When the blue and white woman pleads for her freedom, the situation begins to grow clear to Erupt. He had been correct in his assumptions that she is not a willing participant in this particular charade. Gaze shifting to the thief, Erupt eyes her, a thread of curious amusement winding through him. He had always rather enjoyed these types of spectacles.
Shifting back to peer at the captive, Erupt finally shrugs, simply responding, “I am not your captor.”
He cannot offer her freedom when he does not hold the ability to grant it. Her words are wasted on him. As he looks back at the golden woman, his idle interest and casual posture make it abundantly clear that he would not intervene. She is the one who had issued the invite. He had only responded out of curiosity. Until she has made clear the motivations for her invitation, Erupt would withhold judgement.
As sparks flare up behind her, they draw his attention. The sight of the flames brings a faint smile to his lips and a queer sort of eagerness to his mauve and white features. The memories they stir are fond ones, bringing affection he had once felt back to the surface. He has never feared flame, even when it singes his skin. But of course, one could hardly control lava if they feared heat and fire.
She does not speak then either, and as Erupt turns the intensity of his purple gaze back to her, he considers her with quiet speculation. Finally, after several long heartbeats of silence, Erupt asks, “Why did you call me here, thief?”
erupt
you've got fire up and down your cheeks
@Aela