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HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE He unleashes an angry snort at her words, stomping one massive hoof and pinning his ears flat to his scalp. "This is not a time for levity, girl." Does she not care that he was so worried? Does she find his expression, his posture, his concern, so amusing? Does she not realise that she should count herself very, very lucky that he's feeling these things towards her when normally he would give nary a fuck about somebody drowning themselves in a frozen lake? Arrogant as it undoubtedly is, Volterra thinks that she should feel herself blessed for having caused such pesky emotions to erupt in him, because, as she accurately deduces, he is not the sort of man to waste his worry except on those that deserve it. He'd thought she was one of those select few worthy of his concern. Now he's not so sure, given her easy dismissal of his emotions - hurt flashes across his features, but it's quickly replaced by the familiar, and vastly more comforting, blazing mask of anger. In his wake arrive his dragons, having both been taken by surprise at his sudden headlong gallop through the forest. They plummet like red and gold darts into the frozen red lake, screaming their joy as their large scaled bodies smash through the ice and disappear underneath. They emerge without fail each time, though; they are not made of soft flesh like Erthë. As the titan's breathing finally begins to slow, he fixes his glare more firmly onto the pale mare, noticing not for the first time how age has stripped away any girlish ungainliness and replaced it with smooth curves, with feminine contours. Is it morally wrong for him to notice such things when he's also known her as a foal, young enough to be his own daughter? No, he decides, because she's not his daughter, and he is a man before he is anything else. The onyx monolith forces himself to calm, to try and soften the steel-edge gaze he's placed upon her. At her question he does not react, just stares her dead in the eye. "What do you think?" he retorts, his voice a baritone, animalistic growl filled with every emotion he's currently feeling - relief, hurt, and the traitorous pulse of lust. |
@Erthe
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
