He knows very well just what this mistress of night cloaked beauty is all about - but were they all not one in the same in the very end? Every female loved a male who could smooth talk his way in her good graces, to play on words and make them sound more appealing to the ears, to speak to their very souls. He was not only skilled in such verbal ways, but he also knew how to act upon them - or perhaps he just followed whatever impulse was tugging at him in the moment.
His father never imagined him becoming such a wayward beast as he allowed his emotions and impulses to run nearly his entire life. Helios was to be a boy raised into a champion, to out-kill even the vast numbers that his father had carried with him his whole life. Granted, he had done some dirty deeds when his temper was set loose, but he was not hell bent on destroying every life he crossed. Though perhaps a few needed to be culled.. In good time. Instead, he is lazing about Moladion with a free spirit, meeting with whatever female happens to cross his way with lustful intentions and soaking up the cool that the shade provides him in these warmer months. He does not even realize it, but he needs to strive for something greater for himself, to bring his name to infamy among Moladion’s masses. If only he had the right motivation..
She is brought to him from her halo of light, the cool tones of her ashen fur bouncing lightly as she moves with practiced finesse, her features not bearing the enjoyment nor the dissatisfaction of his company. She seems to be a woman raised on strict standards and is likely not to sway far from them, if at all. As she nears ever closer to him, she does allow the smallest upturning of her lips to display some contentment with their current situation as she now brings herself to lay before him with poise. It is now that he chooses to readjust himself so that he is no longer simply propping himself on his elbow, slowly shifting his body weight so that he may mimic her position and meet her gaze head on, their paws near to one another as they are angled at a face-off.
A short chuckle is released from his handsomely scarred muzzle before he is allowed to reply. “Whatever it is that they wish me to do.” His tone is given in an assured manner, as if he were in a little secret that only the shadows of the cavern would know, or perhaps she would deem him as some lonesome kook. It did not matter how the aristocratic she-wolf viewed him in the end; he was beginning to enjoy himself in her presence already and if she were to spin some story of the devil-eyed psycho in the caverns when she returned home, then so be it. He would enjoy that attention just as much as he is content with her own.
tear at the throats of the fathers of deception
eight yrs //
hyperion x fiera //
faline & none