12-31-2019, 11:29 AM
He contradicts me in a silky voice, and the only response I deign to give is the skyward rolling of my eyes. Flattery was a fake sort of interaction, and while it had its uses, I didn't enjoy it being used on myself.
It has all been fun and games up to the point I mention the desolate kingdom we look over. This seemed to flick something volatile within the spangled stallion, and his mask of friendliness slipped a shade or two. Suddenly he's angry. And what is anger but a shield on harder feelings?
I hadn't noticed before now, but the dark fellow's eyes are red. Not the red of sleeplessness, or bloodshot dry irritation, but a true, vibrant crimson that seems to glow from within. It's a subtle enough thing, but it makes the primal center of my brain flash with warning. He's dangerous, and I should be afraid. I am afraid.
This is no new feeling for me. Fear saturated me from the day I was born. It was all I had known until I'd escaped my mother's clutches and had made my own way in thev world. Then the fear had gotten more abstract. Instead of direct, targeted harm, now it was simply the fear of hunger, of cold, of sharp toothed predators in the night that clung to me. It was almost a relief.
Now though, that old fear resurfaced. The certainty that I was facing someone who would strike me with no remorse or sentiment, only for the joy of causing others pain. It was the kind of fear that brought out the worst in me.
A cold, arrogant stubbornness gripped my bones. The determination to survive and more; to give back every ounce of hate that had been dished out to me. Disdain dripped from my tongue. "Not hardly. If you're a good example of the kind of horse that lives there? I think I'd be bored to tears within the week." Fear makes me mean. I will never admit it, especially not to myself, but I'm afraid of a great many things.
When I see the gleam of dark red blood along the tight line of his lips, my fear is put aside for curiosity's sake. Is he so angry that he draws his own blood? It's tempting to push him back, to see exactly how much it would take to drive him to explosion. I can feel it throbbing in the air between us. The dare of who can hold onto their temper the longest, or who can take the most damage without breaking stride.
I wonder what exactly it will take to break the tension.
@[draco]
It has all been fun and games up to the point I mention the desolate kingdom we look over. This seemed to flick something volatile within the spangled stallion, and his mask of friendliness slipped a shade or two. Suddenly he's angry. And what is anger but a shield on harder feelings?
I hadn't noticed before now, but the dark fellow's eyes are red. Not the red of sleeplessness, or bloodshot dry irritation, but a true, vibrant crimson that seems to glow from within. It's a subtle enough thing, but it makes the primal center of my brain flash with warning. He's dangerous, and I should be afraid. I am afraid.
This is no new feeling for me. Fear saturated me from the day I was born. It was all I had known until I'd escaped my mother's clutches and had made my own way in thev world. Then the fear had gotten more abstract. Instead of direct, targeted harm, now it was simply the fear of hunger, of cold, of sharp toothed predators in the night that clung to me. It was almost a relief.
Now though, that old fear resurfaced. The certainty that I was facing someone who would strike me with no remorse or sentiment, only for the joy of causing others pain. It was the kind of fear that brought out the worst in me.
A cold, arrogant stubbornness gripped my bones. The determination to survive and more; to give back every ounce of hate that had been dished out to me. Disdain dripped from my tongue. "Not hardly. If you're a good example of the kind of horse that lives there? I think I'd be bored to tears within the week." Fear makes me mean. I will never admit it, especially not to myself, but I'm afraid of a great many things.
When I see the gleam of dark red blood along the tight line of his lips, my fear is put aside for curiosity's sake. Is he so angry that he draws his own blood? It's tempting to push him back, to see exactly how much it would take to drive him to explosion. I can feel it throbbing in the air between us. The dare of who can hold onto their temper the longest, or who can take the most damage without breaking stride.
I wonder what exactly it will take to break the tension.
@[draco]