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06-20-2016, 01:30 PM
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Rikyn
At least the golden man decides to be useful, when he at last perceives what is happening (and quits assuming that I’m simply enjoying a bit of river standing or something). However, the assistance is paired with belittling commentary, and I find myself glaring hotly at Erebos (who is Thranduil, I remind myself) for the first time in my life, wondering if I should make my exit while he’s obviously distracted with the turtle. Some part of myself, small, appeals to my kindness, however, and though I stay, I do roll my eyes dramatically and ponder, heavily, pushing him down into the rapids.
I bet you can’t walk upon water while on your back, “old chap.” A bemused smile traces my lips and is followed by a mocking guffaw, because the arrogant fool can’t get him out as easily as he thought he might. It’s not until he lowers his crown to use only one of his horn that I deign to do more than watch like a perturbed brat, dropping my own metallic blade to assist in prying the stone loose. While I can’t exert myself to my full strength (having to focus on the moss slicked footing beneath me, and the rushing water, as well), we do manage to lift the heavy ass rock enough for the turtle to free his trapped foot. Of course, Thranduil reacts as if he did it alone, this act which was entirely his own idea. The sight of such arrogance and emotive cheer across Erebos’ normally somber, quiet face is foreign and rouses anger and distrust within me. I don’t like these feelings being associated with Erebos anymore than I really like the fellow making me feel them, and so I guess, in that regard, anyway, all of this makes sense. As the turtle plops happily back into the coursing water, carrying on his way, I turn my back to the false roan unicorn almost in the same moment he decides to carry on with his impish taunting. With a few graceful bounds, I’m across the natural bridge, and back on solid ground. I should probably thank him for helping me get the turtle loose, but I’m too hostile with him (and his feigned fanciness) to bother being polite. I don’t even know what he means, “you next?” Me, next to have my body mocked, cruelly, before a best friend? Next to be trapped between a stone and another, or freed to the river’s wild dash? I would have none of these options, and so I cast my gaze over my shoulder to look at him with all the hot headed nature my dam had become famous for writ over every inch of my face. "I’m not a colt anymore, you gold plated ass," stiffly intones the usual cheerful tenor of my voice. The threat is not elaborate as those I cast with less seriousness, perhaps not even one which can be noticed by someone like Thranduil; I will let him invent his own machination of whatever torment awaits him should he decide I’m nobody worth respecting. Again, the vision of Erebos smirking in that way makes me want to throttle the man who my mother had been so delighted to play weird mind games with. It’s just another reason to not like her; she had intoned upon others that I enjoyed being manipulated and manipulating as much as she did, when I really would rather they leave me the fuck alone. With a disgruntled noise, I poke my horn in his direction accusingly, eyes narrowed, ears pinned, and tail swaying vehemently as I pivot to face him on the shore. "And would you stop with this… shameless masquerade already?" I irritably snap, I fumble my thoughts around the fringes of my magic, wondering if I could force him back into his proper body if he decides to be difficult about things (I really wouldn’t be surprised if he did). "It's sickening to see my blade brother with so little moral character."  |
@Thranduil
