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Observing this fight between Deimos and Confutatis.
and it's our time now if you want it to be
maul the world like a carnival bear set free
He breaks away from her as she moves into the battle, knowing she would scold him and Nymeria should they get under her feet as she lurches into the fight. This is her war - her children are not yet old enough to help, despite their training, despite the fact they are mother's little soldiers. He cannot interfere, as much as he might want to. Her opponent is a full-grown stallion, armed with horn and attitude and exuding an aura of death. But Volterra is not intimidated, does not quiver at the sight of the horned man. He does not fear. Why would he, when he comes from the womb of fear itself? He slips to the side of the Rotunda, close enough to watch the fighters atop it. Slippery stone, ready for blood. The dragonling lurks closely as his mother shifts forwards, her Mongrel at her side, and observes with morbid intrigue as she seems to shape-shift into the pale, red-tipped mare they had met at the Arch. Minus the silver dragon, and with the addition of rotting flesh. It is repulsive, terrifying, and the young behemoth almost shudders at the idea that his dam's companion can so easily twist the minds of others. "Anya fog összetörni neki, sister," he murmurs towards the area that he expects Nymeria to be occupying. He uses the tongue Mother is teaching them, using sharp foreign words she gave them so they can communicate secretly even when surrounded by others. So they can plot in plain sight. |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
