Soft plumes of frosted air fluttered gently beyond his flared nostrils as Boleyn stared out across the glassy surface of the lake. Everything had been iced over for weeks after winter left the world to waste like so many seasons before. If this one felt any different, the warmonger couldn’t tell for certain, but it seemed as though each new year around the sun also appeared to steal another sliver of his genteel heart. The sullen quiet that existed in a world made to wait while the snow crept through only served as a bitter reminder of the things that remained unspoken and unresolved. Boleyn scoffed disdainfully to himself at the thought of falling eager prey to such enfeebled nonsense, but quickly bit it off at the crepitation of snow and ice underfoot. When he brought the ruthlessness of his cerulean gaze to reprimand whomever found themselves with the gall enough to approach him without proper warning, a slight crease pinched between his brows.
At a distance, he couldn’t mistake the almost incandescent glow of fairy wings shifting from blue to green to yellow beneath the weak midwinter sun. It had been quite some time since the warmonger had first met Caelum some months ago, but he hadn’t sought out her company since. He’d tried to be respectful enough by appearing preoccupied to avoid any resulting small-talk or errant advances, but had always been left feeling as though he carried rocks in his belly shortly therafter. How was he supposed to speak of his weaknesses? Of the monotony? His pedestrian existence? The neverending night… It all plagued him too greatly at the time to bother unpacking it before a female he knew too little about. Even if she did seem to bring him a measure of amusement.
When his name shivered across the glacial breeze, a token of near-affection spoken easily from her lips, his previous hardness seemed to unravel by degrees. He’d already turned to face her fully then, bringing the bulk of his body about with some force, his muscles pulling and relaxing as he watched her intently. Caelum seemed miffed about his showing up to Vitreous Lake and some small part of him bore the guilt of telling her not so long ago that he would seek her out to survey her wares. Despite the tightening in his chest that spoke of the further shame he felt at what she might deduct from his sudden appearance, he proffered a small half-smile. “Nice to see you again flower girl,” he greeted teasingly. She was all soft curves and refined lines, a beautiful composition of muted silvers and deep blues designed to entreat his weary eye. A real treasure for someone worth a little something, he knew. Although, the thought brought on a sudden flare of indignation as though he might actually give a damn.
As she prattled on with her predictable niceties, Boleyn found himself studying her with a softer eye. She hadn’t come to deserve his ire for any reason he could fathom, but there was a buttoned-up quality about Caelum that he so enjoyed heckling when given the chance. It was as if the cool flame he’d kept stoked over the long, cold nights seemed to shift toward something warmer and more recognizable. Enjoyment? And better still, he could see that flame igniting in her as well by the soft tilt of her humored smile. Little nymph. “Correct. On both accounts it appears. You do seem to keep a close eye on my whereabouts, no?” His lips tilted upward again in a bemused smirk at her taunting, the brightness of her eyes drawing his stare like a hunter to prey. “Careful now, I’m starting to think you missed me while I was on patrol. Surely the flower girl herself knows a little bit about commitment?” he soothed with a knowing grin.
Like the cat that got the cream, Boleyn closed the distance between the two with ease as he glanced at the fabric adorning her white-draped shoulder. It appeared to be little more than an ivory cloth made of mid-grade material that may or may not be soft to the touch. As he eyed the cloak, he moved toward her left side to brush his muzzle along her withers, imitating a studious agenda. “Cute.” However, he kept moving toward a structure in the distance that resembled the famous shop Caelum so pridefully spoke of. "I’ve been well enough, I suppose,” he offered without grace toward his welfare. It’s not like he was going to admit to being plagued by restless nights and terrorizing nightmares. “On the subject of poisoning,” he continued as he slowed to allow his little bloom to keep pace, “I’ve come to determine that I am in fact safe from any homicidal fantasies you might have. I do apologize for not stopping in sooner, but time simply wouldn’t allow.” What a lie. “Though, I have a hard time believing I made you that promise in the flesh as I’m certain I only asked for an invitation. Must’ve been something I asserted in your dreams, little flower girl. What other kinds of promises have I made?” He turned then to smile in full, his eyes heated and his lip quirked just so. He hadn’t been this candid or carefree in quite some time. And with beautiful company no less. “Come now, show me this tea shop I have heard so much about. I’m certain it will be just as lovely as its owner.”
His gaze softened then, an inkling of pride and admiration shining through before being shuttered once again behind the cloudless blue of his eyes. It had been a long time since Boleyn had been inspired by anyone or anything. A long time indeed.
At a distance, he couldn’t mistake the almost incandescent glow of fairy wings shifting from blue to green to yellow beneath the weak midwinter sun. It had been quite some time since the warmonger had first met Caelum some months ago, but he hadn’t sought out her company since. He’d tried to be respectful enough by appearing preoccupied to avoid any resulting small-talk or errant advances, but had always been left feeling as though he carried rocks in his belly shortly therafter. How was he supposed to speak of his weaknesses? Of the monotony? His pedestrian existence? The neverending night… It all plagued him too greatly at the time to bother unpacking it before a female he knew too little about. Even if she did seem to bring him a measure of amusement.
When his name shivered across the glacial breeze, a token of near-affection spoken easily from her lips, his previous hardness seemed to unravel by degrees. He’d already turned to face her fully then, bringing the bulk of his body about with some force, his muscles pulling and relaxing as he watched her intently. Caelum seemed miffed about his showing up to Vitreous Lake and some small part of him bore the guilt of telling her not so long ago that he would seek her out to survey her wares. Despite the tightening in his chest that spoke of the further shame he felt at what she might deduct from his sudden appearance, he proffered a small half-smile. “Nice to see you again flower girl,” he greeted teasingly. She was all soft curves and refined lines, a beautiful composition of muted silvers and deep blues designed to entreat his weary eye. A real treasure for someone worth a little something, he knew. Although, the thought brought on a sudden flare of indignation as though he might actually give a damn.
As she prattled on with her predictable niceties, Boleyn found himself studying her with a softer eye. She hadn’t come to deserve his ire for any reason he could fathom, but there was a buttoned-up quality about Caelum that he so enjoyed heckling when given the chance. It was as if the cool flame he’d kept stoked over the long, cold nights seemed to shift toward something warmer and more recognizable. Enjoyment? And better still, he could see that flame igniting in her as well by the soft tilt of her humored smile. Little nymph. “Correct. On both accounts it appears. You do seem to keep a close eye on my whereabouts, no?” His lips tilted upward again in a bemused smirk at her taunting, the brightness of her eyes drawing his stare like a hunter to prey. “Careful now, I’m starting to think you missed me while I was on patrol. Surely the flower girl herself knows a little bit about commitment?” he soothed with a knowing grin.
Like the cat that got the cream, Boleyn closed the distance between the two with ease as he glanced at the fabric adorning her white-draped shoulder. It appeared to be little more than an ivory cloth made of mid-grade material that may or may not be soft to the touch. As he eyed the cloak, he moved toward her left side to brush his muzzle along her withers, imitating a studious agenda. “Cute.” However, he kept moving toward a structure in the distance that resembled the famous shop Caelum so pridefully spoke of. "I’ve been well enough, I suppose,” he offered without grace toward his welfare. It’s not like he was going to admit to being plagued by restless nights and terrorizing nightmares. “On the subject of poisoning,” he continued as he slowed to allow his little bloom to keep pace, “I’ve come to determine that I am in fact safe from any homicidal fantasies you might have. I do apologize for not stopping in sooner, but time simply wouldn’t allow.” What a lie. “Though, I have a hard time believing I made you that promise in the flesh as I’m certain I only asked for an invitation. Must’ve been something I asserted in your dreams, little flower girl. What other kinds of promises have I made?” He turned then to smile in full, his eyes heated and his lip quirked just so. He hadn’t been this candid or carefree in quite some time. And with beautiful company no less. “Come now, show me this tea shop I have heard so much about. I’m certain it will be just as lovely as its owner.”
His gaze softened then, an inkling of pride and admiration shining through before being shuttered once again behind the cloudless blue of his eyes. It had been a long time since Boleyn had been inspired by anyone or anything. A long time indeed.
Boleyn
@Caelum - now this is more his speed. I am liking it!
