In my peripherals, I observe him. I see the way he seems almost... flustered, I suppose, seemingly with some far off thought or memory. It is when he turns away that I become more intrigued by his behavior; it is, after all, quite an unusual thing to do in any case, least not with one you do not know so well. In any case, I might have chosen to take a lunge for him to assert domination and yet, I simply watch. The closer I get to those around me, the closer I can get to their secrets. And so, I remain in silence as I eviscerate the prey, setting it aside to be shared. We ought to move on, however, to more pressing matters. Whatever bothers him will undoubtedly still bother him at the pinnacle of this conversation and thereafter.
He speaks then and I return my utmost attention to him; I settle in more comfortably, rising up to a more appropriate posture as I watch. I pay close attention to his eyes and the fine muscles of his face, always seeking unanswered questions or half-truths in all the faces I witness. His voice, however, seems to... vibrate, like the wind. It is an undeniable shake in it as he gives me his spiel. Such a thing brings my brow to an arch, my tongue lashing out to collect the final traces of fresh blood before I speak, my voice acidic with curiosity.
There are many forms of diplomacy. Sp,e are tender and gentle like Tristan's and yet, I wonder what experience this male might have. His fur gives way to faint scars and I cannot help but wonder what lead him to that: diplomacy or a lack of.
There is a moment of silence as I continue my hunt across his features and yet, what he says next is most intriguing. Both brows arch up in curiosity, my breath exhaling as a purr of interest. It is a risky proposition, after all.