REICHENBACH ROMMEL
The fact that Isorath's smile turned radiant and mischief-ridden was not lost on him, in fact the sight and information buried itself deep into the wall of his vast ribcage, tucked away for later consideration... later enjoyment.
"But you should never keep company waiting, no? Especially when they go to the trouble to making sure they are worthy of escorting a King."
He grinned, silver gaze slowly running over Isorath once more, making sure the kirin felt the warmth of his eyes — the appreciation. After what seemed like an age, he returned his gaze to the long lashed lilacs before him, admitting;
"True, very true..."
His stance was almost predatory, the smile on his lips enough to send anyones heart thundering — that muscular body so still save for the roiling shadows dancing upon his skin. They would occasionally stretch out in long fingers as if to touch the ex-King and then would dance away skittishly, tempted. He should have seen his Queen enter, should have felt her honeyed wildness — but he was encased in a cage of porcelain and gold, enthralled, unable to look away.
Her butterfly dance, something he had always adored, was lost on him.
As Isorath spoke, it felt as if a culmination was about to happen — that he'd finally break and admit himself to the allure of the antlered man. That moment was shattered by the voice that he knew better almost than his very own, though not a version of that voice that he had ever heard.
The Night King looked up abruptly, finding himself looking into the searching, hurting eyes of Florentine. She was better at masking emotions than him, better — but only just. The hurt was not cast away quick enough, the questioning pain not faded completely by her gentle smiles. Reichenbach refused to look away, his own heart thundering guiltily, knowing that his reaction to the porcelain kirin was not entirely without promise. But he could not see the hurt in her eyes without feeling it himself, without feeling a sudden and unbearable anxiety that he would lose his honeyed girl forever.
He ignored the man she was with, staring without breaking, fighting off the small sound threatening to slip from his throat as her lashes brushed her soft cheekbone. His bones groaned in warning, eyes flicking to Lysander only as Florentine looked to him — to him. He saw the slight longing there, the attraction. A flame flickered to life inside of him, cruel and angry.
He eyed the dark skinned man, saw him beside Florentine as nothing but the man she had bloomed for in that fraction of a second.
“How wonderful that inter court relations are so close,”
He wanted to beat that fucking smile bloody.
He wanted to wrap his hands around that silky neck and shake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Florentine has told me she only accepts the most handsome of suitors, and I can see why she chose you.”
Reichenbach stiffened, his eyes a cold, abyssal silver.
Then he relaxed, muscles rippling as they settled underneath his shining mahogany skin. A callous smile snared his black lips, it threatened and bled a killing calm.
"Oh?" he began, his voice a melodic baritone "So strange that she is spending her time with you."
That argent gaze flitted to Florentine, a winters sunbeam, before returning to Lysander. The shadows coiled insidiously around him, Calligo whispering his own bloody thoughts into his gold ringed ear. A tense moment passed, silent, before Reichenbach straightened, cocking his roguish head and asking;
"Tell me, what else has Florentine told you?"
@Isorath @Florentine @Lysander reich bad side reich bad side reich bad side
"But you should never keep company waiting, no? Especially when they go to the trouble to making sure they are worthy of escorting a King."
He grinned, silver gaze slowly running over Isorath once more, making sure the kirin felt the warmth of his eyes — the appreciation. After what seemed like an age, he returned his gaze to the long lashed lilacs before him, admitting;
"True, very true..."
His stance was almost predatory, the smile on his lips enough to send anyones heart thundering — that muscular body so still save for the roiling shadows dancing upon his skin. They would occasionally stretch out in long fingers as if to touch the ex-King and then would dance away skittishly, tempted. He should have seen his Queen enter, should have felt her honeyed wildness — but he was encased in a cage of porcelain and gold, enthralled, unable to look away.
Her butterfly dance, something he had always adored, was lost on him.
As Isorath spoke, it felt as if a culmination was about to happen — that he'd finally break and admit himself to the allure of the antlered man. That moment was shattered by the voice that he knew better almost than his very own, though not a version of that voice that he had ever heard.
The Night King looked up abruptly, finding himself looking into the searching, hurting eyes of Florentine. She was better at masking emotions than him, better — but only just. The hurt was not cast away quick enough, the questioning pain not faded completely by her gentle smiles. Reichenbach refused to look away, his own heart thundering guiltily, knowing that his reaction to the porcelain kirin was not entirely without promise. But he could not see the hurt in her eyes without feeling it himself, without feeling a sudden and unbearable anxiety that he would lose his honeyed girl forever.
He ignored the man she was with, staring without breaking, fighting off the small sound threatening to slip from his throat as her lashes brushed her soft cheekbone. His bones groaned in warning, eyes flicking to Lysander only as Florentine looked to him — to him. He saw the slight longing there, the attraction. A flame flickered to life inside of him, cruel and angry.
He eyed the dark skinned man, saw him beside Florentine as nothing but the man she had bloomed for in that fraction of a second.
“How wonderful that inter court relations are so close,”
He wanted to beat that fucking smile bloody.
He wanted to wrap his hands around that silky neck and shake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Florentine has told me she only accepts the most handsome of suitors, and I can see why she chose you.”
Reichenbach stiffened, his eyes a cold, abyssal silver.
Then he relaxed, muscles rippling as they settled underneath his shining mahogany skin. A callous smile snared his black lips, it threatened and bled a killing calm.
"Oh?" he began, his voice a melodic baritone "So strange that she is spending her time with you."
That argent gaze flitted to Florentine, a winters sunbeam, before returning to Lysander. The shadows coiled insidiously around him, Calligo whispering his own bloody thoughts into his gold ringed ear. A tense moment passed, silent, before Reichenbach straightened, cocking his roguish head and asking;
"Tell me, what else has Florentine told you?"
@Isorath @
