SO RICH, SO PRETTY
Had he spoken so loud? His voice broke the silence like the crack of a gull's skull against the shore crags. His hazel-gray eyes watched the female, her reaction was routine, simply turning to look at him. It was the way she spoke though that made him feel like she was not really there, or as though she was speaking to him from very far away. He has to smirk, even for this stranger. She does not exchange the usual ‘thank you’. Instead her reply is assured and she looks as though she is feeling quite pleased with herself.
Well, can’t hold that against her. He knows with absolution that if the tables were turned, he would appear sufficiently smug about it. Kirin’s vanity was no secret. You could be sure that if he had powers to boast about, he would be doing that very thing. As it happens, he does not. The snow clings to her without melting and the smile does not slip from her finely etched features. It had that look about it, that just right, artful way of looking genuine. He often plastered the same look on his lavender jaw, one that displayed care against his inner indifference.
It is then that he does away with pretense, his face falling and a flat line replacing the curve of his lips. Wayra she says, and he is not so convinced that this is her true name. Any name would do though, so it does not really matter if it is one she has made up. He steps closer, holding his wings away from his body just a few inches. Evidence that he would lift into flight should their time together cause need to depart.
”Wayra,” he preaches, the gentle crackle of snow beneath his feet accentuating his words. His eyes take on a deviant light, “Wayra, do it again.” He coaxes her, his voice firm and hungry as he closes proximity. If he could not wield such gifts, he could live them vicariously through another. Couldn’t he?