He sees her—gliding on a waveless, ripple-less pond, shrouded in mist; it is the serenity of her arrival that enrages him, taunts him endlessly, sends his heart careening in careless fits of red and black.

He slithers forward to the shore; the ground melts beneath him, black tar that grasps his scales and drips into nothingness below. He does not care to pay attention; it is the reality he inhabits. It simply is. He does not care for the implications.

“You’re late,” he bites, serpent’s teeth and tongue clicking in disapproval as she glides near enough for speech. Grey eyes glitter smartly with barely-veiled impatience. He wonders at her presumptuousness, her leisurely pace when she very nearly ruined the timing of such things. When one says they are to attend an appointment, they attend it—and not several minutes later than what is considered appropriate. He was not aware she was capable of such tardiness. He always thought her so punctual and put-together.

“The tea is very nearly cold,” he rasps, and the pristine china teapot balancing on his head seems to rattle and quiver with subdued rage, “When I say noon, I mean noon, not noonish.” He slithers forward, fretting over the quality of the cream, if the tower of sugar cubes still stands proud and steady inside the bowl.

“Come dock, and I’ll pour your cup,” he hisses with snakebreath, waiting for the boat to make its crawl toward the shore so that he may board—and they may start their long-awaited discussions…





(OOC note: Reginald will be a basilisk for this entire thread!)
"This is how I talk"

The world is light and fleeting around them--ephemeral as the sweet kiss of mist in the tongue of a candle’s flame. It slides around them, thoughtless and serene, shapeless until a shape must take underneath the wandering eyes of the companions. Shifting unheeded in the corners of the serpentine eye, the world is ignored by the great, scaled serpent as his muscles contract and flex, gliding with surprising smoothness towards the edge of the boat.

He climbs aboard, and like all else in a world that will linger evermore in the edges of their consciousness, his anger ebbs away, forgotten and shapeless, lost in the heels of her explanations. “Fair enough,” he concedes, and great, thick coils settle themselves neatly underneath him, occupying a boat that would seem impossible to be able to carry such a weight. His fuss was probably all for naught, at any rate; the tea is not boiling, although it will certainly still be pleasantly warm upon the tongue. He straightens his tie absently; she was not so late, after all. “Your feathers are well preened as ever,” he says in a smooth, tart tone—business and formal, a correct observance of etiquette rather than something honest and heartfelt. She did bring cookies, after all. And he had been short with her earlier, hadn’t he?

The tip of his tail slithers from behind him; it reaches upwards, grasping the delicate handle of the china teapot from his head and settling it gently upon the tiny table that was so graciously made up and prepared. He sets the pot and the sugar bowl; the small pitcher of cream, should she so desire it; two intricately-patterned plates with cups to match. That snake-lips would have trouble gripping the brim of a little teacup did not cross the basilisk’s mind. It did not need to. He was here to drink tea over stimulating conversation and that’s exactly what was about to happen.

“Tea,” he grandly presents; he does not know the kind of leaves that steep within the kettle. He only knows she requested tea, and he has provided. “This set belonged to my grandmother, I’m told,” he explains, for some light talk is desired before something heavy and thought-provoking, right? “She passed before I was born, but many of her heirlooms and treasures were granted to my family. I made double sure that every trace of arsenic was scrubbed clean from the pot. It is certainly usable at this point...” He speaks, and a snake’s tail slithers about, pouring gracious amounts of steaming amber liquid into either cup, and offering her saucer.




@[Maren] <3
"This is how I talk"