Uwaritace
08-03-2017, 09:39 AM
The rain fell on him.
His heart was unruly, a mixture of the anger of the slain, and the curiosity of the child; whatever was happening in front of him was ..enthralling. It was a facet of emotion he either did not possess, or simply ignored; it was foreign and it was mortal and somehow, so, so beautiful. (Not to mention useless, and that was probably why Kaos had elected not to feel it.)
It was grief. It plucked at his brows, twisting them into a concerned mask, but upon his broad, long-jawed face, it probably looked anything but empathetic, and with eyes of black-and-teal—the color of so much recent death—how could he seem anything but that killer?
And yet, he felt for the stallion caught in the crossfire of pride and desperation. He had suffered, where he would not have needed to, had some things in history not gone as they had.
Regret didn't move you forward, so Kaos was reserved with his regrets, too.
He listened. He listened, because that was why he had come—not to poke and probe the wound, to bleed it, or to rub it in (but honestly, how can he not, when he is what he is?). He had come to listen, to learn, to follow his own advice. So his spectral tail, for the moment long and tangled, swished around his crooked hocks once as he stood in the rain.
"No," he finally said when there was something to answer, something tangible for a creature awkward at genuineness. Silence, on his part, lingered for a moment, joined by dark smoke seeping from the corner of his mouth. "No," he said again, as if he'd been deep in thought. He hadn't. Not really.
He fought the urge to move, to pad closer, to somehow wind himself around the downed stallion and—what? Smother him? Breathe false life into him, false strength? Seal away that part of his memories? Mind control him, turn him into a puppet?
No more shortcuts. No more games. Wasn't that what he had said? He chewed on his lips for a moment.
"I don't want to be seen as ..trying to buy you," he finally began, "but is there anything I can do for you?" He paused. He didn't want to bait Zèklè, if the idea was not to occur to him, but for good measure, he thought it to himself: I will not be surprised if you ask me to leave you alone, for the rest of your life.
Could he? Would he? Was he honorable enough? His eyes glowed dimly in the rain, and he waited.
[ @Zèklè ]
His heart was unruly, a mixture of the anger of the slain, and the curiosity of the child; whatever was happening in front of him was ..enthralling. It was a facet of emotion he either did not possess, or simply ignored; it was foreign and it was mortal and somehow, so, so beautiful. (Not to mention useless, and that was probably why Kaos had elected not to feel it.)
It was grief. It plucked at his brows, twisting them into a concerned mask, but upon his broad, long-jawed face, it probably looked anything but empathetic, and with eyes of black-and-teal—the color of so much recent death—how could he seem anything but that killer?
And yet, he felt for the stallion caught in the crossfire of pride and desperation. He had suffered, where he would not have needed to, had some things in history not gone as they had.
Regret didn't move you forward, so Kaos was reserved with his regrets, too.
He listened. He listened, because that was why he had come—not to poke and probe the wound, to bleed it, or to rub it in (but honestly, how can he not, when he is what he is?). He had come to listen, to learn, to follow his own advice. So his spectral tail, for the moment long and tangled, swished around his crooked hocks once as he stood in the rain.
"No," he finally said when there was something to answer, something tangible for a creature awkward at genuineness. Silence, on his part, lingered for a moment, joined by dark smoke seeping from the corner of his mouth. "No," he said again, as if he'd been deep in thought. He hadn't. Not really.
He fought the urge to move, to pad closer, to somehow wind himself around the downed stallion and—what? Smother him? Breathe false life into him, false strength? Seal away that part of his memories? Mind control him, turn him into a puppet?
No more shortcuts. No more games. Wasn't that what he had said? He chewed on his lips for a moment.
"I don't want to be seen as ..trying to buy you," he finally began, "but is there anything I can do for you?" He paused. He didn't want to bait Zèklè, if the idea was not to occur to him, but for good measure, he thought it to himself: I will not be surprised if you ask me to leave you alone, for the rest of your life.
Could he? Would he? Was he honorable enough? His eyes glowed dimly in the rain, and he waited.
[ @Zèklè ]
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
