BE BOLD, BE BOLD
BUT NOT TOO BOLD
Valefor seems to perk up with a bit of friendly conversation; his ears twitch forward, and his lips hint at a smile. Septimus meets it with his own, and, for a fraction of a second, considers moving his wing to rest it across the boy’s back. He’d done it to his siblings back home, when something seemed to be bothering them, and something always seemed to be bothering Valefor. It is only his basic comprehension of things like common courtesy and personal space which prevents him from following through with the impulse.
Probably for the best – it may well have ended in disaster.
Valefor seems impressed by the drawing, which does nothing to smother Septimus’s already-bright grin. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely, then tosses him an ambiguous, mischievous look, which borders on a smirk. “I’ve had plenty of time to practice.” He lets his gaze linger a moment longer than it needs to, willing to dance around the subject of his age but unwilling to admit it outright. Thousands of years of practice, at least; long enough for any compliments on his skills to feel largely undeserved, though he takes them anyways, because no polite person turns down a compliment, and he has never minded to have his ego stroked anyways.
When he asks about Novus’s gods, he is given a response almost immediately – disappointingly, Valefor was not present for the summit. However, his posture and expression both suggest that he is not done speaking, from the somewhat faraway look in his eyes to the way his tail (a leonine thing, or draconian – draconian, he decides, after a moment of allowing his stare to linger on it) twitches back and forth, which suggests to him that he is deep in contemplation. Septimus doesn’t push him. He waits, his stare almost exceedingly patient. (He is used to having all the time in the world, after all; it has not made Septimus a creature inclined towards instant gratification.)
Finally, Valefor remarks on the character of the gods – that he has never met one, here or in whatever land he was born in, and he doesn’t want to, for they never seem to be up to any good. (He supposes that he has heard of truly benevolent gods far more rarely than troubled gods, full of petty conflict and punishment and trials. Then again, he supposes that mortals would always have an easier time fathoming a god that resembles them than any truly perfect, omnipotent being.)
What Septimus wants to ask is what do you know about gods? What makes you say that? He has never seen one anywhere, so he is sure that he doesn’t know enough to have an opinion; for Valefor to know, he must know something that Septimus does not. However, he decides that line of questioning is rather tactless, and he opts for something more neutral instead. “Where were you born?” Most of the Scarab’s workers seemed to be native to Novus; Valefor, apparently, was not, and he was curious about the land he hailed from.
Perhaps he’d visited, at some point or another.
@Valefor || <3
"Speech!"
BUT NOT TOO BOLD
Valefor seems to perk up with a bit of friendly conversation; his ears twitch forward, and his lips hint at a smile. Septimus meets it with his own, and, for a fraction of a second, considers moving his wing to rest it across the boy’s back. He’d done it to his siblings back home, when something seemed to be bothering them, and something always seemed to be bothering Valefor. It is only his basic comprehension of things like common courtesy and personal space which prevents him from following through with the impulse.
Probably for the best – it may well have ended in disaster.
Valefor seems impressed by the drawing, which does nothing to smother Septimus’s already-bright grin. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely, then tosses him an ambiguous, mischievous look, which borders on a smirk. “I’ve had plenty of time to practice.” He lets his gaze linger a moment longer than it needs to, willing to dance around the subject of his age but unwilling to admit it outright. Thousands of years of practice, at least; long enough for any compliments on his skills to feel largely undeserved, though he takes them anyways, because no polite person turns down a compliment, and he has never minded to have his ego stroked anyways.
When he asks about Novus’s gods, he is given a response almost immediately – disappointingly, Valefor was not present for the summit. However, his posture and expression both suggest that he is not done speaking, from the somewhat faraway look in his eyes to the way his tail (a leonine thing, or draconian – draconian, he decides, after a moment of allowing his stare to linger on it) twitches back and forth, which suggests to him that he is deep in contemplation. Septimus doesn’t push him. He waits, his stare almost exceedingly patient. (He is used to having all the time in the world, after all; it has not made Septimus a creature inclined towards instant gratification.)
Finally, Valefor remarks on the character of the gods – that he has never met one, here or in whatever land he was born in, and he doesn’t want to, for they never seem to be up to any good. (He supposes that he has heard of truly benevolent gods far more rarely than troubled gods, full of petty conflict and punishment and trials. Then again, he supposes that mortals would always have an easier time fathoming a god that resembles them than any truly perfect, omnipotent being.)
What Septimus wants to ask is what do you know about gods? What makes you say that? He has never seen one anywhere, so he is sure that he doesn’t know enough to have an opinion; for Valefor to know, he must know something that Septimus does not. However, he decides that line of questioning is rather tactless, and he opts for something more neutral instead. “Where were you born?” Most of the Scarab’s workers seemed to be native to Novus; Valefor, apparently, was not, and he was curious about the land he hailed from.
Perhaps he’d visited, at some point or another.
@Valefor || <3
"Speech!"
AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONSthe two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow❃please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence
