[private] Love doesn't discriminate between sinners & the saints

[Obscene]

I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me

The answer is one that he expects and his nostrils flare slightly as he snorts in feigned indifference. The reaction that shortly follows as he muses aloud is not. As the star scattered stallion’s ears fall back, so do his own. They flatten into the wavy tendrils of his raven mane, his red eyes flashing as Skandar champs at the air, but does not flinch from the display before him. He sneers even harder as the other throws his head, as orange turns to red, as he sees the beauty in the chaos of the man before him.

“Keep wondering”. An ugly thing begins to crawl around with the snake, seeping into its scales that begin to break through the black of his fur. No, he doesn’t need to wonder. He has his answer right here, in the tightness of Skandar’s jaw, in the glowing hum of his vibrant red eyes, the scowl that finds his violet lips, the way he suppresses his temper as red fades back to burnt orange. He recognizes those little pieces of himself in him. He sees so much more.

He hisses softly, his own ire flickering in the depths of wine red as his fur begins to fall away beneath the spread of scales, ignorant as always to the way his emotions seem so tightly wound into the creature within him. Jealousy flares his temper and he wonders what Aela had hoped to accomplish here. This wasn’t just another “beautiful and powerful” to add to the ranks. There was something more to this stallion, something he can feel in his gut. Something he can read in that scowl, similar to the one he returns.

When Skandar’s skin starts to fold in on itself, clicking and snapping into place with something new, his own body twitches involuntarily in response. It isn’t a pleasant experience to watch himself rise from beneath the twisted and mutilated layers of Skandar’s flesh as it forms into a perfect replica of himself. Right down to the violent look that he knows reflects in his own eyes. How he wants to be angry at this display, how he should be offended. But he can’t. His violent look fades as the Fae in him momentarily forgets their silent vendetta and he meets the smirk on his doppelgängers lips, matches it with that smug one of his own.

“Ah. I understand now.” He says quietly, his expression unreadable as the scales fade back and the flames of his anger flickers, uncertain. Skandar might take that as simply a response to his question of worth but it went much deeper than that, one tied into their complex relationship with Aela. He has gotten so good at hiding his emotions behind that mask of indifference he gives now and he is glad for it as a range of emotions begin to swirl within. He flips through each one carelessly, fingers ripping through worn pages. The delight of one trickster recognizing another. The jealousy of knowing that Skandar was different, that gut feeling lingering. The anger of not being able to compete with the likes of someone like the mimic before him. The curiosity of wanting to know him better himself. And then he finally lands on a similar realization, a similar choice, as the one Skandar had already made awhile ago.

That this was another pawn and they perhaps weren’t so different after all.

It’s this that he settles himself with, not unlike the cruel armor he had put together for himself so long ago. It’s easier to live in a lie and he makes a decision to do so, turning a blind eye to what he knows is truth, as his smirk turns into something rather charming. As he decides to keep this one close. “I would have the name of my Champion.” He asks in a way that’s clear it’s not open for discussion.

obscene

@Skandar