02-10-2021, 05:44 PM
my shadow's shedding skin ...
He shifts, shoulders rolling, his gaze drifting lazily from one gathered to the other. The skeleton’s wings clatter along his ribs, his warm voice filled with the laughter that his skull cannot express. Some might think that Niklas, the lanky, macabre creature that he is, might not be one to find the humor in such mundanities as the chew-toy remark … and they would be correct in their assumptions. It is not that he thinks himself above such things; nor is it that he is incapable of being amused. It is only just that his delight is in the more perverse. Affliction and misery – that which the light cannot stomach. The small shadow creature entrenched in the knots of his mane is joined by another, and then a third, invisible in their trek up his shoulder save for the blink-blink of little yellow eyes. He shakes out his mane with a low groan, dislodging bits of dirt and dander, but not his tiny passengers.
Niklas is a creature of whim. The basest of urges drive him, a mixture of natural and unnatural. It was only the monotony of the darkness – of making Dretch’s life miserable and passing the time at Set’s side – that drew him to the small gathering. At least, that is what he thought at first. His aquiline head turns to address an itch under his flank but instead catches on the smile that graces the fanged mare’s mouth. It elicits a visceral response and he freezes, hind leg still raised. He blinks, once, then twice, and slowly lowers his leg back to the ground. His father’s son in the aspect of maternal affinity, he feels more than sees his mother’s smirk; it is perhaps the only thing the demon has ever been known to yearn for. As far as he’s let on, at least. His dry lips twist upward in a return smile – cold and devilish. “Did she find you wanting as well?” He does not bother to disguise the bitterness that colors his questions, his shadows churning about his legs and feet, but there is no accusation in them. His gut tells him she is family – sacrosanct. It is the lonely young soul with only a hellhound and capricious father to keep him company who wonders – was it just he? Or they?
She says hello, the pale thing who reeks of sulk and youth, and he straightens, all moth-eaten and dire again. There is a beat, a filling of lungs, before he looks to her. The smile he grants is wide and wolfish in nature, though his ears move forward, an impression of peace. He does not bite without cause – not generally, at least. Cocking his head to the side, he exhales a reply to match hers. “Hello.” Another inhale, exhale, his nose pressed to her neck without qualm. An innocent question follows closely after, his voice unerringly soft. “Should you be out here, alone?”
Niklas is a creature of whim. The basest of urges drive him, a mixture of natural and unnatural. It was only the monotony of the darkness – of making Dretch’s life miserable and passing the time at Set’s side – that drew him to the small gathering. At least, that is what he thought at first. His aquiline head turns to address an itch under his flank but instead catches on the smile that graces the fanged mare’s mouth. It elicits a visceral response and he freezes, hind leg still raised. He blinks, once, then twice, and slowly lowers his leg back to the ground. His father’s son in the aspect of maternal affinity, he feels more than sees his mother’s smirk; it is perhaps the only thing the demon has ever been known to yearn for. As far as he’s let on, at least. His dry lips twist upward in a return smile – cold and devilish. “Did she find you wanting as well?” He does not bother to disguise the bitterness that colors his questions, his shadows churning about his legs and feet, but there is no accusation in them. His gut tells him she is family – sacrosanct. It is the lonely young soul with only a hellhound and capricious father to keep him company who wonders – was it just he? Or they?
She says hello, the pale thing who reeks of sulk and youth, and he straightens, all moth-eaten and dire again. There is a beat, a filling of lungs, before he looks to her. The smile he grants is wide and wolfish in nature, though his ears move forward, an impression of peace. He does not bite without cause – not generally, at least. Cocking his head to the side, he exhales a reply to match hers. “Hello.” Another inhale, exhale, his nose pressed to her neck without qualm. An innocent question follows closely after, his voice unerringly soft. “Should you be out here, alone?”
@[Tamlin]