Her declaration very nearly brings a smile to his lips, muted only by the fact that she truly does believe herself terrifying. Though Hurricane could admit to having never seen anyone quite like her, he has never found bones particularly terror inspiring. When one lived as long as he, one would have to strive very very hard not to encounter them at some time or another. While it is true they do not typically walk or talk, the only spectre that lingers around bones of any sort is that of death. And that is a spectre Hurricane has never found frightening.
“I am often quiet,” he replies in a low tone. He says nothing of her claim however. He recognizes now that she would not believe him even if he denied it.
As she moves closer, he watches her with a curiosity he has rarely allowed himself to feel. There is a strange sort of safety in knowing that she cannot see his face. In knowing that he does not need to hide his expressions from her. Still, it is an old habit, and even that knowledge cannot quite chase the stony guise from his features.
When it becomes clear she cannot tell just how close she has drawn, his wing lifts slightly, feathers whispering as he uses it to gently steady her when her nose bumps his shoulder. She swiftly retreats a step, self-deprecating words already issuing from the space her lips once would have been. When he responds, the faintest trace of return humor colors his voice. “I am also particularly good at not being seen.”
It is impossible to read whatever emotions linger beneath the bones where an absent heart once rested. He must admit it is a particularly effective way to mask oneself, if a bit frustrating for the onlooker. He suspects however, that she does not truly wish to hide her emotions as he does. Indeed, if her explanation is any indication, she fairly wears them on her sleeve, even without a face.
He had nearly forgotten what it was like to be so young though. To his jaded eyes, the world had little new to offer. But he had not forgotten what it was to have purpose. To protect something that held meaning to him. He has never had a family like hers (the one experience he has yet to have), but he had brothers once. Not of blood, but still family just the same. And a part of him still yearns for it. A part of him, he realizes, he is trying to reflect on her.
“I understand,” he replies slowly, gaze shifting to scan their surroundings. “You sometimes forget the wonders the world holds when you’ve lived as long as I.”
Her question takes him slightly aback however. His dark gaze snaps to her as he considers her question, faintly baffled. It has been a very long time since he bothered to look at his own reflection, though he imagines it has not changed very much. Still, he cannot help but wonder if she would be disappointed. In comparison to the myriad of fantastical appearances that now exist, he is rather bland.
He’s not quite certain why he feels compelled to answer her as he does, but still he tries. “I am… white, mostly. A few gray dapples. Dark eyes.” He pauses then, eyes scanning the bones of her face, as though he could glean something from them. “Is that what you wish to know?”
quiet now, you're gonna wake the beast
hide your soul out of his reach
Hurricane
@[splendora]
@[The Monsters] can you pretty please mess with his cracked appearance?