Yes, m’dear, it is a painful truth to swallow. I’m sorry to break it to you.” he answers to her with a sardonic smile and a playful glint in his eyes. He was having quite the bit of fun with this one, she was witty and beautiful, two traits in which he did not run across often enough. It’s a shame really that he picked one so perfect. She is quite the small one and Carnifex knows well of the complex that such small creatures can manifest; as such it is no surprise that there is slightest gleam of content in those ruby speckled eyes of hers as she sits so that she may still be near to his own height.
The male had never experienced any such shortcomings in his life. It was difficult to be raised in such a culture, yes, but he was pleased to now say that he had very well mastered the smallest of details in relation to it. He loved his heritage and the twisted cult they had created together. It was symbolic of strength, primordial dominance, and a hierarchy deeper in meaning than any that hold rank upon this mortal world. This is why packs in general mean very little to him after being raised by his vagabond mother away from her original homeland.
It is true that he had often wondered of the pack in which she had originated from, where all Exoticans had originated from, and yet he had never been too inclined to venture far enough to really find it. He was aware of the importance of passing on his bloodline and culture but as far as seeking family goes, that is the extent of it now. After all, there is no way that any of them could be worthy enough competition for himself. Exoticans were fiercely competitive when it came down to it – such is why his grandfather still holds the title of Hellborn even in death.
But Malleah does not need to know of these things although perhaps the idea of her passing along such a great lineage may have threaded its way through his mind more than once already. They would make spectacular children, truly. But he has already plucked her from the crowd for other means and Carnifex was never one to go back on a decision. Her muzzle swings closer to his own as he turns back to her and it is then that he is capable of taking in the full force of her delightful aroma. Despite her obvious residency she somehow smells of many pleasant things; a bloodied kill, flowers within the meadow, and fresh, spring grass. Those are the most prominent of things anyway. Even though it is not in the season of winter he still feels that inescapable urge – a true disease, really – something that his kind has always been burdened with.
Her intriguing dig into his personal life was caught in its raw form, a deluded question of whether he was taken or not, though surely she already knows. A chuckle begins his reply, ”Mmm, yes that may be part of the reason.” and the other reason being that he slaughters them afterward.
I AM AN EIGHT-YEAR OLD EXOTICAN BEAST OF MARVELOUS BLOOD WHO IS FREE OF CHAINS TO ANYWHERE. I POSSESS NO FURY AND HAVE CREATED NO DEMON BROOD... YET. MY MOTHER IS NOIR AND MY MASTERMIND IS FATE.