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Rikyn
That the girl is always such a bitch in response to his equally unappealing behavior is a vast part of the reason why his well of dislike for her seems to deepen with each meeting. She is not cowed by how much larger he is than her, nor does she ever seem worried that she is a hobbling cripple; the snowy damsel cares not at all for the fact that she is an inferior mutant, or that he was a Prince of a people among whom even the least desired were of more value than she. All of these things should make her innately submissive to him, but she is, as always, obstinately her own being.
It makes Rikyn want to throttle and shake her, to say the least. The feeling only deepens when her pretty aqua eyes flicker across his face, the softening of pity on her features deplorable, though he honestly doesn’t notice that her sympathy (however fleeting) is what makes his stomach clench and heart harden so against her. He figures it’s just that Erthe is, well, Erthe, and that the feeling of utter disgust that besieges him is correlated entirely to her existence, rather than that he rejects his feelings time and again, preferring the ease of baser emotions. Such as anger, what fills him now, or sadness, that which had filled him yesterday, and brought him to the beach in the first place. He prefers elation, or even boredom, to the horrible broil of enraged snakes twisting in him now, and the little white bitch just keeps kicking the basket. "I want to know why you even flew down here!" uproariously demands the stag, one of his bloodied hooves slamming into the beach and his tail whistling audibly as it strikes the air behind him. She’s right. He doesn’t even know why he’s chased her down like this, other than that he couldn’t bare to have her walk away. His mind mocks him in as many words, flashing images of other people who walked away, who never looked back. He’d be damned if he let someone as punitive as Erthe do that to him, or if he let anyone ever do it again. "Always nosing in on shit that isn’t any of your business, things that are bigger than you are," he condemns, the irony that much of what he blames the pale maiden of are faults of his own, "fighting Gods, interrupting elders, fucking with wolves to see the flash of their teeth. One of these days…" His lips bloom into a smile, dark. Stone and steel, calls some small voice in the back of his head, a voice wreathed in golden light, pure, and calm. He drives a sword through its heart, listens closely for the ragged sound of its death. His hooves take an angled step forward so that his hot, heavy breath is close enough to touch her perfect white skin, his muscular figure threateningly close as he slips his muzzle closer to the nearest dainty white ear. "One of these days, those teeth are gonna grab you, and they aren’t going to let you go."  |
@Erthe
