there are many paths to tread
He knows this game they’re playing. It’s one he played often growing up, albeit with a different opponent. They had tested each other with words and wit, playing the whetstone and the knife in equal parts until they were as honed and balanced as matching swords. Only then had they taken their game outside of their own circle, playing it against other souls, unwitting souls.
This game was one of his childhood, his upbringing; it was ingrained in the very fibers of his being. He would not falter, no matter how cold the king’s gaze became.
Toulouse could see the violence in Raum’s, the poorly concealed threat hiding in his blue eyes. One wrong move, one poorly placed move - and he might just find a dagger buried in his throat. It was an exciting prospect, a challenge he was determined to rise to meet. Just like he had every time before.
For a moment he was silent, as if mulling over his next words. They fit together like puzzle pieces in his mind, creeping onto his tongue, begging to be released. But which variation would he choose to tell today?
“It’s a talent of mine,” he says, his voice little more than a whisper. There’s a promise at the end of it, unspoken yet unmistakable. If Raum was listening closely enough, he would catch the horned man’s proposal. He could be a weapon for him; all he had to do was ask. My fangs, my venom, can be your’s.
He studies Raum’s face, studies the way it moves and reacts, hunting for the barest of tensions. The silver king is good, he’ll give him that; only his eyes flash and move, the rest of him as still as the desert on a windless day.
But he’s not good enough. Every shifted leg, every twitch of his silver lips, and Toulouse could crow for joy if he didn’t strange the sound before it ever reached his throat.
He steps closer, and his eyes laugh even when his mouth refuses. There are no ears to hear out here, only their’s and the vulture’s as it circles them overhead, and yet Toulouse lowers his voice anyway until its dangerously quiet.
“I’ll drink whatever you offer me, your grace.” He’s dancing with the devil he knows, but how else do you get anywhere in life when the gods are silent and offer you nothing? ”Just show me the cup.”
