10-02-2017, 08:19 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
While rippling of the water behind her catches Ivar’s eye for a moment, but that is all it is – a moment. The current is pleasing to watch, but he prefers still waters, deep waters, dark waters. Tempting, but not irresistible when he is so watchful. He turns his gaze back to Isobell quickly enough, pleased by her enthusiastic greeting. She’s struggled to place him for a moment too, it seems, and it is grateful that the uneven social footing was not restricted to where he stood. Still, they know each other now, and she falls into a chattering answer. Her tone is lighthearted, gentle, a rather stark change to what he has become accustomed to. He listens intently, smiling at the image of the stone dragon Lior fawning over anything, and the Iron Queen ever allowing such behavior. He supposes that the very existence of Isobell (and Castile) must be proof of some sort of relationship, but it is difficult to picture. Easier than imaging his own parents, of course, because the two of them had not interacted at all during Ivar’s childhood. He has only recently pieced that together: the fact that his perfect childhood had included two doting parents who had never once spent time with him simultaneously. The odds of siblings are not likely at all, he’d surmised, which makes Isobell all the more fitting for the role. She’s probably the closest thing to a sister that he’ll ever have. “Whatever gave you the impression that I’m a gentleman?” He replies with mock affront, the charade lasting as long as he can hold in a laugh, which is barely any time at all. “Castile and I haven’t adventured in a while anyway,” Ivar admits to the younger filly, “I guess he’s been busy in Hyaline and I’ve been trying to make myself useful in Loess’ army. What about you? Gonna stick around in Nerine?” |