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Her rage is unbridled in his eyes, for only a moment—and it excites him. He does not care for it, truly, and yet there is a thrill that lingers even as he walks away, something in his mind tainted with that fury of hers dancing in her eyes. In that instant, after an entire lifetime (yet he does not know it), she has become remarkable to him. He will certainly remember her, next time. Ka’Ora senses the shift of the mood through her bond with master. A streak of danger enters their meeting, and while it thrills the Basilisk, it instead bestows a sense of anxiety upon the harpy. She dives, and great wings beat in an even, learned measure as she lands upon her master’s wither, her customary position. Ka’Ora’s weight causes the Basilisk to turn around, just as a battle begins to form behind him. Just as he scents the blood dripping from his brother’s nostril. Something excited, obscene, bursts in his mind—and, surprisingly, Ka’Mate also dives down from the skies, his heart pounding with exhilaration at the aerial display of savage scales dancing through the air. He lands upon Reginald’s back as well, a position he rarely takes—and yet it feels so right to be here, to observe two skirmishes at once, and a harpy’s heartbeat races with his indecent enthusiasm for it all. It does not matter to Ka’Mate that it is his master’s brother who is being accosted by a common whore; such a subtext is lost upon a savage, primal, primitive mind such as Ka’Mate’s. Even in that moment his mind buzzes wordlessly with pure animalistic pleasure, for there is blood there is blood there is blood there is blood there is blood— Reginald watches. There is a struggle of wills here, of magic thrown about, of dragons flying through the air, vicious and cruel, spewing the elements from their breaths as they fight in the honor of their liege lords. Abraham bleeds; Reginald is surprised that she has made first blood. And yet it does no good for her, for she is ensnared by his brutish brother, and her dragon will surely be killed by dragonesses that heed to his brother’s will. And still she spits her venomous words. It seems as though she is helpless against the need to throw impertinent insults. So much a mare, so purely, plainly a filly at heart. Ka’Ora is poised to attack at the slightest command, to aid and abet her master’s kin; Ka’Mate stands with wings half-stretched, lewdly panting, fire-eyes dancing wild and ready to leap into the fray. They are brother and sister cocked and loaded--waiting for the trigger to pull. Reginald does nothing. He watches. Abraham had said that she submitted to him. Well, then. It is Abraham’s ploy now to keep her locked in her place, a space she evidently did not leap into by choice. He does not care for the harlot’s wellbeing either way—if she bends her knee to the Leviathan, or Abraham ends up killing her in frustration (oh, how Reginald knows that feeling well). But he will not stand in to his brother’s side, in an altercation that has nothing to do with himself. This is a battle between their wills, a clash between master and slave, superior to inferior—and Reginald is simply here to patrol. He will not tarnish Abraham’s pride by lending him in a false victory. He will allow Abraham his chance at conquest. (But, oh, how he wish it were him.) "talk talk talk" R E G I N A L D Walk the razor's edge Cut into the madness Question all you trust |
@Abraham
--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!
--All force is allowed to be used against this character!
