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01-21-2016, 11:10 AM
It was fragile. All hoovering on the edge off the precipice, threatening to fall and crash like a broken shell. His smile, his grace, and all those tempered emotions sitting just on the edge of the cliff. Were they to fall and all the realities of what he was walking into come to life, it would not end well. But the golden had been strengthened. He had awoken from the trance of the snow peaks and remembered he was strong. That things of this world did not mar his coat with their imperfections. His strength held it all in balance, but as always she was messing with the scales. For the moment all is steady. His wicked grin like a spark, seeping into his blood all the good old familiar feelings of devilry. She turns her carven head to look to him, and he is glad she can not find his eyes. There is far too much in hers for him to be able to meet them. Once again his precious black cloak hides him from the world, and gains great praise. “Glad to see you still have your senses then.” It rolls out, like a purr, but also, a condolence. Some dark, manipulated pep talk. Some way of telling her it was alright. Look, see we can still joke, so its alright. Right? The next second illustrated it was clearly not alright. The crack in his voice breaks hers as well, and for a moment all his bravo and good feelings pause. The smell of her blood over powers his senses, and he flounders like a drowning man, struggling to break the surface. To break away again from all that he was trying to ignore. Her searching eyes. Her cracked voice which matched his. It trembles in him, sending a shiver down his spine. But his tasseled tail receives it in a lash, smacking his side. The golden’s recovery keeps him from that long dark road. There was work to be done here, and he was not to be wasted and brought low by her today. Yet the moment lingered, threateningly. It was the first moment since breaking free, that he realized exactly what he was stepping into, and he was desperately trying to deny it. It was rather lucky then that she took the same turn in mood as he. Her laugher calls him back and settles him. That voice was more known. That mood more comfortable. So the golden relaxes again, and it all slides back into balance. His attention wavers on her though. The sooner they rounded up this conversation, the sooner he could be free too of whatever sway she held over him in that moment. That freedom now seemed more important than even the release from the Basin’s mountains. Yet he was not distracted enough to miss her words completely. A tiger eh? Not even the golden could stop the hesitation to hear of such a beast. A worthy enemy at least. He was glad to hear she wasn’t brought low by some rabid bunny. He was about to tell her so, when her frame shifted, and she stumbled into him. His body freezes, every muscle going cold. He normally would flinch, pull away, and avoid her weight. But everything is frozen in place as her weight rests on him. For if he were to move, she would fall, and that, for reasons unrecognized by him, he would not let happen. Her heat seeps through the layers of cloth and he trembles. So rarely was he close to another. The warmth of another creature against him had grown so foreign, and he remembers, there is a reason for it. You can’t escape what you feel when it becomes physical. Harks pull back under the cloth though to lean unsurely back. What was this which had such power over her? What-a cold voice cuts through the air, like a singing blade. Kill him? His twisting head looks down upon her lower crown, and he can feel her shivering against his body. His own wants to respond with the same, for this dead cold command, and her obvious fear was so powerful a force. Yet his weight holds steady. Though other parts were moving. The leafen starred head lowers closer to hers, jointed and awkward in movement, but locked in to her. Her fear like a sickness threatens to infect him, but he does not pull away at that as he normally might. Instead his shield and spear, which had been ready to treat this all as business and get on with it, falls slightly, and his nose comes close to her dirt stained coat. It is broken as he is inches away. Her weight lifts and muzzle shoves into him. Only he was closer than she might have expected to be and it smacks into the side of his jaw. Shoving him back, and the black cloth hiding him from the world slips from his golden head. Her words spit as the dust of the world shimmers back onto him, revealing his once crowned head. But what she finds is suspicion and irritation. He had been surprised by her hit, and while pain pulsed in his lower jaw, it locks tight. What was she playing at? As her ears pin back his match and he straightens, his height rising above her as he throws only contempt back at her words. Hers? Teeth grind, and earth eyes offer nothing but cold reception. He would be damned before he let such a noose around his neck. The subtle terror, the laid bare desperation that she needed him slips by for the moment. The confession, lost. For all he saw in her words were collars and chains, and having just thrown some off, he rebels against it without looking deeper. Now was not the time for tender moments. So all she receives back for her demand is a snort and turn away. He would show her. The golden would soon have her see. He was not some dog to be ordered to her side. When she returned to the Basin she would watch the horizon for him. Yes…that is what she would do, keeping a trained eye to the Arch for a golden form. But it would not come. He would not step foot in there again. She would see, as all the others, that he was not something anyone else could possess, could order. As he moves off away from her to the treeline (if the moment was not filled with such tension it might be comical to see only a head floating forward) he mood does not improve. Yet it sets him to his work. He was ready to be rid of her. His anger at her overcoming his concern, and now all was bent on setting her on her way. At the trees he pauses, his ears lift from their anger only for a moment to sense about, and his nares lift to the air, but nothing comes to them. So he exhales slowly, letting gears turn and release. His form, still half hidden shimmers and falls way, the gold become rosen. He wastes no time, even as the change was still finishing his reaches back and lifts the black cloak from his back, letting his fall into a small sapling in front of him. The young tree shivers and disappears, when he looks for it later he need only walk the treeline, to bump into the sapling he can not see to find it. Only as the final shape of the rosen queen appears does he turn back to her. The same look of cold, simmering aggression lining the face of his new mask. The slender figure steps to its twin hurriedly, for to have both out in the open was a danger to all. As he goes the find head pulls at the blue cloak about its neck and lifts it off. On that coat was the scent of the golden (and a foreign bay). As he masked himself as her, she would mask as him. If the times were not so grim his genius might have let the wicked grin back on his face. But as he steps up to her side, there still is none. “Be still.” It whispers. A dainty muzzle reaches to her side, and if she would obey the command, touches a dark stain of crimson blood, opened fresh by her exertions. The bitter copper smell twists his features, for it was repulsive to have to steal it, but it was needed. From her coat he twists and smears it on his own rosen form where a cut marked the mask. He had taken her identity while she was cut, so his matched, but he did not bleed as she did, for he was not actually cut, this trick would at least buy his illusion some time. Now it was her turn, only as the gold picks up the blue cloak he hesitates. The raw skin on her back coming into sight makes him pause, but it must be done. And besides, he wouldn’t mind making her pay for her words. The blue cloak (if she allowed) was thrown over her with as much gentleness as he could find in himself to give. Now it was set. And even his anger could not keep back the pure joy at seeing the plan come fully to view. At last he, masked in her own flesh, turns back to her, a smile finally back on his face. “Now dear you’re being completely unfair.” The rosen figure steps off, the full tail whisking playfully behind. “Look how much fun you’ve had with the tiger already.” The masked figure had moved from her, turning its back on her, and the path down the slopes. He looks back for a moment, the final release of his tension breaking to see the plan fully in place. “My turn. Go.” The last word was cold, teeming with the frustration still so freshly boiling from her words. Go, says he. Go and leave me in peace and freedom. Not a word more he says before turning away, hoping to deny anymore serpentious words from leaving her lips. Yet, this new chain which ties them is not made of paper like the Basin’s had been. Though he tries to rip it off, his eyes watch her all the while, softening to see her strain. And in his chest a gladsome fury, but laced with the hidden anger, readies his blade against the maker of her agony. "talk talk talk" OOC:: His emotions are everywhere....so idk Thranduil
His words are clever and bright
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@ Hotaru
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