09-06-2021, 04:21 PM
oh, you said life was much better than this
It has taken trial and error to master a complete mask of pleasantness when Lannister feels so little; but after a few frightened and confused strangers, he has shaped a perfectly handsome smile on his mouth. He is realizing that, too: he is a lovely thing to look at, well-muscled and bearing the sharp lines of a sculpted face. Such beauty is a weapon, he is certain of it, and he learns a little more of where it might take him each day.
A wavering reflection peers up at him from the crystal water of the creek that passes through the meadow. Lan turns his head this way and that way, gray eyes absently admiring all the fine features he inherited from his ancestors. While not particularly understanding earthly beauty, the wine-stained male has had to learn what weapons still sit in his arsenal. What a fine knife his pleasant smile makes, what a quiet arrow his kind eyes might be—how he might string his mouth like a bow, shoot his words with the deadly precision meant to strike.
He would no longer be the scared, wilting boy shriveling in a dream world.
And when he finally masters all that lies dormant within him, he’ll fill the neon vacancy flickering in his heart.
Lannister flicks his ears backward, lifts that head that feels so alien to him. He spots Beyza, quickly flicks his gaze over every inch he can see. Turning, he plasters that warm smile across his face and flicks his tail good-naturedly.
“My, my, what a trick,” he says, biting back the desire to purr and sculpting the tone of a practiced conversationalist. “I envy the ability to keep yourself warm in all this biting cold.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Lannister. A pleasure to meet you.”
A wavering reflection peers up at him from the crystal water of the creek that passes through the meadow. Lan turns his head this way and that way, gray eyes absently admiring all the fine features he inherited from his ancestors. While not particularly understanding earthly beauty, the wine-stained male has had to learn what weapons still sit in his arsenal. What a fine knife his pleasant smile makes, what a quiet arrow his kind eyes might be—how he might string his mouth like a bow, shoot his words with the deadly precision meant to strike.
He would no longer be the scared, wilting boy shriveling in a dream world.
And when he finally masters all that lies dormant within him, he’ll fill the neon vacancy flickering in his heart.
Lannister flicks his ears backward, lifts that head that feels so alien to him. He spots Beyza, quickly flicks his gaze over every inch he can see. Turning, he plasters that warm smile across his face and flicks his tail good-naturedly.
“My, my, what a trick,” he says, biting back the desire to purr and sculpting the tone of a practiced conversationalist. “I envy the ability to keep yourself warm in all this biting cold.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Lannister. A pleasure to meet you.”
lannister
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Beyza