12-11-2016, 01:19 AM
He does not mind the closeness—in truth, he prefers it. He likes to lose all space between him and others, to feel their pulse beneath him, to feel it quicken and then slow, to be close enough to see their pupils dilate when they recognized him for what he was, what he could do. He likes to press his muzzle to their ears and whisper, to unfold his threats like a gift, to share them like a secret.
So he does not mind when she presses up against him, he simply presses back, his young body handsome and unscarred, made of burnt gold and ash. “That is the right answer,” he murmured, his voice sooty, almost flirtatious although he was incapable of true attraction—not the normal kind.
For a moment, he toyed with the Fear, his ability becoming more attuned to it. Before, he had been clumsy with control; he had been unskilled. He pulled on the threads too hard or not at all. But now, oh, now he was becoming masterful. He saw the Fear as more than just a singular thread. He saw it as an aurora, as Northern Lights above him, dark and sinister. It was a symphony and he simply only had to dip his fingers to weave his own tapestry. He could play the Fear like an instrument.
He does not need to induce terror now, and so he is mild with his gift. He merely likes them to feel the thrill of the Fear when he strikes the deal. When they remember him later, he wants them to remember the Fear first. Loyalty was not freely given and bargains were not honored on merit alone.
“Remember that,” he murmured, leaning over to whisper in her ear. “I will call upon you for a favor.” Then, he reached inside of himself, finding the last wiggling strand of magic given from the faeries and lifted it, poured it into her. Empty of ability to restore, relieved to have done the faeries’ bidding, he looked upon her. “Now show me what you can do.”
Bruise
head like a hole; as black as your soul.
totally up to you how / if she reacts to his fear induction. <3