05-21-2016, 08:34 AM
you're metophorical gin and juice
so come on give me a taste
of what its like to be next to you
so come on give me a taste
of what its like to be next to you
Good ol’ Grandpa Kirin but best he never hear them call him that, he was far too young and beautiful to be called such a thing. He had his whole life ahead of him still and there is nothing on this earth to make Kirin wish for an early grave. Still, when it came down to technicalities he was indeed the boy’s Grandfather, the thought made him prickle a bit but he supposed it was an unavoidable part of life, especially when he encouraged his own lines so freely.
This particular grandchild had an astonishingly vivid coat, perhaps somehow from the radiant coloring of his Mother’s pelt mixed with the unique pattern of colors on her wings. Well that and he must of course give himself credit for the purple, he was happy to say that every single one of his lineage had so far inherited the trademark hue. Father had his brands, Kirin had something a bit more subtle and far more appealing. Along with that the boy had inherited wings, another chip off the old DNA strand but then again Kirke had always pleasantly pleased him with her own special set, even if her good for nothing Dam had shamed him so many other times. Shame is a strong word though isn’t it? Perhaps disappointed would be better but Kirin was not one to practice pleasantries if he didn’t have to.
“Very well Kirke,” he begins to say, turning his silvery gaze to his daughter before a high pitched voice squeaks from the sidelines. “Well then, there we have it, Chaol.” It appears the lavender stag thinks on the name for a moment, tossing the word around silently against his tongue as he furrowed his brow with considerment. “Chaol yes, that should do and what a fine looking young man he will be.” It’s decided, he likes this one a proud little thing that it is. Mostly it is the wings that earn him favor but Kirin had never been secretive about his own desire for traits, for the unordinary to grace his family name.
For a time he watches the child with a hard stare, taking in his first reactions to the world and is himself surprised at the sudden change in size and shape of the boy’s wings. How peculiar, he fails to remark out loud, instead working on a venomous chastisement that also doesn’t have time to leave his silky lips. What were once a complete waste of gift were now slowly molding themselves back to their original state, easing carefully into the fledged appendages they had began as. “Wonderful indeed, show us more child.”
This particular grandchild had an astonishingly vivid coat, perhaps somehow from the radiant coloring of his Mother’s pelt mixed with the unique pattern of colors on her wings. Well that and he must of course give himself credit for the purple, he was happy to say that every single one of his lineage had so far inherited the trademark hue. Father had his brands, Kirin had something a bit more subtle and far more appealing. Along with that the boy had inherited wings, another chip off the old DNA strand but then again Kirke had always pleasantly pleased him with her own special set, even if her good for nothing Dam had shamed him so many other times. Shame is a strong word though isn’t it? Perhaps disappointed would be better but Kirin was not one to practice pleasantries if he didn’t have to.
“Very well Kirke,” he begins to say, turning his silvery gaze to his daughter before a high pitched voice squeaks from the sidelines. “Well then, there we have it, Chaol.” It appears the lavender stag thinks on the name for a moment, tossing the word around silently against his tongue as he furrowed his brow with considerment. “Chaol yes, that should do and what a fine looking young man he will be.” It’s decided, he likes this one a proud little thing that it is. Mostly it is the wings that earn him favor but Kirin had never been secretive about his own desire for traits, for the unordinary to grace his family name.
For a time he watches the child with a hard stare, taking in his first reactions to the world and is himself surprised at the sudden change in size and shape of the boy’s wings. How peculiar, he fails to remark out loud, instead working on a venomous chastisement that also doesn’t have time to leave his silky lips. What were once a complete waste of gift were now slowly molding themselves back to their original state, easing carefully into the fledged appendages they had began as. “Wonderful indeed, show us more child.”
Kirin
son of Khaos