11-15-2019, 07:43 PM
 I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take She does’nt flinch, and Ivar’s toothsome grin widens even farther. His hypnosis is not always so successful, and he has always enjoyed seeing how far he might push those who were more susceptible. He’d made Jhene drown herself once, he remembers fondly, and when her immortality had coughed the water from her lungs, he’d made her thank him for the opportunity. “Why did you come then?” he asks, forcing the command to [answer me] with the flick of his white tail against her. “You’ll take a message to her?,” Ivar asks. His golden eyes are bright, and they match the amused smirk that he wears. It’s not only her offer that entertains him, but the way her am-ber eyes meet his. She is suspicious, but that’s to be expected. He is suspicious looking, both un-deniably predatory as well as beauty manifested. He could hide the warning signs of his nature, he knows, some of his progeny do. They hunt in their equine forms, hiding their true nature until the trap is well and truly sprung. Yet to do so is to miss watching the internal battle between desire and self-preservation, and that is one of his favorite parts of the hunt. He sees it spark in the opalescent mare, in the way she watches him, in the succinct answer to his questions. He wants to see it grow, and he steps closer. The stripes along her neck remind him of the little tiger barbs, and he explores them with a gentle curiosity. They’re just a different color of hair, the kelpie finds, not feathers or scales or armor like so many equine wear. He presses his white lips against them with another long inhale, reassured by the still-fresh scent of his wife that Oceane wears. Taking back his earlier command is simple; he hadn’t meant to keep her quite so still. Paralyzing prey is a trick of the weak; he likes to feel them thrash. “She knows exactly what I have to say to her,” The kelpie breathes against Oceane’s neck, the his whispered voice amused. He hopes that Isobell like this one. The image of her jealously elicits a chuckle. Which will she hate more: that Ivar continues to ignore her requests to be discreet, or that he’d found a friend of hers with whom to flaunt his indiscretion? Perhaps he’ll follow Oceane back to Loess. The idea of watching his wife implode would surely be worth letting this unexpected gift get away. But he’d have to let her go, Ivar realizes, and she is already so close. Weighing the decision, he asks: “She is living in Loess, then?” Maybe he could bring back a few of Oceane’s feathers. Or if his wife is close enough to the opal mare he might be able to lure her back to Ischia with the promise to free her. Ivar wouldn’t, of course, but Isobell’s kind heart is easy to manipulate. that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind |
@[Oceane]