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03-16-2014, 05:56 PM
She wonders if it's just... a thing. Males and their testosterone, that is; yes, it certainly must be. It's like watching two dogs, circling one another, wondering who will get the bone and worry it between their teeth first- and if it came to that, who would she root for? Cynical eyes study them, a warmonger and a raven boy, both dark as shadow. The wolf didn't care. Whoever was stronger, faster, better deserved her companionship, but it would be better if they lay aside their differences and took up arms together. Tyradon would accomplish nothing if he spat and growled at every hornheaded beast to come his way- she hopes he knows that, realizes his idiocy. But he won't and wouldn't, that was certain; because he was a stallion, always in the right. The wolf watches the dragon come to land upon her companion, glittering emerald and jeweled jade; she smirks, sardonic in her smiles. "Oh Cynder," she croons to the dragon, tilting her head in that peculiar, avian-like fashion of hers. "Is your companion always so fettered by his racism?" |
Confutatis returns her gaze to Terrador's son, ignoring Morir as he steps out from behind her, ash and shadow and moonlight. "We are all vermin to the eyes of the our forebears, unless we do them proud... and we will accomplish nothing with blinding ourselves to useful allies because of their race, or, for that matter, their gender." They bicker, the self-absorbed, squabbling birds as always (men) an Confutatis listens to them both, talking of hoaxes and talents... fucking stallions, with their impudent beliefs and I'm-better-than-you show. Her smile widens at a thought- a dirty thought, a slightly unhinged thought- before she shakes it away. "That's enough, magpies. We'll all have our fair share of spoils by the end, provided we work for it, and you can both never see each other again unless we must." |
Join the Regime.
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