BE BOLD, BE BOLD
BUT NOT TOO BOLD
Staying here – within walls, confined like a wolf in a cage – is enough to make his skin crawl.
Septimus is a child of wild places and things. Denocte is beautiful, but it is beautiful in the manufactured and constrained way that a garden is beautiful. He prefers the overgrowth, gnarled and twisting and unconstrained, full of teeth. There are teeth here, too. He has seen them here and there, figments of bejeweled danger in the shadows. Cities are dangerous things too, with predators hiding in plain sight – and they are rarely so impassive as the ones that he encounters in the wilderness.
He’ll leave soon. His energy has recovered, and he’d rather find somewhere more permanent (at least until he regains his magic) to stay; he still has plenty of questions about Denocte, but he can always return after he’s done a bit of preliminary scouting of the rest of the continent. He moves in the shadows of a winding hallway, when he hears a voice; he can’t make out the words, only that it sounds effeminate. He glances out of the hallway, and he finds himself staring at the source of the voice.
She’s a pretty thing, he notes – slender and small and dainty, and the color of white-washed sea-foam, albeit with bright, spring-leaf eyes; a great pair of feathered wings sprout from her shoulders, and, though she moves with a purpose (albeit one that seems rather defocused), her strides seem hindered by exhaustion. (The silken strands of her mane are falling out of place, and there is a faint gloss to her eyes.) It is her murmuring that attracts his attention, though. “And, once again, I’m lost.” Well. He can certainly relate to that sentiment. (A smile threatens at the corners of his dark lips.)
He steps out of the shadows of the hallway, moving into her line of sight. “Forgive me for overhearing your plight, but we both seem to be a bit lost, Miss,” he remarks, with a tilt of his skull and a smile that does not show his sharp, sharp canines. “Perhaps we can search for…whatever you see...together? Two sets of eyes are better than one.” Septimus is rarely cowed by the prospect of adventure, but he can generally recognize a foolish idea when he has one, and the notion of wandering around without a map in a land he knows very little about, beyond what he has managed to pick up about the current political situation (which is troubling at best), certainly seems reckless at best. However, assuming that what the young lady is searching for is within the walls of Denocte, he doesn’t expect too much trouble – in spite of tensions with their northern neighbor, the interior of the night kingdom seems stable and safe enough.
@Cassilyn || <3 <3 <3
"Speech!"
BUT NOT TOO BOLD
Staying here – within walls, confined like a wolf in a cage – is enough to make his skin crawl.
Septimus is a child of wild places and things. Denocte is beautiful, but it is beautiful in the manufactured and constrained way that a garden is beautiful. He prefers the overgrowth, gnarled and twisting and unconstrained, full of teeth. There are teeth here, too. He has seen them here and there, figments of bejeweled danger in the shadows. Cities are dangerous things too, with predators hiding in plain sight – and they are rarely so impassive as the ones that he encounters in the wilderness.
He’ll leave soon. His energy has recovered, and he’d rather find somewhere more permanent (at least until he regains his magic) to stay; he still has plenty of questions about Denocte, but he can always return after he’s done a bit of preliminary scouting of the rest of the continent. He moves in the shadows of a winding hallway, when he hears a voice; he can’t make out the words, only that it sounds effeminate. He glances out of the hallway, and he finds himself staring at the source of the voice.
She’s a pretty thing, he notes – slender and small and dainty, and the color of white-washed sea-foam, albeit with bright, spring-leaf eyes; a great pair of feathered wings sprout from her shoulders, and, though she moves with a purpose (albeit one that seems rather defocused), her strides seem hindered by exhaustion. (The silken strands of her mane are falling out of place, and there is a faint gloss to her eyes.) It is her murmuring that attracts his attention, though. “And, once again, I’m lost.” Well. He can certainly relate to that sentiment. (A smile threatens at the corners of his dark lips.)
He steps out of the shadows of the hallway, moving into her line of sight. “Forgive me for overhearing your plight, but we both seem to be a bit lost, Miss,” he remarks, with a tilt of his skull and a smile that does not show his sharp, sharp canines. “Perhaps we can search for…whatever you see...together? Two sets of eyes are better than one.” Septimus is rarely cowed by the prospect of adventure, but he can generally recognize a foolish idea when he has one, and the notion of wandering around without a map in a land he knows very little about, beyond what he has managed to pick up about the current political situation (which is troubling at best), certainly seems reckless at best. However, assuming that what the young lady is searching for is within the walls of Denocte, he doesn’t expect too much trouble – in spite of tensions with their northern neighbor, the interior of the night kingdom seems stable and safe enough.
@Cassilyn || <3 <3 <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
