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Oh, you're just a target in the sky
With all this fever in my mind
I could aim for your kerosene eyes
He watches the darkling colt start, stirring at his voice. He steps toward Öde then, going to him as the dark boy responds…
...but then he halts, frozen in place, captivated into caution by something that does not feel right.
He does not hear the voices that beguile his blood-brother. He only feels a presence of a sort, a force that reverberates off the stone and the crystal, the ruined corpse of a wretch and the trembling adoration that sparks in Öde’s face. Reginald can only watch, transfixed, as Öde is borne to his feet--transformed from a grieving child into a disciple of a some kind.
Demonking floats from his mouth, into the ear of the Grey-Eye’d Prince.
He watches, carefully; he hears the oaths flying from black and crimson lips. Something hitches in Reginald’s throat as he beholds something he does not understand; something equally powerful and dangerous, and so, so bizzare. He does not know yet if his friend’s soul has been spirited off into the shadow-clad land of madness, or if something larger and grand is at work in these cavernous halls. He considers turning from here, leaving things that ought to be detestable; the idea is discarded before it is properly formed.
Womb-water does not tie them; dragon-fire does not protect the coal-black hide of this boy. Somewhere, they are brothers, and he will stay.
“Öde,” he says again, rapt and urgent, and the stones and echos of a cave do not steal this breath from him.
"This is how I talk"
...but then he halts, frozen in place, captivated into caution by something that does not feel right.
He does not hear the voices that beguile his blood-brother. He only feels a presence of a sort, a force that reverberates off the stone and the crystal, the ruined corpse of a wretch and the trembling adoration that sparks in Öde’s face. Reginald can only watch, transfixed, as Öde is borne to his feet--transformed from a grieving child into a disciple of a some kind.
Demonking floats from his mouth, into the ear of the Grey-Eye’d Prince.
He watches, carefully; he hears the oaths flying from black and crimson lips. Something hitches in Reginald’s throat as he beholds something he does not understand; something equally powerful and dangerous, and so, so bizzare. He does not know yet if his friend’s soul has been spirited off into the shadow-clad land of madness, or if something larger and grand is at work in these cavernous halls. He considers turning from here, leaving things that ought to be detestable; the idea is discarded before it is properly formed.
Womb-water does not tie them; dragon-fire does not protect the coal-black hide of this boy. Somewhere, they are brothers, and he will stay.
“Öde,” he says again, rapt and urgent, and the stones and echos of a cave do not steal this breath from him.
"This is how I talk"
Oh, you're just a target in the sky
--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!
--All force is allowed to be used against this character!
