose touching the ground so he rests below her momentarily before rising once again to tower over her. She may be the phoenix but perhaps it is he who is the thunderstorm to quench the heat of her thirst. The man easily covers the space between their bodies, he draws his head up tightly so he is nearly thatched to the broadness of his own chest as his lavender-grey eyes search her own momentarily before taking her side without hesitation to escort her wherever she may desire to go. "Show me my new home, Hestia." His demand is a soft probe as he asks with the gentleness of a lamb's bleat in his voice, his eyes begging with a nearly lustful desperation, knowing he would spend more time at her side if she indulged his request.
MURC
just as i can be so cruel