11-23-2017, 09:45 PM
He knows how to push buttons (he’s always known, some sort of deeply-integrated instinct that has always been there, nudging his shoulder) and he’s good at it. He always has been. Since his first birthday he has been smirking and cat-calling and refusing and laughing in their faces. They rarely ended in positivity (he’s teased the dark god and had his legs broken and poorly-mended for it) or a gain in power (he’s cat-called a princess and, though he did not win her affections, never received a refutation). But he always found a great deal of enjoyment from watching their faces squirm and their eyebrows pull together in agitation.
He sees it, then (he’s gotten to her with that one word — “babe”) in the way her eye muscles twitch as she resists the urge to physically show her displeasure. The smirk on his face intensifies.
He’s mourned for the kingdoms that have passed (for the Valley, especially, with its tall cliffs and dark, shadowy forests) but he knows little of the ones that exist now. His only reference comes from what he hears among gossips (and what he knows of Sylva, the place he might call a home if he’s feeling frisky). Most of the territories seem to rest on the belief of peace and goodness (which makes the trickster’s upper lip curl in disgust) and it made Sylva an obvious place for him to rest his legs.
“I can tell you already know.” His bruised eyes (blue and white, blue and black) look over her face carefully. “Tell me about your home,” he croons. “I’ve been gone for a long time” — (to where, he won’t say) — “and I don’t know anything about the new kingdoms.”
He sees it, then (he’s gotten to her with that one word — “babe”) in the way her eye muscles twitch as she resists the urge to physically show her displeasure. The smirk on his face intensifies.
He’s mourned for the kingdoms that have passed (for the Valley, especially, with its tall cliffs and dark, shadowy forests) but he knows little of the ones that exist now. His only reference comes from what he hears among gossips (and what he knows of Sylva, the place he might call a home if he’s feeling frisky). Most of the territories seem to rest on the belief of peace and goodness (which makes the trickster’s upper lip curl in disgust) and it made Sylva an obvious place for him to rest his legs.
“I can tell you already know.” His bruised eyes (blue and white, blue and black) look over her face carefully. “Tell me about your home,” he croons. “I’ve been gone for a long time” — (to where, he won’t say) — “and I don’t know anything about the new kingdoms.”
LOKII
@[Krone]
