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10-27-2016, 10:04 AM
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Rikyn
Most girls are eager to converse, brightly fluttering from one topic to next, as if the conversation was a garden, and each individual “she” a butterfly moving from flower to flower. Mordecai was more like a bird, watching the garden. Aloof, watching from the boughs, she occasionally dropped down with swift precision, before beating whatever worm dared poke its head from the soil into unconsciousness. With her mutilated conversation dangling from her beak, she’d then fly back up into the branches, waiting for yet another topic to maul and devour. So dies the early inches of this conversation, ironically enough. Talk about what? she demands, adding in an additional comment afterwards that I’m not sure I should find insulting or complementary. Does she think I’m stupid? I certainly am not that. I have plenty of knowledge to prattle on about, but I’m also not a butterfly, fluttering from flower to flower, either. Narrowing my eyes at her suspiciously, retorts begin to form and coil about in my head even before she insults me, just in case that’s what is coming next. Did I hurt your feelings? dances from the tip of her tongue, and all those carefully formulated insults are swallowed abruptly; the mental sound of Duir’s heady laughter (at me, not her joke) floods about my thoughts, and the image of her oddly seductive smile dances over my overwhelming sense of indignation. I am not laughing or smiling at all, my jaw stiffening and head rising from its casual position, the leisurely sway of my tail stilling into a stiff arc. "No," I abruptly answer as soon as I can wrap my head around the notion that, maybe, she was joking, hoping to make me do, well, exactly what I just did. Good going, moron. Looking back out over the still, red pool, and the red leaves coasting its surface, I try to steer the conversation away from poking fun at me. I’m not very good at those sorts of games, you see; my ego is far too large and sensitive to tolerate much prodding. "You’re still living in the Throat, I suppose?" I ask, curiosity about where exactly it was now driving the question more than a desire to really know about her life. The last time we’d met, it had been rather obvious she was one of the desert people, as obvious as it had been meeting Aelin: thin pelts, dusty, hot smells mingling with some sort of peculiar greenery (where were the green things in a desert, anyway?). I haven’t picked up any of those defining smells on her, really, but that doesn’t mean that she’s not been out on some sort far away, long term, bullshit patrol (the sort of thing I’d decided I’d rather not do, and why I was here, now).  |
@Mordecai
