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'Fashionably late, my dear, not totally and utterly late' The barb was directed towards his companion, the eagle merely giving him a pointed look in the wake of her absent voice. One that seemed to say 'move, before I try drag you off the cliff myself', and so with a click of his tongue, Kiuaji upped his leisurely trot — one that was entirely accidental in it's slow and lazy pace — into a ground covering canter. In his defense, he had been on the outskirts of the Edge when he had heard dear ol'Bov make the summons. Also, in the favor of the persecution's court, he could of been there much faster if he had been more engaged to put his perfectly curved ass to the ground and haul it. He had never been incredibly fond of councils and meetings, the particular get togethers that involved political matters and other such things. To be fair, in Dorobo, he only appeared to chafe the rest of the gathered elite and to bank in on the free wine, among doing his duty, he did love their bristling skin and the way they held their breath when he leaned in just too close for comfort. Maybe turned up when he knew the night's entertainment came in the form of a particular figurehead choking on his own spittle as their eyes rolled up into their extravaganelty decorated skull. That was neither here or there though, and this wasn't Dorobo. This was Helovia, and this was the World's Edge. Tembovu wasn't a roguish general defying the Banderi and the Makutano while Kiuaji played the part of ambassador and assassin while he sipped wine and made catty comments as the corpses littered his feet. Dripping in decadence and enjoying the attention while he carefully hooked himself into the fabric and unraveled it at the seams. If Bov called, he had little choice but to slink his way to where ever he had in mind. Matanye is the first to reach the gathering, breaking through the tree's to circle around those that gathered. Each one doesn't miss her pointed gaze, before she turns and heads back towards where Kiuaji will appear, but not before giving Tembovu an affectionate chirp. The poisoner appears just in time to witness the promotions and demotions, the not-so-graceful fall of the once frozen Queen. Sauntering out of the thicket with curves swaying and head held high — the devils wiseass smirk on his face and a mischievous glint in his eye. Once straight banners of cream and copper-gold are now coiled and curled thanks to the salt breeze and unrelenting heat working together, falling over one of his eyes as he gives Tembovu a once over. Ah, Bov, what have you done now? His look seems to say and then his piercing gaze is gone again from the handsome king. The androgynous stallion keeps distance from the rest of the herd, decidedly bored with the ascension and subsequent fall of others, he half banks that the new Queen may find her fortune fall short in her new place with such a dangerous crown upon her brow. Instead he searches for any familiar Dorobian faces and finds that he's the only one save for Tembovu. Pity, he had hoped his favorite feline unicorn was present, it would of made the place a bit brighter, he did so love their back and forths. "talk talk talk" Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts
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"let me shatter your frame of mind, my dear"
force & magic permitted on Kiuaji at all times
with the exception of maiming and death.
