kult
I am a storm that will swallow the children
and I will deliver them to the kingdom of pain
he is utterly and impeccably, plain.
Kult has never held any lofty gifts, no sort of magic whatsoever. Not here at least.
Once he had been sucked into another world, turned upside down and end over end. He had been a two-legger once, but only once. He had played games with killers, he had killed, and he had the distinct recollection of howling at the full moon. Once.
Once, he had been different, he had tasted the absurd qualities of magic and traits. He had lost an ear too but it is not something he concerns himself with anymore. He had tasted it, he had let it go, it made no difference to the fading bay. The only time he had ever felt concerned with magic and the other was when he had been cursed for a few weeks. Standing still and statuesque each time eyes fell upon his person. That had been a miserable sort of experience and one Kult was not quick to revisit. It was not for him.
He watches her, eyes blank, her dark body rising to stand tall and proud. He makes no move to best her, let her have the high ground he did not want it. He didn't need it either, nor had he ever found himself in need of such a thing. When her ears pin, his nostrils flare, not from fright or unease. Only from anticipation, the gesture raising his attention with only the minute tell tale sign of his single ear rotating forward and the slightest inclination of his sagging head. Her advance solicits his own reactions, he matches her forward motion with his own back-step. A dance of sorts in appearance, his motions practice from years of avoiding unwanted touches. It is with no further act of aggression that he responds to her.
Her breath fills his widened nostrils and he parts his lips to taste her breath. Heading her words with a quiet smugness. He was not a book to be judged on cover, whether he be surrounded with his siblings or not, nor was he truly awkward as he played. Kult had always amused in acting dense, his mind worked in every way the others did, perhaps more than most even. Though he never boasted to such, nor would he likely ever be inclined to do so. Instead he only allows his crooked smile to splay across his fading lips, reaching his head to meet hers and send his own salted breath in her face.
"Home. Cove." He could take her there if she wanted, though he never had understood the wants of women. He had not been so inclined as to take any refuge or solace in the acts of sexuality or romance. He simply had watched her for a while, studied her mannerisms and displays of action towards the others. She was just as much a loner, a socially ill specimen as she had tried to label him.
"Kult."
