Drowned.
Drowned in darkness, drowned in emptiness; it’s all he knows.
He only wishes to share the heavy feeling, the way the water presses so tightly against his skin that it leaves him quite literally breathless; the way the eyesight turns dark around the edges until it is all he sees.
Of course, Maugrim has the ability to survive such a feeling. Those he comes across - not so much.
Feeling slightly unnerved without a body of water close by, the poseidon grasps at the moisture in the air with barely a thought, bringing droplets into the pearled ivory and deep green of his patched flesh, unused to the heat of summer beneath the Beqanna sun. It keeps him damp, water still trickling gently from the tangled tendrils of his mane, dripping down his neck and muscled shoulders, to where it began to pool and turn the dirt beneath his hooves into mud. Her voice commands a soft twitch of his ears towards her, keeping his attention, but he barely hears her. His bottomless eyes still scour where they wish.
The mud squelches beneath his weighted movement, shifting towards her ever so slightly.
He’s already imagining her watery demise, a beautiful grave that he would create just for her. The bright tips of her mane would float towards him - like fingertips reaching for help - and the soft petals that adorn her empty socket would tear away to reveal pearly white bone.
Maugrim’s lips pressed together thoughtfully, nearly expressionless, before he decides a smile here would do quite nicely. His mouth curls into that fanciful grin - almost handsomely so, if the dried skin of his lips didn’t crack with the movement. Unphased, he runs his tongue across the deep rivets on his mouth, moistening them.
“My apologies, dearie,” he begins, feigning sincerity. She isn’t dim-witted; he knows that she senses the prickling feeling of unease that he brings, but he imagines that she would appreciate his attempt to appear a conversationalist. “Maugrim.” He even turns his gaze to her now, though the clicking movement of his eyes appears more sinister than charming.
Like a crocodile locking eyes with its prey.
He doesn’t ask her name. Perhaps she would share without his prying. It didn’t matter.
“What brings you out today? Surely not the company.”
Drowned in darkness, drowned in emptiness; it’s all he knows.
He only wishes to share the heavy feeling, the way the water presses so tightly against his skin that it leaves him quite literally breathless; the way the eyesight turns dark around the edges until it is all he sees.
Of course, Maugrim has the ability to survive such a feeling. Those he comes across - not so much.
Feeling slightly unnerved without a body of water close by, the poseidon grasps at the moisture in the air with barely a thought, bringing droplets into the pearled ivory and deep green of his patched flesh, unused to the heat of summer beneath the Beqanna sun. It keeps him damp, water still trickling gently from the tangled tendrils of his mane, dripping down his neck and muscled shoulders, to where it began to pool and turn the dirt beneath his hooves into mud. Her voice commands a soft twitch of his ears towards her, keeping his attention, but he barely hears her. His bottomless eyes still scour where they wish.
The mud squelches beneath his weighted movement, shifting towards her ever so slightly.
He’s already imagining her watery demise, a beautiful grave that he would create just for her. The bright tips of her mane would float towards him - like fingertips reaching for help - and the soft petals that adorn her empty socket would tear away to reveal pearly white bone.
Maugrim’s lips pressed together thoughtfully, nearly expressionless, before he decides a smile here would do quite nicely. His mouth curls into that fanciful grin - almost handsomely so, if the dried skin of his lips didn’t crack with the movement. Unphased, he runs his tongue across the deep rivets on his mouth, moistening them.
“My apologies, dearie,” he begins, feigning sincerity. She isn’t dim-witted; he knows that she senses the prickling feeling of unease that he brings, but he imagines that she would appreciate his attempt to appear a conversationalist. “Maugrim.” He even turns his gaze to her now, though the clicking movement of his eyes appears more sinister than charming.
Like a crocodile locking eyes with its prey.
He doesn’t ask her name. Perhaps she would share without his prying. It didn’t matter.
“What brings you out today? Surely not the company.”