07-10-2019, 12:46 PM
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
”What kind of job?” Castile’s voice is low, rumbling from his throat as he lumbers toward the pair with an arrogant, predatory sway. The muscles in his shoulders ripple, visually chiseled even underneath his winter coat. There is a mischievous gleam in his eyes as they flicker from male to female.
Ah, Mary.
Of course, he had seen her – smelled her, even – but he plays surprised to see her here for a fleeting moment. Truthfully, Castile solely mistrusted the Sylvan leaders. They could have kept their home if they remained loyal despite the ongoing tension. But gloating isn’t on his agenda. ”Mary,” he mumbles her name emptily; his voice lacks anger or joy. It’s as level as the barren plateaus of Pangea. For a hearts breadth, he holds her eyes curiously prior to tipping his head back in acknowledgment of the male. ”I’m Castile,” he offers after a brief skim from beneath his unruly forelock. And although his question – which came after Arka’s final statement – was mostly answered, the Loessian stands in quiet patience for a response while mulling over the opportunities.
There is much to offer. The opportunities are potentially endless now. But where to begin?
After another moment’s pause, deliberate and thoughtful, Castile presses on. ”I can perhaps provide you a purpose in Loess, for starters. Loyalty is easily rewarded and challenges always possible. It all depends on what direction you see yourself, what ambitions litter your mind.” His mismatched eyes gleam roguishly, his lopsided grin softening the hard ridges and scars of his face.
Ah, Mary.
Of course, he had seen her – smelled her, even – but he plays surprised to see her here for a fleeting moment. Truthfully, Castile solely mistrusted the Sylvan leaders. They could have kept their home if they remained loyal despite the ongoing tension. But gloating isn’t on his agenda. ”Mary,” he mumbles her name emptily; his voice lacks anger or joy. It’s as level as the barren plateaus of Pangea. For a hearts breadth, he holds her eyes curiously prior to tipping his head back in acknowledgment of the male. ”I’m Castile,” he offers after a brief skim from beneath his unruly forelock. And although his question – which came after Arka’s final statement – was mostly answered, the Loessian stands in quiet patience for a response while mulling over the opportunities.
There is much to offer. The opportunities are potentially endless now. But where to begin?
After another moment’s pause, deliberate and thoughtful, Castile presses on. ”I can perhaps provide you a purpose in Loess, for starters. Loyalty is easily rewarded and challenges always possible. It all depends on what direction you see yourself, what ambitions litter your mind.” His mismatched eyes gleam roguishly, his lopsided grin softening the hard ridges and scars of his face.
castile