09-26-2021, 08:15 PM
oh, you said life was much better than this
To Lannister, the truest loveliness of the dream-realm is how it seems to lack consequences for him. Perhaps there is a soul tied to the earth below; but the dream-weaver is so blissfully ignorant to the truly physical body he will soon have to bear, and therefore does not care about what wearing a face of nightmares will mean to those with free-will. That’s always been his problem, though, right? He’s never known free-will. Only the claws of this lonely universe and the greater power burrowing deep beneath his flesh.
Perhaps Aela not knowing that the creature standing before has only ever known a father and the occasional stranger makes her assessment of him inaccurate. For when she paints her pretty face to something practiced and innocent, Lannister hardly understands it. He can barely make sense of the anger that too often controls his tongue, much less read the performance she puts on. She is not innocent or deceptive to him, only the vaguest shadow of an enemy (or a victim).
If Aela and Lannister were to have met in the months coming—when the brute has mastered some semblance of Beqanna charm—they might have put on a performance worthy of an encore.
There is nothing relaxed in the way he continues to glare at her. The mere mention of a friend causes him to bristle, those fangs from before showing themselves in a silent, instinctual snarl.
“I didn’t seek you out,” the stallion snaps in response to Aela’s question. An aggressive answer in lieu of admitting he doesn’t know how he arrived here, either.
Lannister sniffs, stormy eyes glancing over the scenery illuminated by watery silver light. Out from beneath a hanging elephant ear leaf pads a massive, agitated tiger. It settles nicely next to him, feline eyes offering Aela the very same glare Lannister does.
“I don’t feel like talking anymore.”
The tiger slashes one clawed paw at Aela, a warning.
Perhaps Aela not knowing that the creature standing before has only ever known a father and the occasional stranger makes her assessment of him inaccurate. For when she paints her pretty face to something practiced and innocent, Lannister hardly understands it. He can barely make sense of the anger that too often controls his tongue, much less read the performance she puts on. She is not innocent or deceptive to him, only the vaguest shadow of an enemy (or a victim).
If Aela and Lannister were to have met in the months coming—when the brute has mastered some semblance of Beqanna charm—they might have put on a performance worthy of an encore.
There is nothing relaxed in the way he continues to glare at her. The mere mention of a friend causes him to bristle, those fangs from before showing themselves in a silent, instinctual snarl.
“I didn’t seek you out,” the stallion snaps in response to Aela’s question. An aggressive answer in lieu of admitting he doesn’t know how he arrived here, either.
Lannister sniffs, stormy eyes glancing over the scenery illuminated by watery silver light. Out from beneath a hanging elephant ear leaf pads a massive, agitated tiger. It settles nicely next to him, feline eyes offering Aela the very same glare Lannister does.
“I don’t feel like talking anymore.”
The tiger slashes one clawed paw at Aela, a warning.
lannister
