Is he that obvious? Yes, he supposes. It isn’t as though he is masking his solemnity, or boasting with his chest puffed to look greater than how he feels.
With an accepting shrug, Castile turns to look at her, a woman with a honeyed voice sprinkled with lighthearted humor. ”Good guess,” he replies flatly, but not without a feeble, lopsided grin. He hadn’t expected a stranger, but he doesn’t turn her away. Perhaps he should, he considers upon drawing in the familiar scent of Hyaline. There is Solace. There are memories, both wonderful and awful. Amet. Ciri. He could go on, but decides against it as he blinks and regards the porcelain girl with increasing interest. ”Distract me,” his voice is gravelly but with an underlying, distant kindness.
Castile has never been intentionally cruel, not really. Dangerous more or less, but he has been adapting and learning himself. He has been refining his jagged edges and unpredictability. It’s for them, he muses, for Solace and Sabra and their children. The likelihood of them taking him back, however, is slim to none even with his personal modifications.
”I’m Castile,” he finally offers, his tension ebbing knowing that he isn’t faced with his past, yet. It’s looming like a dark cloud, but he’s still trying to determine whether he is excited or afraid to see them again. With his mind and heart heavy, Castile tries to find light in the situation by tracing the softened edges of the girl’s face before meeting her amber eyes. ”Have you any regrets or awful mistakes?” Most do, but many won’t admit it to a stranger. How can he expect her to open up to him so much, so quickly? An idle shift of his body weight breaks the statue-like stillness of his body. The brisk autumn breeze tousles the feathers of his wings and his unkempt locks. Heavy on the wind, unable to pass notice, is the hint of breeding season. It doesn’t thrill him, only creates a larger brick in his stomach – a reminder of when he first began to fail his family.
With an accepting shrug, Castile turns to look at her, a woman with a honeyed voice sprinkled with lighthearted humor. ”Good guess,” he replies flatly, but not without a feeble, lopsided grin. He hadn’t expected a stranger, but he doesn’t turn her away. Perhaps he should, he considers upon drawing in the familiar scent of Hyaline. There is Solace. There are memories, both wonderful and awful. Amet. Ciri. He could go on, but decides against it as he blinks and regards the porcelain girl with increasing interest. ”Distract me,” his voice is gravelly but with an underlying, distant kindness.
Castile has never been intentionally cruel, not really. Dangerous more or less, but he has been adapting and learning himself. He has been refining his jagged edges and unpredictability. It’s for them, he muses, for Solace and Sabra and their children. The likelihood of them taking him back, however, is slim to none even with his personal modifications.
”I’m Castile,” he finally offers, his tension ebbing knowing that he isn’t faced with his past, yet. It’s looming like a dark cloud, but he’s still trying to determine whether he is excited or afraid to see them again. With his mind and heart heavy, Castile tries to find light in the situation by tracing the softened edges of the girl’s face before meeting her amber eyes. ”Have you any regrets or awful mistakes?” Most do, but many won’t admit it to a stranger. How can he expect her to open up to him so much, so quickly? An idle shift of his body weight breaks the statue-like stillness of his body. The brisk autumn breeze tousles the feathers of his wings and his unkempt locks. Heavy on the wind, unable to pass notice, is the hint of breeding season. It doesn’t thrill him, only creates a larger brick in his stomach – a reminder of when he first began to fail his family.
@[Ilma]