. Winter is Coming .
The thin squire had his shoulders hunched, getting comfortable with the way he was sitting when a musk that he had most definitely scented before came into range. The lad did not turn his head to cast strange gazers upon the knight, but his portals flickered a bit to the side, awaiting for the vampire to come into view. When he does, the boy turns his attention swiftly back to the big russet male, concious of the sapphire eyed general placing himself beside him. Long time, no see. The words were gentle, carressing the boy's ears as a lover would their partner's bodice. Shivers ran up the fellow's spinal cord without permission. NeMO, since he had walked past the territory lines, had felt an uneasy air between him and this male sitting here beside him as if he were an old friend that had survived the bellum's of time. No, NeMO felt that he should hold himself right in front of this being. That being said, he slowly shifted so that he was sitting upright, to attention. The unease was not the kind that is bestowed upon a soul with the arrival of a predator. Rather, it was the feeling one should get when the one they wish to be praised by is around. Not that NeMO knew that he was watching the older male at all. He did it without thinking about it. He nodded in reply, deciding that he didn't know the words that should be sent out in reply to such a conversation. Ever the awkward one, he was. Polite, yes... intelligent, yes... but awkward.
Brunette portals flickered in the night atmosphere and caught onto a rather interesting spectacle. The paint queen whom had come in not moments ago was... staring. NeMO froze. His breath stilled to but a low exhale and quiet inhale... and he watched as a smile crept its slippery way up onto her cheeks. The adolescent kept her gaze, knowing that he had done nothing to incur any punishment for anything at all, and then he exhaled again, slightly dipping his dial in a slow movement. His audette twitched and the young warrior shook his nape, a vain attempt to dislodge that illogical chill that was still sliding its horrid way up and down his bones. He did not follow the woman's movements as she moved over towards Eric and seated herself beside the man. He kept his gaze straightforward. It was none of his business what they spoke about. So nice of you to come, Eric. He couldn't help it. He looked over. She had such a pretty voice... how could he not want to see the divine being who sent it out? His heart hammered violently against his chest cavity when she turned that serpentine gaze on the bastard himself. A pang of panic grasped his lungs, altering the way he breathed in the slightest of ways, almost an undetectable difference in respiration. Almost. Greetings, stranger. I've not been home for a small while, and there are new faces I see. The smirk flitted back to her jowls and NeMO's listeners swiveled backwards in uncertainty. Why... why would she smile at him? Sure, he had done nothing that would deserve a punishment, but that also meant he had done nothing to be praised with such a precious thing as a smile. Stupified by the action, he had no idea how to respond to it. Tell me, dear-- what is your name? She was talking to him right? A quick glance without moving his skull reassured the demon offspring of this and he looked back to her, casting a subtle look at Eric before he opened his ivory lined mug to reply. He hesitated immediately, however, and his mouth shut with an audible click. Why? The answer is simple. Habit.
The boy knew that things were run differently in this country... he knew that packs had more respect for their members than his birth one had for even family members or pups, for that matter. But he still was caught up in those rules. They entangled him as a web does to a fly. The more he tried to accept the new ways, the more futile his attempts became. His eyes fluttered to the big male, nameless to him, though dubbed Quirino, and he bit his lip. Was he even allowed to speak? He closed his eyes and flicked his tassel very, very slightly. He had his suspicions about the torture of speaking aloud without being given permission to. His jaw clenched beneath his flesh. He opened his eyes halfway and stared at the ground, reminding himself to stay sitting straight as his elder was. But, he did not answer the female's question. It was a weakness, this curse of his. But it was also, at times, his greatest strength. Being the bastard, he was taught his principles and rules. Being the bastard, he was taught to accept others without question. Being the bastard, he was expected to be suspicious of other kingdoms. Being the bastard, he was expected to be seen, but not heard. At least until he was granted permission by an authoritive figure. And he had been given no such permission.
|| NeMO || teen || male || love || Andere Seite || kiki ||
|