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02-27-2016, 10:24 PM
kid
I huffed, looking up at the girl. I didn't ask for her to spew shit at me like this. "Well, whatever. It's a stupid word." I murmur, glancing off to the side and flattening my ears. I didn't want to admit to myself that she was even remotely close to being smart. She didn't deserve the recognition I was giving her, the attention. I should have just ignored her when she approached me because this conversation was making my temper flare. Bubblegum locked onto the mongrel's features, hoping for any form of expression.
This girl was surprisingly uneventful, her face didn't do anything. I'd gone through and insulted her, her family, told her her parents were total idiots and here she is blank faced. I wanted to scream and her until she did something. But there she was, as solid and expressionless as some shitty statue. I'm half tempted to stomp around her and hope she reacts somehow. Trying to assess someone who does nothing sucks.
Just as I'm about to execute my plan (insult until she cries or I get too impatient), she finally does execute a response. Her face scrunches up like she's just remembered smelling someone's month old shit that's been over baked in the sun. I take her expression, feeling victorious that my words did that to her. But I was also confused, although not showing it. How could her mother not have a choice. "What do you mean? How did she not have a choice? It's not like she had to have you." I say 'you' with a light brush of disgust, still trying to pick apart the mare and her disgusting tainted lineage. I wanted to pluck at this girl's emotions, to manipulate her emotions for my own entertainment.
This response was especially enticing to witness, the way her mouth shut and her eyes closed. I took in the subtle movements, willing my excitement to die down. I was experimenting, testing foreign waters that would open the gates to my future, to my life of manipulation and destruction.
I shrug at her noticing Volterra lacked the title he should have been given, the title I didn't think really fit him. "Well, you wouldn't call someone you've never met your father, would you?" I ask dully, eyes flitting off to the side, uneasy. Somewhere out there, Mother must be sharpening a thousand knives, getting them all ready for me. I swear she could hear me talk about this tabooed subject from a million miles away— and she would not be happy when I returned to her side.
But also I wonder where Volterra is, whether he even knows of the existence of his children, if he even remembers my mother. This is a fatal slip up on my part, thinking about the whereabouts of this ghostfather I seem to have. In all honesty I couldn't care less about where he is, that he's never shown his face before (I'm not aware that he hasn't because Mother would probably bite his dick off— She doesn't want him around us).
I notice the way she cannot complete the sentence, the way it halts from falling from her lips and stays there. it lingers and does not dare come out, and I raise my brow innocently. "Are they what?" I question, wanting her to spit the uncompleted pieces of her sentence out even though I could take a good guess at what it was she couldn't say.
Her next sentence falls out, my eyes watching her throat as she swallows thickly, noting the subtle hesitance in her syllables. If I hadn't been listening so closely and paying attention to the little things she does, I wouldn't have noticed and simply passed it off. But there I was, assessing the way she spoke after I brought up Volterra. It seemed to strike something in her, and that excited me but also brought me great confusion. Did she know Volterra?
"I don't know where it came from." I offered no help, because in reality I did not know. I didn't know that either of my parents had magic, that either of them were gifted like me. If Volterra had magic, does that mean Sabre does too? I told myself to ask Mother about magic later, when I got back— and she was less angry.
My eyes wander to the girl's face again, determining the proper words to use against her in this scenario with the knowledge I have. I take a guess, using her response as a base to my question. "You know him, don't you?"
"Talk."
This girl was surprisingly uneventful, her face didn't do anything. I'd gone through and insulted her, her family, told her her parents were total idiots and here she is blank faced. I wanted to scream and her until she did something. But there she was, as solid and expressionless as some shitty statue. I'm half tempted to stomp around her and hope she reacts somehow. Trying to assess someone who does nothing sucks.
Just as I'm about to execute my plan (insult until she cries or I get too impatient), she finally does execute a response. Her face scrunches up like she's just remembered smelling someone's month old shit that's been over baked in the sun. I take her expression, feeling victorious that my words did that to her. But I was also confused, although not showing it. How could her mother not have a choice. "What do you mean? How did she not have a choice? It's not like she had to have you." I say 'you' with a light brush of disgust, still trying to pick apart the mare and her disgusting tainted lineage. I wanted to pluck at this girl's emotions, to manipulate her emotions for my own entertainment.
This response was especially enticing to witness, the way her mouth shut and her eyes closed. I took in the subtle movements, willing my excitement to die down. I was experimenting, testing foreign waters that would open the gates to my future, to my life of manipulation and destruction.
I shrug at her noticing Volterra lacked the title he should have been given, the title I didn't think really fit him. "Well, you wouldn't call someone you've never met your father, would you?" I ask dully, eyes flitting off to the side, uneasy. Somewhere out there, Mother must be sharpening a thousand knives, getting them all ready for me. I swear she could hear me talk about this tabooed subject from a million miles away— and she would not be happy when I returned to her side.
But also I wonder where Volterra is, whether he even knows of the existence of his children, if he even remembers my mother. This is a fatal slip up on my part, thinking about the whereabouts of this ghost
I notice the way she cannot complete the sentence, the way it halts from falling from her lips and stays there. it lingers and does not dare come out, and I raise my brow innocently. "Are they what?" I question, wanting her to spit the uncompleted pieces of her sentence out even though I could take a good guess at what it was she couldn't say.
Her next sentence falls out, my eyes watching her throat as she swallows thickly, noting the subtle hesitance in her syllables. If I hadn't been listening so closely and paying attention to the little things she does, I wouldn't have noticed and simply passed it off. But there I was, assessing the way she spoke after I brought up Volterra. It seemed to strike something in her, and that excited me but also brought me great confusion. Did she know Volterra?
"I don't know where it came from." I offered no help, because in reality I did not know. I didn't know that either of my parents had magic, that either of them were gifted like me. If Volterra had magic, does that mean Sabre does too? I told myself to ask Mother about magic later, when I got back— and she was less angry.
My eyes wander to the girl's face again, determining the proper words to use against her in this scenario with the knowledge I have. I take a guess, using her response as a base to my question. "You know him, don't you?"
"Talk."
the boy king
tag me in everything
