.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
04-07-2016, 10:04 PM
|
He does not move as the behemoth approaches, planting a bite upon the basilisk’s cheek, a kiss of brotherhood. Reginald allows this; he breathes snorts softly in response to his brother’s display of affection, yet he does not reciprocate it, passionless as he is towards these ideals of kinship. Blood runs deep and strong, important, yet the physical nature of the monster resides only with the trysts of the night, the matches of the day, his blood and sweat and muscle reserved for the intimacies of war and sex. Abraham is his wombmate, brother in bloods of all kinds; he feels no need to display this. The truth is apparent. The sea beckons me. My dragons and I hunted, they feasted. Grey eyes sweep towards the place his brother indicates, holding witness to a bloated, salt-covered carcass lays in the sea-foam. Reginald’s brows raise. “Ah,” he says, and in his mind he takes note of the passion in his brother’s voice as he speaks of the volatile beauty of the sea, how enamored, connected and close he seems to be with the salt-kissed behemoth of waves and storms. He had not realized the sea held such a pull for Abraham; he keeps tabs on that bite of information, tucking it away for later, just in case. He is not shocked as Abraham lays his claim upon the mare (whom he would have very nearly forgotten, save for the atrocious white upon her face, making her remarkable) and he nods, once, acknowledging the stake of his brother upon her sex, leaving her be, silencing the effortless lust that had roused on sight of her coupled form. It is only when her hind leg lifts, a bullet cocked in the barrel of a gun—it is then his eyes cut to her, and something warm rises up in him, spilling over in the form of—laughter. He laughs at her, in her face. “You’ve pissed her off, it seems!” He chuckles, watching her cute ferocity, her adorable antics—for she is still woman, a claimed woman at that, and he brushes off her fury as nothing more than righteous filly tantrums (indeed, he wonders how much of the filly still resides in her bones). He turns and walks on, and the snicker falls from his lips merrily, delighted by her audacity (what a shame; she would’ve made a fine fuck). “Control her,” he says carelessly, throwing these words back toward his brother as he continues down the beach; he cannot linger, he is on duty. (But oh, how he wishes to linger). "talk talk talk" R E G I N A L D Walk the razor's edge Cut into the madness Question all you trust |
@Abraham
--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!
--All force is allowed to be used against this character!
