11-20-2020, 08:51 PM
CrownS
Crowns turns his sapphire head as he appraises the other stranger approaching. He’s covered in frosted scales, which delights the boy as he begins to circle him eagerly. As he slinks, still giving Leilan a respectable amount of space, little scales erupt across his skin and freeze over to mimic him. The boy makes little effort to stifle the laughter that bubbles up from his chest as he spreads his wings and carefully mimics the northern king’s pose.
“My dad has scales like these too,” he explains, feeling obligated to let Leilan in on the joke. “His name is Varick. Do you know him?”
His oceanic eyes search the other’s for a while before Popinjay answers his question. Then, just as quickly as they came, the scales shed from his body and are carried away on the frigid breeze. He meets her halfway when she nears him and he begins to wonder if he should also yell. It’s an interesting notion, but he has no idea just what he would even yell about. Crowns settles with giving her a shrug of his shoulders.
The boy observes her hair drift upward but he does not blink when the lightning crashes through her body with a roar. The burnt ground smells like the lava flows when he tosses little twigs and leaves into their path, but magnified. He wonders how much he would have to drop into the volcano to get a scent so strong.
Her words recapture his attention, though, and he tilts his head. To stop her? From what? Crowns supposes this is an invitation, so he lightly skims her mind for whatever it is she plans to do. He doesn’t understand the interest in thrones and power. They seem cumbersome, but perhaps he is missing some sort of allure.
“Do you want me to? Eight taught me all kinds of neat tricks,” he says with a grin, a child eager to show off a new toy.
“My dad has scales like these too,” he explains, feeling obligated to let Leilan in on the joke. “His name is Varick. Do you know him?”
His oceanic eyes search the other’s for a while before Popinjay answers his question. Then, just as quickly as they came, the scales shed from his body and are carried away on the frigid breeze. He meets her halfway when she nears him and he begins to wonder if he should also yell. It’s an interesting notion, but he has no idea just what he would even yell about. Crowns settles with giving her a shrug of his shoulders.
The boy observes her hair drift upward but he does not blink when the lightning crashes through her body with a roar. The burnt ground smells like the lava flows when he tosses little twigs and leaves into their path, but magnified. He wonders how much he would have to drop into the volcano to get a scent so strong.
Her words recapture his attention, though, and he tilts his head. To stop her? From what? Crowns supposes this is an invitation, so he lightly skims her mind for whatever it is she plans to do. He doesn’t understand the interest in thrones and power. They seem cumbersome, but perhaps he is missing some sort of allure.
“Do you want me to? Eight taught me all kinds of neat tricks,” he says with a grin, a child eager to show off a new toy.
you got me on my knees; i'm your one-man cult.