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12-13-2015, 06:12 PM
There was a thrum of heavy wings as the bronze lurched ungracefully up into the air. Lilómiel cawed his delight, his white teeth gleaming, and peeled away, returning to Nymeria's shoulders. The grullo mare blinked as he settled upon the mass of scar tissue; she couldn't entirely tell if his badge of friendship was genuine or just another way to bring Nymeria and him closer to the Storyteller. Nor did the dragon come forward with any explanation for his sudden change of heart, and his willingness to flounce about like a fool. It's rude, the grullo told him firmly, but he avoided her chastisement with demure ease. Whatever the truth of his intents, it was clear he had no plans in sharing it (at least not today.)
Kis holló? Nymeria's diplomatic expression did not quaver—but her heart skipped a beat. The Hungarian origins of that name were undeniable, and, more than anything, it sounded precisely like a pet name Volterra would give to someone. Why he would choose little and raven she didn't know; but... presuming it was given by Volt, he would've had his reasons. Nym darkened within, turning, examining, the nickname from every angle, searching for truth, or evidence of a lie. Outwardly, it seemed as if the Storyteller realized she had said something wrong; she turned her head away, and her jaws clenched together. It was not enough to draw a satisfactory conclusion—and thus Nymeria tucked away the name for future reference.
"Oké, kicsit holló," the grullo said casually. The oké sounded linguistically similar to okay, a subtle prod at the Storyteller's consciousness. Will she notice?
Finished with the formalities, Nymeria did not bother with a goodbye when the Storyteller turned to leave. Lilómiel gave one last chirp of farewell before taking off again into the skies, where he was forever more comfortable. What do you think? She asked of him, but he steadfastly ignored her. It was horse business, he had decided; and he did not like to get caught up in horse business unless absolutely necessary.
Thanks for nothing, you ass.
With a snort, Nymeria began to move deeper into the Falls to seek out the mysterious Knox.
Kis holló? Nymeria's diplomatic expression did not quaver—but her heart skipped a beat. The Hungarian origins of that name were undeniable, and, more than anything, it sounded precisely like a pet name Volterra would give to someone. Why he would choose little and raven she didn't know; but... presuming it was given by Volt, he would've had his reasons. Nym darkened within, turning, examining, the nickname from every angle, searching for truth, or evidence of a lie. Outwardly, it seemed as if the Storyteller realized she had said something wrong; she turned her head away, and her jaws clenched together. It was not enough to draw a satisfactory conclusion—and thus Nymeria tucked away the name for future reference.
"Oké, kicsit holló," the grullo said casually. The oké sounded linguistically similar to okay, a subtle prod at the Storyteller's consciousness. Will she notice?
Finished with the formalities, Nymeria did not bother with a goodbye when the Storyteller turned to leave. Lilómiel gave one last chirp of farewell before taking off again into the skies, where he was forever more comfortable. What do you think? She asked of him, but he steadfastly ignored her. It was horse business, he had decided; and he did not like to get caught up in horse business unless absolutely necessary.
Thanks for nothing, you ass.
With a snort, Nymeria began to move deeper into the Falls to seek out the mysterious Knox.
OOC: Nymeria exits!
Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions
