Ruling kingdoms bored Bruise more than overthrowing them. He had hungered to place his father upon the throne, to watch the Krampus sit with the skeleton crown upon his temples. He had made several motions to angle toward that outcome, setting things in motion when he had stumbled upon the fairy and the Fear had once again flooded his veins. The world had spun beneath their hooves, and he had partook in the game of chess, seeking allies and those more subservient. He had secured his place as the favored son by gifting his fathers powers back to him, returning what had been stolen.
Still, the actual technicalities of ruling, of organizing, of leading—the appeal eluded him.
He had come alongside his father and watched as he petitioned the god of black holes and swallowed nebulas; his dark gaze had been calculated, measured, unwavering. Even when the mare had approached and named another, he had not flinched, although his eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly. Did she not see the power his father wielded? Did she not see the way he could bring the earth to heel? Did she not see that he was a master creator? That he had come to shape their world into his own vision?
Clearly, she did not, and he dismissed her, unperturbed by the mild shuffle for power.
Instead, his young gaze found his fathers and he watched as the crown was passed and the wasteland that was Pangea was passed along to Pollock. His smile was slight, cold, but genuine as he father stepped forth, as he spoke to those who gathered. “Long live the King,” he finally offered in his husky voice, nodding his heavily horned head to his father. “I am here to assist however I am needed.” To what end, he was not sure; after all, he had a…particular set of skills to wield. Diplomacy was not among them.
Bruise
head like a hole; as black as your soul.
i like the idea of non-traditional castes.
i am useless right now, but i'll PM you if i have thoughts.