and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
The Hyaline Primarch is what Castile last heard. Loess has royalty among its prisoners, and he can nearly taste the restlessness seeping from Litotes pores. No one wants to be slave – or even a pawn – in political warfare. Yet here he is, Litotes, living as exactly that. Bounced around at the mercy of his superiors and obeying them like a cub. It churns something in Castile’s gut, setting him aflame but also bringing life to his reeling thoughts.
This could play to his advantage, somehow, having the Primarch here (little does he know what has changed since their initial meeting).
He doesn’t try to be silent as he crests another hill and steps around a shrub. There’s no reason to muffle his footsteps in his own home, even as he looms like a storm with eyes intensely trained on Litotes. Wings – feathered as to keep his draconic features subtle – comfortably fold against his sides, unnecessary as he closes the last few feet. ”Litotes,” he recalls easily enough, utilizing the male’s name as a form of casual greeting as his walk draws to a gradual halt. Their eyes lock. Beneath the sweltering summer sun, they face their predicament head on. The prison guard holding the chains of an inmate, grinning smugly as the wind lifts his forelock from his face. ”It seems I was right. Solace asked for your return,” he knew someone would beg for the Primarch’s safety, that their desperation for him would surface and their pride would falter by coming to Loess’ borders. It only conveyed his importance to them (oh, if only he knew what transgressed in the lion’s sleep, how Kagerus dismissed him icily).
Castile would be a fool to let him slip away so easily.
”I declined,” he finally adds after a suspended moment of anticipation, ”You’re too interesting to let go of so soon.” A compliment, spoken flatly from the dragon’s tongue as his eyes sweep quickly across their surroundings then back to Litote’s expression to read and analyze his reaction. ”Nothing wrong with a year-long vacation from home, right?” A laugh rumbles from deep within his chest, a primal and predatory noise lifted by tethers of humor.
This could play to his advantage, somehow, having the Primarch here (little does he know what has changed since their initial meeting).
He doesn’t try to be silent as he crests another hill and steps around a shrub. There’s no reason to muffle his footsteps in his own home, even as he looms like a storm with eyes intensely trained on Litotes. Wings – feathered as to keep his draconic features subtle – comfortably fold against his sides, unnecessary as he closes the last few feet. ”Litotes,” he recalls easily enough, utilizing the male’s name as a form of casual greeting as his walk draws to a gradual halt. Their eyes lock. Beneath the sweltering summer sun, they face their predicament head on. The prison guard holding the chains of an inmate, grinning smugly as the wind lifts his forelock from his face. ”It seems I was right. Solace asked for your return,” he knew someone would beg for the Primarch’s safety, that their desperation for him would surface and their pride would falter by coming to Loess’ borders. It only conveyed his importance to them (oh, if only he knew what transgressed in the lion’s sleep, how Kagerus dismissed him icily).
Castile would be a fool to let him slip away so easily.
”I declined,” he finally adds after a suspended moment of anticipation, ”You’re too interesting to let go of so soon.” A compliment, spoken flatly from the dragon’s tongue as his eyes sweep quickly across their surroundings then back to Litote’s expression to read and analyze his reaction. ”Nothing wrong with a year-long vacation from home, right?” A laugh rumbles from deep within his chest, a primal and predatory noise lifted by tethers of humor.
castile
@[litotes]