11-28-2016, 01:05 AM
It was the answer that he wanted to hear—exactly what he wanted to hear, in fact.
His smile cold and crocodile, mimicking the same one that he had seen his father wear all too often. For a moment, he considers the strange red-eyed creature, tilting his head to the side. “It would do you well to remember that,” he finally grumbles, his barely more than a low hiss. “I may call upon you soon.”
He had originally planned to utilize this gift to build an army to help his father ascend the throne, but it had not been necessary; taking Pangea had been much easier than anticipated. So, instead, Bruise curated favors with those who were dangerous, with eyes that were hungry, with the sharp blades in the night.
Waylan did not reek of magic, not in the way Violence did with her necromancy or Pollock with the Fear, but there was something strong about his gaze, a blood thirsty nature that Bruise could understand.
Perhaps he would be useful in the future.
So Bruise clucked his tongue against his teeth and took a step forward, dipping his heavy horned head to acknowledge the other. Without a word, he flicked his tail powerfully behind him so that it stung his haunched. The power coiled in his belly and then slung forward, flooding whatever gifts had been stripped from Waylan back to him. When it was done, Bruise felt just a little emptier.
For a moment, he considered the stallion before grunting, “Well, then, let’s see what you can do.”
Another pause before he followed that up.
“I would be remiss if I did not remind you that loyalty is not an option.”
For a moment, he played along the threads of the Fear—not enough to cause terror, but perhaps enough for Waylan to feel it in his bones. Bruise said nothing further though. His point had been made.
Bruise
head like a hole; as black as your soul.
@[Waylan]
no worries, love! <3 take your time.