DOMECQ
He can feel her gaze on his pelt, it hasn’t moved an inch from it since he walked up, and DOMECQ relishes in it, ignoring her pointless observations made with a coolness that she must know gives away (by its very existence) the anger that she must be feeling. She nods, her head lolling like a servant ducking away from their master before sprinting off to their next task. It has the same sense of urgency, or rather, severity, as if destiny calls her away.
With a shrug he turns to also pace away, his broad form slow in its actions as all boulder-like things are. Perhaps the rest of the day would be spent likewise, and he would go seat himself in a sunny place and grow moss and host small creatures in his shadow. The life of the rock, what a damned brilliant thing.
This thought, and only this thought, is stealing the intelligence from the brute’s mind at the moment the girl speaks again; he startles from his reverie to train that emotionless stare on her once more. She looks to be holding something back behind those pale lips, but they only speak disdainfully, maybe even a little haughtily. For a moment, DOMECQ cannot help looking confused, but as in the dark form of all ill-mannered wolves, it only makes gaunt the shadows on his face. His voice is mild, colored with surprise. “Trying to upset you? Hardly. I am only speaking the truth.” He laughs, shifting back around to face her in that slow, suspenseful way of the lethargic finding themselves suddenly interested.
“Now why would I waste my time bothering you of all others, wolf? Are you special?” His eyes glint, there’s a steely cast to his voice now when he adds, “Do you want me to make you cry?”
Her gaze is back, all pale gray and sun-washed, giving them an eerily light shade. DOMECQ’s amusement does not falter; in fact, he is intrigued to hear how she defends herself. She’s so aloof with that meandering look of hers, one moment trained out to the lake, the next measuring him up again. She needs to stop trying so hard; why bother keeping up appearances around him?
I mean, it’s hard standing next to perfection, he’ll grant her that, and so for her mistakes--no, misconceptions--her pardons her. His cards are currently on the table, and he’s excited to see what she’ll do with them. Oh, maybe bite him, maybe spring at his throat with that energy coiled in her tightly wound form...He can only hope. The feisty ones were always the most fun.
[ CALL FEAR BY ITS NAME ]
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