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Crash Course
AMERICANA, EXOTICA
"Hilarious. I remember your name being moron." The depraved, relentless, velvet azure of the incubus's spheres sweep across to the resplendent pinhead, varnish and tinsel, onyx tresses slapping against his hocks as he lumbers forth— a barbarous, a wolfish smile slithering across his lips, a rapacious, despoiling dance to the way he moved, slinking upward in hopes of circling the appeasing craven as if he were a slice of meat, a sheep all too ready for the slaughter, and if the curl to his lips indicated that he was a carnivore, and the guilt laden cur his supper, the impassive, apathetic, devoid gleam to his gaze indicated nothing at all. He spared the most meagre of glances towards the porcelain doe— his porcelain doe, and the gilded boy better keep that in mind before he found his pretty little sparkling bottom bruised, crimson and out on the icy sidewalk— as well as the Reaper, before training it brutally back unto the certain object of interest, raising his dome in a denouncing manner. Indeed, the incubus had come late to the banquet, but it was better late than never, no?
He had detested the childe for her choice in attire— for the lack of a scythe and crown, for the false apparel she donned, encased in faux glass and infuriating dressing, for the blasphemous way she had beheld herself— she may have known that they were the true species, yet she had been scourged at birth, cancerous and grotesque, and she should have served her ties beneath them as a slave, not a false prophet in their name.
But the incubus had learnt, as well, and he would not forsake nor doom his herdland for the righteousness that parched his throat, nor the pyre that ignited his bosom. This.. cad, this wretched scoundrel, had not been disciplined, had not been schooled as the dog he had proven he was, and as such, he felt no shame in his utter contempt bestowed.
Perhaps in another life, they could have been colleagues— if he had not had a kingdom to fret over, and two babes he has already claimed vehemently as his own to shield.
This was not that life.
"This dame made quite a show out of himself, Reaper." The baritone of his hymns stretched forth, rich and ominous, infernal songs, damnable breaths. With a well-practiced slip of his dome, he aimed his dagger to prod the aurelian's sinew, mere a pinch— as if he was some strange new avian, entrapped within a cage, to observe and learn from, and then slay for scientific endeavors. "Humiliated a lass from the Falls. Quite the mess, if we had sought to be their allies. If you'd have asked me, I would've said he has a little problem keeping his mouth shut and not flapping around all the time." His harks flash backward into the tendrils of mane at his crest, for diligence and tolerance were not the soldier's forte. "Or maybe he simply needs to fill it with something worth listening to. Don't you think, brother?" Derisive, dripping with satire, mocking in the most caustic and acrid of ways, a jab, a knee in the ribs— the cur would remember his words well, and the incubus did not see fit to allow such mutt's within his home.
He didn't like how he trailed after his matron, either. That needed some fixing, too.
Or divine's bless him, he'd use his intestines for the holiday decoration.
BUT TONIGHT, THE FOXES HUNT THE HOUNDS
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