Jude swallows back her indignation.
It is a fleeting heat - one that flares so hot and bright in her chest that there is hardly a second to hope it will last. Like a match struck too slowly, she lights up then fizzles out immediately. The pegasus misses that disdain, that anger. She misses emotion, reckless abandon, self-destruction. If she was not so damn disappointed in herself for wanting him to fuck the shit out of her just because he is mean, she would draw blood from his lips in a desperate kiss.
Alas, she has found self-control (if only a little) as she ages.
Bitter and cold, like the autumn wind that swirls around them, Jude laughs in the face of his “fuck you.” The sneer that follows would be sincere if it was not so flirty. Like a school-girl, picking at the boy she has a crush on, except now the stakes are much higher (and the skirts much shorter). Ugly as sin with a power that matches: why does he make her go weak-kneed? He is not nearly the same shy man from before, and yet her chest still tightens at their banter. She remembers the way he looked before the plague: the glow of his eyes, the blood of his lips, the shimmering black of his hide. She remembers it all too well.
“Trust me, Vadar,” she purrs, disguising her confusion with seduction just as she has always done, “I like you a whole lot more now, even if you look like a fuckin’ naked mole rat.” Her eyes are a pair of daggers, her mouth molds into a saccharine smile. The next words out of her mouth first spin in her head then burn a brand upon her tongue: “I’d be the gamblin’ type if it wasn’t so obvious you want to fuck me. And my name is Jude, though I’m sure your spittin’ mouth won’t find the courtesy to use it.”
@[Vadar]