09-21-2015, 09:12 AM
The scowly faced Ice Man is not enough. She doesn’t know what her Queen wants, but she knows that her eyes and subsequent pleasure did not seem to linger on Shaytan long enough.
No, she wants more. She always wants more. The idea crawls in and out of her brain, creeping and sucking and attaching itself to every dream she might have. Gone are all thoughts of her daughter (which is probably a good thing, considering her pink curse), and even her captive blends into the background. Shay doesn’t really know what to do with him anyway – he’s an old man, slow and plodding and who does he have to run to, anyways? The Tundra was so quiet – that’s how she got him in the first place.
Restless with some unknown need that set’s her teeth on edge and her legs a-twitching, Shaytan wanders. The Bunnies are beginning to come back to the forest, though they are few and far between. She’s seen them. Thoughts of their salty-metal blood alternate with thoughts of Straia, and it works our leopard spotted id creature into a sort of quiet, internal mania. She isn’t foaming at the mouth or anything, but there is a certain unsettling glint in her eye. It isn’t full blown white eye rolling yet, but there is the potential to be. Gryffen may have seen it before, when she proudly paraded her captive through the kingdom. Of the others assembled, only Erebor will know her, so without someone to vouch for her what reason have they to let her tag along?
There is one reason, and it is a simple one. Let her be the distraction, the potential sacrificial lamb if all hell breaks loose. She is the only one without some sort of useful power, and the only one who does no more than exist in the Chamber. Let her give herself in service to her Queen, and when she returns, bloody and broken, maybe then Straia will love her forever. It is the only way.
“I want to come too,” she says to the small group, standing outside their ring. “I can help,” she insists. Shaytan shifts her weight back and forth, and the crimson, fanged bunny on her chest seems to nod its head ever so slightly, as if to say simply, do it.
No, she wants more. She always wants more. The idea crawls in and out of her brain, creeping and sucking and attaching itself to every dream she might have. Gone are all thoughts of her daughter (which is probably a good thing, considering her pink curse), and even her captive blends into the background. Shay doesn’t really know what to do with him anyway – he’s an old man, slow and plodding and who does he have to run to, anyways? The Tundra was so quiet – that’s how she got him in the first place.
Restless with some unknown need that set’s her teeth on edge and her legs a-twitching, Shaytan wanders. The Bunnies are beginning to come back to the forest, though they are few and far between. She’s seen them. Thoughts of their salty-metal blood alternate with thoughts of Straia, and it works our leopard spotted id creature into a sort of quiet, internal mania. She isn’t foaming at the mouth or anything, but there is a certain unsettling glint in her eye. It isn’t full blown white eye rolling yet, but there is the potential to be. Gryffen may have seen it before, when she proudly paraded her captive through the kingdom. Of the others assembled, only Erebor will know her, so without someone to vouch for her what reason have they to let her tag along?
There is one reason, and it is a simple one. Let her be the distraction, the potential sacrificial lamb if all hell breaks loose. She is the only one without some sort of useful power, and the only one who does no more than exist in the Chamber. Let her give herself in service to her Queen, and when she returns, bloody and broken, maybe then Straia will love her forever. It is the only way.
“I want to come too,” she says to the small group, standing outside their ring. “I can help,” she insists. Shaytan shifts her weight back and forth, and the crimson, fanged bunny on her chest seems to nod its head ever so slightly, as if to say simply, do it.