don't you ever tame your demons; luster

[fenris]

don't you ever tame your demons

fenris

(but always keep them on a leash)

She is intriguing in a world that feels altogether plain.

His dark, unreadable eyes flicker as they study her, as they take in all of the dark lines of her slender frame, the constellations that splatter across her haunches in hues of cobalt and onyx. He laughs as she admits that she may be foolish and while the sound is dry, it is not cruel; he himself is not overly cruel. Do not mistake me—he is not kind. He is not made of flowers and poetry, does not whisper stars from their oceanic beds, but he does not delight in pain for the sake of it. An instrument, perhaps, but not one used needlessly.

“You do not look foolish,” he breathes, his voice bourbon, smooth with a bit of bite. “But such things are not always easily discernible.” A shrug, elegant for a man of his size, the motion rippling through his shoulder. She doesn't appear to be foolish—but he had met plenty of souls who at first glance seem wise and who later reveal themselves to be anything but. Still, he cannot help but hope she is different.

For a moment, his gaze moves to the stars as they light around her, their silvery aura casting a glow on the duo, providing just enough brightness for him to appraise her. His eyes sharpen beneath the cream of his forelock, finding her own and holding the gaze, scrutinizing her. At her next twist of words, he laughs yet again, although this lacks the rust. This laughter is all amusement, all enjoyment. So she has fire to her.

“Perhaps you are.” His tongue clicks against the back of his teeth. “Perhaps you are.”

When he steps closer, she flinches, just barely, and although he is not prone to altering his behavior to suit the needs of others, he frowns, pauses, and then places his foot down on the damp earth, stilling. His sharp gaze finds the wound on her neck, the newness of it, and the frown deepens, the stallion not bothering to hide his curiosity or the source of it. He returns to her eyes and holds it there for a moment.

“I am,” and he was. Once, he had been able to command elements with a lazy flick of the tail. He had brought sand from the earth to rain hell upon enemies; to chase them with its fury, to pour down their very throat until their bodies were swollen and splitting. He had no qualms about violence when it suited his needs, but still—the frown grew again, deeper between his brow. “But not in the way you appear to know.”

His voice is softer but not coddling as he motions toward her neck.

“I do not make a habit of marking up young women for sport.”