I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
The demanding question that shatters the silence between them causes his hackles to rise, wings stiffening and lifting slightly as his ears flick back in irritation. Despite his almost automatic response, he doesn’t rise to the bait, instead allowing his lips to peel back from his teeth in a silent, contemptuous sneer. It would be all the reply she would wring from him.
Perhaps she would leave, but he finds a part of him doesn’t want her too. If nothing else, she could relieve his boredom. Already he finds himself reluctantly excited despite her irritating greeting. Or maybe because of her greeting. She had issued a challenge, and a part of him - a very dangerous part - wants to respond. He thinks she might actually want his aggression, and a growing part of him wants to force her submission.
She continues without his prompting, though her words aren’t what he had expected. He knows he is not ugly, but he has never taken any care with his appearance either. His pale locks are snarled and his thick winter coat is patched with old scars and fresher scabs. But he is active enough that his lanky frame is cut with muscle despite the angular quality of it. He knows there are enough out there that find that appealing in and of itself.
A low sound rumbles up his chest that could be interpreted as either annoyance or amusement in response to her sharply flirtatious observation. Although, given the harsh, flat lines of his face, amusement is questionable. Either way, the rebuke does nothing to ease the intensity of his stare.
“If you don’t like me looking at you,” he replies bluntly, his baritone voice dry as crumbling bone, “there’s an easy fucking solution to that.”
@Stargaze