02-08-2019, 06:53 PM
Finally, he comes.
It has been weeks since Litotes was first captured. Too long of a time for the leader to show their face, and too short of a time for a change in leadership. The lion-man ponders the shifts as if he is God: nudging the rulers like the menial chess pieces they are. A meeting with Starsin is all he was offered, so how can he humanize the men? Sure, he attempted a steal, but they were declaring war on the whole of Beqanna. To take offense to his action seems utterly silly.
Yet, here he is - trapped and feline, ignoring the fear that he has spent too long as a lion.
Sharp cat senses take control when the smell of Castile blows lazily on the Loessian wind. Of course, the Primarch does not recognize him for who he is, but comes to an alert stand. The lion matches the dragon’s scrutiny with equal critique, golden eyes closing to cold slits. Quickly, he recognizes the others teeming aggression - how it quivers beneath his skin and echoes off Lie’s own repressed desires. He notices how the other holds himself, how he studies. The new king, then: Castile himself.
Hyaline.
The first word to hang between them - oddly fitting. Litotes cocks his head to the right and smiles the coyest of smiles. He questions him as a prisoner, giving the feline blank pause.
A beat - then, “A king who knows not of his prisoners?” The glittering smile remains.
Castile continues, perhaps using language that dares to beckon a rise from the predator. If so, the aggressor will be sorely disappointed: Lie remains as quiet and as thoughtful as ever, pantomiming one who needs to think for too long on an answer. Truly, though, he does not care to reply. His rage burns deep within, but he uses it when he hunts - and has a purpose here that will surely be complicated if violence comes to play.
“I don’t think they’re terribly desperate. The East is quite the strong suit.” The lion disregards the comment about Kensa, feeling it a jibe that requires no response.
“If you didn’t know I was here, then you certainly don’t know my name. Litotes, half of the Primarchs of Hyaline. And I presume you’re Castile, the new king?”
A growl builds in the back of Litotes’ throat, soft and pleasured, offering no threat. Let us play our word games, he thinks. Nothing I say will release me from my sentence.
@[Castile]
It has been weeks since Litotes was first captured. Too long of a time for the leader to show their face, and too short of a time for a change in leadership. The lion-man ponders the shifts as if he is God: nudging the rulers like the menial chess pieces they are. A meeting with Starsin is all he was offered, so how can he humanize the men? Sure, he attempted a steal, but they were declaring war on the whole of Beqanna. To take offense to his action seems utterly silly.
Yet, here he is - trapped and feline, ignoring the fear that he has spent too long as a lion.
Sharp cat senses take control when the smell of Castile blows lazily on the Loessian wind. Of course, the Primarch does not recognize him for who he is, but comes to an alert stand. The lion matches the dragon’s scrutiny with equal critique, golden eyes closing to cold slits. Quickly, he recognizes the others teeming aggression - how it quivers beneath his skin and echoes off Lie’s own repressed desires. He notices how the other holds himself, how he studies. The new king, then: Castile himself.
Hyaline.
The first word to hang between them - oddly fitting. Litotes cocks his head to the right and smiles the coyest of smiles. He questions him as a prisoner, giving the feline blank pause.
A beat - then, “A king who knows not of his prisoners?” The glittering smile remains.
Castile continues, perhaps using language that dares to beckon a rise from the predator. If so, the aggressor will be sorely disappointed: Lie remains as quiet and as thoughtful as ever, pantomiming one who needs to think for too long on an answer. Truly, though, he does not care to reply. His rage burns deep within, but he uses it when he hunts - and has a purpose here that will surely be complicated if violence comes to play.
“I don’t think they’re terribly desperate. The East is quite the strong suit.” The lion disregards the comment about Kensa, feeling it a jibe that requires no response.
“If you didn’t know I was here, then you certainly don’t know my name. Litotes, half of the Primarchs of Hyaline. And I presume you’re Castile, the new king?”
A growl builds in the back of Litotes’ throat, soft and pleasured, offering no threat. Let us play our word games, he thinks. Nothing I say will release me from my sentence.
@[Castile]
