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07-13-2015, 11:47 AM
Her voice comes from behind and immediately the bloodied pair stiffens. Manhattan's hackles have risen before Knox can command her to be at attention. Knox's heart has turned, mind has prepared lies, before he has even turned around. They were born ready for this. They were born ready for anything. The long, silken tail of the ancestor lashes and twirls. Slowly, the ancestor makes a full turn to face the painted newcomer. Painted, that is, in all ways but one. Knox bears that final missing mark: the one of blood. Though it drips from his lips now, makes of him a sinister beast, he smiles through that red stain and steps closer to the mare. There is something in his stance aiming to counteract the horror of his blood red, pink, and bloodied attire. Huric is a kindness that Knox cannot waste on this mare, as inconsequential as she may appear to be. Manhattan's jaw drops and she takes in the scents, confirms what Knox suspects. She bears the scent of none of the four territories. Perhaps, in this regard, she can be of use to him. "I'm sorry you had to see this," Knox offers. His ears lower in the process of thinking, his ancestors begin to soothe him with experience. Even Manhattan knows better than to not play along, here. She perks up and plays nice, wandering closer to her master as if nothing were ever the matter. "I've been feeling a little ill, and well..." his lie is already a difficult one to believe, maybe, but not impossible. "I guess you could say my mother was a bit of a... witch doctor." In his mind, Manhattan barks laughter that is tinged with a hatred for the old hag of a mare, now dead and rotted beside the heart. "She always told me that a bit of protein could even things out." His head, rose-colored, topped with a red forelock, lowers in respect. He wipes his lips across his hock, the movement imperceptible. He catches sight of the yellow on the mare's hooes, and when Knox lifts his head he is face to face with her intrigue. He shrugs his bloody left shoulder and his smile turns to a delicate frown. "I thought I might partake in my companion's meal, but I fear I will never understand her ways," Knox concludes. Is that an explanation anyone will buy? The hunter is wearing a martyr's grand features. In his guise he is handsome and strong: he bears two scars beneath his cheek, marks of where he once died. He is trustworthy with this face, he has seen others believe anything handsome Huric tells. But will this mare? As he stands before her, blood still on his face and attempting sincerity, will she take his words as truth or an utter crock of shit? [[@[Cheveyo]--it is lovely, no worries! Did you want this to stay closed or open up?]] |
