Like a Thorn to the Holy Ones [Killdare, any]

[Nymphetamine]

ooc: i tried really hard to hold back nymph's sassy pants until a Straia reply, but I can't...well nymph can't. I'll try to keep it short and sweet snarky.

Nymphetamine watched the two dark beasts from beyond the ice cage that enveloped him, but mostly he watched Killdare. He had commented on his bond, his word, and Nymphetamine had held his tongue at the time. Internally he was loving the idea that Killdare probably thought the little verbal lash had quelled him. It tickled him to think Killdare saw such little depth in him. It meant his plan was working. The character he had put on was being accepted. A smile was on the young stag's maw because Killdare was an easy target with words. So easily coming undone. So quick to snap and toss threats of smashing and bashing the annoyance away. Most would say the young blood was not in the position to chortle, to mock. Most would say that he should be fleeing. Most would say he was a fool for taking this approach. Most are not Nymphetamine; most are not fueled by a hatred so deep it drives his very soul.

There was Killdare, carrying on, waving him off like he was nothing to him. As soon as Straia pulls him back with her spiteful words the anger is there on the surface- showing that Nymphetamine wasn't a nothing...that he was something to him. Thorn in his side perhaps? Aye...the angry words strike his ears. and the smile deepens in his maw. This was why he liked words, you could break flesh quickly, but ah, to break someones mind now that was a task. you had to nurture that task, keep the mind in a particular state. Just close enough to the cliff, but not over-- and there were so many ways to do it. Anger was his favorite, and it happened to be easy to raise the anger out of Killdare. I mind isn't designed for constant anger, or really to be constantly any single emotion. There has to be release, a break in the tension. Ah, yes, to break a mind is an amazing game- one his young mind should not know as much as it does about.

Do you not see the game? tisk tisk Killdare. I had hoped you would be a more.....formidable opponent. My words have been true, and they are my bond... but again you foolishly take words at their most benign level. But really you are just a militiaman, I care not if you understand my words... I do care if your queen does...if she will allow the story to be told.

The blood stag in the slightest of shifts was dismissing the stag and he simply waited for the winged Killdare to and the crafty raven queen to finish their discourse. While he would love to work his way into the mind of Killdare slowing finding the spot in which could break his mind, he knew this end game was not to play in the stag's mind but to work his magic on Straia... but gain her favor. And he hoped he had enticed her enough. And if she allowed his tale to be told, the web would be spun, he trusted his words to gain him the access he sought.  He worried not about the plotting fragmented words that drifted to him from beyond the ice. It was a waiting game now, and he would win that game too.

Nymphetamine

cold was my soul, untold was the pain I faced when you left me: a rose in the rain