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06-29-2015, 04:45 PM
Cathun spilled out the information the prince so desperately craved, and though he watched as the other boy seemingly deflated, fell apart from his coals and his embers, the little blue scion found he didn’t truly care. No sympathy, no empathy, crawled amongst his bones and veins, and for a few instances, he may have been as frigid, as rigid, as distant and glacial as his father. Like a mercenary, he’d gotten what he wanted; and a more selfish inclination to flee, to escape, to wander off into the abyss snatched at his heart, at his mind, at the quiet connection between fox and boy (he could feel tiny, miniscule Orsino beating a war crescendo, a nefarious pulse, full of wiles and immoralities, and he pondered over which one was more sinister than the other, which was the antagonist, which was the provocateur). But he was grateful too, for Cathun didn’t have to tell him a damn thing, and he’d still be searching amongst the gallows, the shadows, and everything in between. His mother’s scholarly pursuits seemed to prosper again, winning over the inevitable swing of Machiavellian, primordial longings, and fierce, resolute ruminations; the lad dropped his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Cathun.” The smile wrapped around his lips and ensnared eldritch inclinations, snagging into innocence, into hope, into concoctions and stirrings of finding his long lost friend as he glanced back upon the silver, only erupting briefly to ponder over her current whereabouts. Because…why would Aithniel be in the Dragon’s Throat? When they journeyed there, all three of them, the musketeers, the Lilliputian daggers, the tiny, promising girl and boys of eternal winter, she’d mocked its sultry heat, its torturous sands, its woebegone state, drummed a false name past her throat, whittled it for all to see. Had something changed her mind? Had someone pressed her towards a more nurturing land? Had she found some mission, some purpose, amidst dust and dunes, instead of their ice, their rime, their regime? A portion of him was afraid to know the truth, that it would scatter and skim and then skewer all of his own ambitions, and another part of him merely coveted the savagery, the blunt, keen edge of simply knowing why she’d left and why she’d fled and why she stayed there without them. What made her wander away? What made her stray? Why didn’t she come back? Why did she think she had to escape? Cathun’s offer was nearly perfection – and though the colt knew the way, he couldn’t relent the fact. He could pretend. He could act. He could play another one of fortune’s fools, to achieve, to acquire, the information he craved. Though the stag of fire seemed completely reluctant, a bestowal was a bestowal, and the greedy, avaricious sentiments building and brewing between the colt’s ears couldn’t be abashed. “I’d love to go there with you!” Erebos settled it with an audacious wink, as if there was naught to fear, naught to fester, not to ruin – and perhaps, on the way, he could ponder over why Cathun seemed so resistant, opposed, and unwilling to go to his own home. OOC;; Bahahaha. X) TAG;; @[Cathun] |
- table by Niki -
