boys, boys don’t cry
boys keep it all inside
“Night Court, yes. Thank you,” Fang offers the Dusk sovereign a smile, and while it pales in comparison to the brightness of her own, it feels genuine and easy on his lips. With this being his first venture outside of Denocte since his arrival to Novus, he hadn’t been sure what to expect when it comes to an outsider visiting another court, and is pleased to find that there is no hostility. He remembers the brutality of the Ridge in Caeleste, and the bitterness he had harbored for them because of it… And how quickly little grudges dissolve when nightmarish monsters come to prey on everyone.
Briefly flicking his large ears back, the red stallion refocuses on Uzuri as she inspects the drawing of his armor. She seems enthusiastic to lend her aid, which eases his fear that he might be infringing too much on her time. “I appreciate your help. The armor doesn’t have to look exactly as it once did, but it would mean a lot to me to have it as close as possible,” he says, nodding at her question.
His original armor had been gifted to him from his family, and he thought it meant a great deal to him then, but years of defending and protecting the people of Vasanta (his true family) had built memories around the armor that he will always cherish.
Shifting his weight, Fang glances at the sketch that she holds, motioning to the different parts as he mentions them. “The metal is bronze, with accents of black opal stones, and the silks are meant to resemble flames in color. Here, let me show you the materials I have brought with me,” lowering his head and tilting his shoulders forward, he allows the satchels to slide from his back and onto the cobblestone at his feet. There’s a bundle of silk to be used for the tassels that will hang to protect his skin, as well as some dyes to color them. He noses a large black opal stone from underneath the silks, which can be cut down for the accents.
Brushing his whiskered muzzle against the charred scraps of bronze, the stallion hesitates for a moment. “You don’t have to use these, I’m not even sure you can in their state—but they are all that’s left of the original piece,” he can hardly see his reflection anymore in the parts that aren’t blackened. There are memories here, images of fire and monsters and destruction—when he breathes, he can feels the ghosts that continue to haunt his scars from the battles.
Clearing his throat, he pushes forward, and swallows past the thickness of the memories. “I figured they might be a good reference, if nothing else,” Fang shrugs his shoulders, trying to be nonchalant about his shift in tone.
tag; @Uzuri
“…”
Briefly flicking his large ears back, the red stallion refocuses on Uzuri as she inspects the drawing of his armor. She seems enthusiastic to lend her aid, which eases his fear that he might be infringing too much on her time. “I appreciate your help. The armor doesn’t have to look exactly as it once did, but it would mean a lot to me to have it as close as possible,” he says, nodding at her question.
His original armor had been gifted to him from his family, and he thought it meant a great deal to him then, but years of defending and protecting the people of Vasanta (his true family) had built memories around the armor that he will always cherish.
Shifting his weight, Fang glances at the sketch that she holds, motioning to the different parts as he mentions them. “The metal is bronze, with accents of black opal stones, and the silks are meant to resemble flames in color. Here, let me show you the materials I have brought with me,” lowering his head and tilting his shoulders forward, he allows the satchels to slide from his back and onto the cobblestone at his feet. There’s a bundle of silk to be used for the tassels that will hang to protect his skin, as well as some dyes to color them. He noses a large black opal stone from underneath the silks, which can be cut down for the accents.
Brushing his whiskered muzzle against the charred scraps of bronze, the stallion hesitates for a moment. “You don’t have to use these, I’m not even sure you can in their state—but they are all that’s left of the original piece,” he can hardly see his reflection anymore in the parts that aren’t blackened. There are memories here, images of fire and monsters and destruction—when he breathes, he can feels the ghosts that continue to haunt his scars from the battles.
Clearing his throat, he pushes forward, and swallows past the thickness of the memories. “I figured they might be a good reference, if nothing else,” Fang shrugs his shoulders, trying to be nonchalant about his shift in tone.
tag; @Uzuri
“…”
Lost boys like me
are free.
are free.
please tag Fang in all replies; magic and force are permitted
