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04-19-2015, 09:41 AM
She was an intriguing, curious thing – the little prince found himself enamored by how different she was from all the other youths he’d encountered. She puzzled, she perplexed, and she bent the wires of his mind into different directions. Where those of his age romped, played, gallivanted across empires and sovereigns, she turned into a bird and asked about species, why she held similar traits to him, yet still remained so contrasting, and he could venture, down down down into the confines of his own knowledge, however brief, however finite, and offer her paltry sums, but they felt bland in comparison to all of her calculations. One could see her physically maneuvering jigsaw pieces in attempts to discover and reorganize her thoughts, her patterns, her way of thinking, and he wasn’t certain of his role in the matter anymore; if he was a mere conduit, a catalyst, for learning, for sagacity, for wisdom, or just a blank slate to bounce subjects off of. The boy might have frowned, irked and irritated for some unknown reason (it rankled his spine, like edges, like fringes, of claws, curling back and forth over the ridges of bone). He’d only wanted to call her something, anything, because girl didn’t seem fair, right, or justified, everything should have some portion of distinguishing calibers – but as she squirmed, obviously uncomfortable, the scion wanted to dissolve the notion entirely. Perhaps he’d been forcing her into something she didn’t want, didn’t crave, aspiring to remain nameless, a mystery, an enigma twisting and turning on the horizon, flying by the vibrant plumes of her Pegasus lines or gliding on her second set as a cawing raven. He shook his head, felt the breeze ruffle a few downy tufts of forelock away from his brow, a little more somber, a little less exuberant. He’d erred somehow, pushed and meandered where he wasn’t supposed to (his sire wouldn’t have cared, but he gave no credence to social means, and his mother may have disapproved, hoping she’d taught him better), and strived to conduct himself in a civilized manner again. The tones of the lithe cretin bounced along, drifting towards her in a sea of apology and regret. “Sorry – if you don’t want a name, you certainly don’t have to have one. I just thought-,” his speech cut off as his gaze narrowed in harpooning speculation, furrowed and drawn together one moment, then widening the next, continually surprised by the raven filly and her abilities. He stared, though not in disbelief (he’d seen a great many things in his short lifetime), but at the stone-mason qualities of her changing form, rapidly becoming fixtures of marble and monuments, fascinated, fixated, riveted on her constant changes. Was she a chameleon? Was she capable of altering, molding, and adapting to many other appearances? Soon, she was a piece of the ground altogether, fused and embodied into the hard surface of the Basin’s boundaries, shackled and tethered to the solid foundation and fortifications. Erebos smiled again, completely enjoying the show, forgoing where his vocals had been slashed short, and announcing his intrigue. “What a neat trick! You have a lot of cool abilities.” He tilted his head, surveying and studying all over again, saying naught of names (which was too bad, because one had just burst and popped into his brain like a brilliant work of art, and he let it sit there, simmering and quelling), but more of her talents. “How long can you stay like that?” OOC;; --- TAG;; @[ ] |
- table by Niki -
