mothers make the man
“I am never in the mood for conversation.” Anatoly could have laughed, could have sneered. There is no fault he can not find in her, in this woman he has set to be his enemy. Never in the mood for conversation and yet she calls, forcing it. Never in the mood to speak with one so lowly as he, soldier of her mother’s people. Perhaps his hatred blinds him to her, certainly it riles him, but that is something for him to pick apart later; when he does not stand inside enemy walls before the very object of his rage.
“I hardly expected you to remember me, having never properly met.” He grins, a little sharp, a little sheepish, affecting acceptance and just the slightest touch of resignation in the tone of his voice. For all appearances it is as though he had hoped she might have heard of his exploits, of his prowess, of the raids he had succeeded in and the glory he had returned to their people. As though he had hoped she might have known of him. “I am Anatoly, and as ever my purpose is the survival of the Davke.” That he does not count her as one of their number is hardly worth saying.
She had failed her trial after all.
“I heard rumours that we were gathering once more, and that you were treating with the King.” He says, as though he had not considered doing so himself and discarded the potential as foolhardy, as dangerous to their continued survival. “I wanted to see for myself.” Somehow, he encompasses the stronghold, the monarch, and this newest plot in the shrug of his shoulders and toss of his head. A dangling gem click click clicks against his horn before stilling, drawing attention to its subtle shine and his senseless adornment.
Soft. He knows how weak metals and useless jewels look on a man, one anyone, when they can be bartered for more useful things. Knows that he used to pick targets based on how the gleam of their accessories tried to hide away the inanity of their personal lives. An easy mark, a glittering show-pony, weak.
It’s at odds with the grin on his face, the prowl of his steps. He presents himself as a tamed tiger; reluctant, but whose claws were none the less filed. Perhaps he might be reintroduced to his natural habitat, perhaps the desert might swallow him whole if they tried. Not quite dangerous (not yet).
He’s always liked to play with truths.
“I hardly expected you to remember me, having never properly met.” He grins, a little sharp, a little sheepish, affecting acceptance and just the slightest touch of resignation in the tone of his voice. For all appearances it is as though he had hoped she might have heard of his exploits, of his prowess, of the raids he had succeeded in and the glory he had returned to their people. As though he had hoped she might have known of him. “I am Anatoly, and as ever my purpose is the survival of the Davke.” That he does not count her as one of their number is hardly worth saying.
She had failed her trial after all.
“I heard rumours that we were gathering once more, and that you were treating with the King.” He says, as though he had not considered doing so himself and discarded the potential as foolhardy, as dangerous to their continued survival. “I wanted to see for myself.” Somehow, he encompasses the stronghold, the monarch, and this newest plot in the shrug of his shoulders and toss of his head. A dangling gem click click clicks against his horn before stilling, drawing attention to its subtle shine and his senseless adornment.
Soft. He knows how weak metals and useless jewels look on a man, one anyone, when they can be bartered for more useful things. Knows that he used to pick targets based on how the gleam of their accessories tried to hide away the inanity of their personal lives. An easy mark, a glittering show-pony, weak.
It’s at odds with the grin on his face, the prowl of his steps. He presents himself as a tamed tiger; reluctant, but whose claws were none the less filed. Perhaps he might be reintroduced to his natural habitat, perhaps the desert might swallow him whole if they tried. Not quite dangerous (not yet).
He’s always liked to play with truths.
@Avdotya
anatoly
