04-08-2023, 04:23 PM
R I P T I D E
She is undeniably beautiful, but it is in a way that bears a resemblance to his mother and sisters—the kind of beauty that is not fragile, but fearsome instead. He would not have been surprised at all to find that her smile revealed sharp teeth, and when it doesn’t he can only assume that her weapon is something else; to him, being beautiful only equates to also being dangerous. He stares at her, unbothered, but he cannot deny the faint bitterness that rises to his tongue, as he wonders what it might have been like to be both beautiful and powerful. He already knows what it is to be feared; perhaps not outright, but the looks he garners are not usually ones of admiration.
Not the way he is certain everyone must look at her, divine and resolute, like a treasure you know you cannot keep for yourself but you want to covet anyway.
He catches himself looking at her in such a way, and immediately he flicks those snake-eyes to somewhere else, and the way his jaw clenches momentarily is disguised behind an already sharp jawline and the glint of scales.
“Unfortunately I don’t actually know the story well enough to do it justice in the retelling. I’m sure I’d get important details muddied up,” he says as he finally directs his gaze back to hers, this time having steeled himself against the lovely image of her haloed face. “I don’t think the snakes were well-liked, though,” he finishes with a faint, crooked grin.
“Baptiste,” he repeats her name, almost cautiously, as if he is not certain he has permission to even speak it. “I’m Riptide.” There is a strange pause, as if here he has come to expect a certain reaction—dubious stares, usually, as they once again study his snake-like head and rattlesnake tail. “My father is very fond of water.”
Not the way he is certain everyone must look at her, divine and resolute, like a treasure you know you cannot keep for yourself but you want to covet anyway.
He catches himself looking at her in such a way, and immediately he flicks those snake-eyes to somewhere else, and the way his jaw clenches momentarily is disguised behind an already sharp jawline and the glint of scales.
“Unfortunately I don’t actually know the story well enough to do it justice in the retelling. I’m sure I’d get important details muddied up,” he says as he finally directs his gaze back to hers, this time having steeled himself against the lovely image of her haloed face. “I don’t think the snakes were well-liked, though,” he finishes with a faint, crooked grin.
“Baptiste,” he repeats her name, almost cautiously, as if he is not certain he has permission to even speak it. “I’m Riptide.” There is a strange pause, as if here he has come to expect a certain reaction—dubious stares, usually, as they once again study his snake-like head and rattlesnake tail. “My father is very fond of water.”
— i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door —
