everything is more beautiful because we are doomed
A slight start shows in the shiver of the cloak as it slides against what Alecto can only assume is the rest of this creature’s body. Quickly following is that wry half-smile, one edge of his mouth turning up in amusement, even as his eyes wander back to the people they both now watch. Bodies press nearer; Alecto moves to stand slightly more forward than Savannah, turning him just so, preventing further jostling and alarm until at least part of the mystery is solved. No matter how much of an eyesore it may turn out to be in the end. He is, if nothing, curious for the evening and entertained. Alecto lives for that rush, for something to pique his curiosity and pull him from the monotony of whatever is left in and of his life. One should not live a life so mundane and quiet – he aims not to whenever he can.
So he says nothing as he blocks the people (save those with libations for grab), and instead looks to the other when soft words tumble from softer lips. It is a mouth half shadowed, darkness its only defining feature despite the shape that can be ferreted out if you squint your eyes just right. He does not squint his eyes. At the end, a nod, ever so slight so that Savannah would strain nearer and wonder if it was imagined or not. ”Caligo is fond of them, and they are fond of our markets. It is said they bring luck to Denocte. Our little guardians. Once, there was a king with a dragon who set fire to the Arma Mountains and stopped passage to any who wished enter. There was a woman in red once who spoke of it, but the whisper of her is gone now. A mystery – like you.” Another sip, another glance, and then a guffaw.
Laughter mixes with the smoke and sound, drifting off and eaten by the stars. “Turning a friend to a newt! You grow more fearsome by the second. And you are so panicked at your clothes. Is there some sort of dress you’d keep hidden underneath?” Another long look, this one sweeping brazenly from the top of the cloak arcing over his horns, warmly down the unseemly spine of it, and at last down to the ground where hidden feet should be. Nothing left to know of him save the darkness he shows. Unfortunate given Savannah’s alarm. Lips purse in thought. "You are a mage then seeking greatness through your study and diligence?” And he wonders if it is a magic that would aid him.
What magic would he need save that to bring back a little princeling so set on running. How foolish – both he and time will never stop in their quests forward.
Pulling himself from memories of ivory skin and a crowned head, Alecto merely hums and looks to the people who revel in the press of another’s skin so near theirs. Woodsmoke toils with their hair, he knows the scent will cling to them until they bathe once more or smother it in some ungodly amount of perfume. It is not a terrible thing to smell, he imagines, if he must smell it for hours.
The silence holds until a name is offered, lips tilt upward – marginally – in what is a small victory. “Savannah,” the word settles in his mouth, is rolled around like some rich flavor he would savor for an eternity if only time would let him, and then it comes out as a secret for only the two of them to enjoy. "Do you judge so easily on looks and yet hide your own, my mysterious friend? People are not so much their appearances, are they?” And what a rotten hypocrite he knows he is, for he came purely out of the curiosity of another’s appearance. The people who are so much more physically – he craves their company and good knowledge as dearly as he craves the taste of life itself. Could he swallow it down by the spoonful, he would never stop that meal. “You,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “intrigue me.”
“Am I so awful a companion you must not remember when I leave?” Alecto looks to the empty cup pointedly and then away. “You need only send me on my way and I shall leave all the sorrier for it.”
So he says nothing as he blocks the people (save those with libations for grab), and instead looks to the other when soft words tumble from softer lips. It is a mouth half shadowed, darkness its only defining feature despite the shape that can be ferreted out if you squint your eyes just right. He does not squint his eyes. At the end, a nod, ever so slight so that Savannah would strain nearer and wonder if it was imagined or not. ”Caligo is fond of them, and they are fond of our markets. It is said they bring luck to Denocte. Our little guardians. Once, there was a king with a dragon who set fire to the Arma Mountains and stopped passage to any who wished enter. There was a woman in red once who spoke of it, but the whisper of her is gone now. A mystery – like you.” Another sip, another glance, and then a guffaw.
Laughter mixes with the smoke and sound, drifting off and eaten by the stars. “Turning a friend to a newt! You grow more fearsome by the second. And you are so panicked at your clothes. Is there some sort of dress you’d keep hidden underneath?” Another long look, this one sweeping brazenly from the top of the cloak arcing over his horns, warmly down the unseemly spine of it, and at last down to the ground where hidden feet should be. Nothing left to know of him save the darkness he shows. Unfortunate given Savannah’s alarm. Lips purse in thought. "You are a mage then seeking greatness through your study and diligence?” And he wonders if it is a magic that would aid him.
What magic would he need save that to bring back a little princeling so set on running. How foolish – both he and time will never stop in their quests forward.
Pulling himself from memories of ivory skin and a crowned head, Alecto merely hums and looks to the people who revel in the press of another’s skin so near theirs. Woodsmoke toils with their hair, he knows the scent will cling to them until they bathe once more or smother it in some ungodly amount of perfume. It is not a terrible thing to smell, he imagines, if he must smell it for hours.
The silence holds until a name is offered, lips tilt upward – marginally – in what is a small victory. “Savannah,” the word settles in his mouth, is rolled around like some rich flavor he would savor for an eternity if only time would let him, and then it comes out as a secret for only the two of them to enjoy. "Do you judge so easily on looks and yet hide your own, my mysterious friend? People are not so much their appearances, are they?” And what a rotten hypocrite he knows he is, for he came purely out of the curiosity of another’s appearance. The people who are so much more physically – he craves their company and good knowledge as dearly as he craves the taste of life itself. Could he swallow it down by the spoonful, he would never stop that meal. “You,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “intrigue me.”
“Am I so awful a companion you must not remember when I leave?” Alecto looks to the empty cup pointedly and then away. “You need only send me on my way and I shall leave all the sorrier for it.”
