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It’s not the most fair of set ups in the wood of greetings; we’re obviously both more interested in girl than each other, and it doesn’t help that I’m not entirely good at this whole… socialization thing. Don’t get me wrong, I have all the tools, and even a proper length of training in the art of wielding one’s tongue. I’d been taught these things by my mother, by Deimos (who's greatest skill was intimidation, the lack of talking), and Vaelenne. I had watched manipulations of a kind Queen by a wicked woman, and seen the strength of man dominate the fickle fluttering of a women’s tempestuous heart; I had seen the conversations between Lord and God, God and people, God to God.
I suppose the difference between the other linguists and I is this: I don’t like the art. Like a dancer bent to the task by a desirous mother, I lack the heart to go out of my way to make others feel welcome, wanted, conversed with. They should do that for me, the lost Prince, the broken hearted one.
So when Skyfall falls into his becoming-commonplace playful repertoire with the shy damsel from the North, I let them. I quietly think back over what she’s said as he twitters off like a flock of sparrows again; the homesick welling that comes to heart makes his reply almost expected. Of course he wants to go to the Aurora Basin. It’s where we belong, but I won’t go back.
Not until I’m strong enough to enforce dominion over the snakes that coil about my heart when I think of the winged ones casting their high shadows on the white, pure snow. Blessedly, as I stare blankly in silence, Skyfall remembers I’m here. What he says smashes the dark, hateful feelings in my chest like a lot of glass. My eyebrows dodge upwards, a puzzled, offended, and amused emotional cast striking my face. Was he hitting on me? Duir’s mental laughter, silent to all but me, chimes through my head.
"Thank you?" is a question that meets the air before I can manage to even get my head to stop spinning all the way, evidenced by what comes out next, "they’re mostly girls though, now that I think about it...."
Now you’re rambling, idiot. Frowning, I clear my throat. That will help, said no one ever. An awkward, escapist’s glance is cast at the wood behind me, my brain already seeking a route out.
"Don’t let dad’s machines get you," I decide, casting a wink in their direction, tossing out hints to my prosperous lineage at them both because I can; because its what I do, and it makes me feel better about me. Especially when I’m embarrassed, and caught off guard; I don’t like not being in power, especially when the person who has stolen it is a slender, feminine creature like Skyfall.
On that captivating note, I pivot about, lion’s tail arcing in the motion, trailing to a whip-like extension as I trot off into the woods, my golden embellished fawn taking up after me from his nearby hiding place.
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