Яikyn

This time, I make no assumptions until she speaks, having met another with an ebony body and amethyst veils recently. A cat accompanies her this time, while she hadn’t when we’d last walked together, but she also seems happier by many leaps and bounds; for instance, she initiates conversation, rather than me having to drag it out of her. Perhaps it is the feline, who I look to now with a cursory glance, a childish interest in felines making him more than the usual blip on my radar that bond mates tend to be, a smile brightening my features as I note his greedy gaze, and how it lingers on the metal.

She’s pretty like she always is, all fine gemstones illuminated with crimson light so that she seems to be made of blood rather than violet from the right angles. Her words have an air to them that makes a cold line paralleled by fire run down the length of my body, ears raising and smile a quirky, lopsided thing, unsure what to make of being accused of grave robbing – or if she’s condoning it. A chuckle, almost nervous, sounds from my mouth.

I find no answer in her tone as to which her statement implies, nor in the touch of her gaze across my prize and my skin, or in the sweep of her feminine curves as she closes her approach some small distance away from me.

Old friend, she says, and I’ll admit it feels good to hear someone other than Erebos call me that word. If she was chastising me, I’ll forgive her, for no reason other than that she’s deemed me worthy of such a title. I obviously demand respect, and usually am given it, but you couldn’t force anyone into actually liking you all that much, could you?

"Wandering, I suppose," I answer, because I’ve done a lot of that, "and picking fights I shouldn’t."

My smile is impish, the sort of cheeky grin that besieges a rogue who has yet to have been killed in his escapades, though he’d seen the dark tunnel of the end looming. It makes me grateful to have found the armor. Maybe it’s why I did, some guardian spirit having drawn me here to protect me from my own stupidity.

"You seem well," I remark next, looking over her with more than an ounce of lustfulness (it’s hard to control yourself when all these urges are still new, beckoning with promises sweet), the cold air marked with white plumes of breath that obscure my lecherous gaze, "what brings you south? On patrol again?"

there's no place to hide down here