That I might chisel a statue, line on line, out of a marble’s chaste severities
I’m quite certain I should report you and… your friend… to some authority for bodily harm against a guest.
Pravda is taken aback by the man’s commentary. He is so taken aback by it, in fact, that he begins to speak before the other is entirely finished— “Sir, truly, I apologize—I meant no harm by it. Please, don’t do that. We both seem like reasonable individuals—“
He realizes too late, and with far too much embarrassment, the other had been joking. Pravda stops speaking and a slow, vibrant blush colors his pale cheeks. He is thankful for the darkness, for the firelight, for anything that might hide the heat from his face. Prigovora’s thoughts waft through their Bond. M-meat?
A constant undercurrent of predatory hunger. Pravda swallows, and mentally shoos his bonded away. The raptor does not oblige, but settles back onto his haunches to observe the pair. Pravda clears his throat awkwardly, and shifts his weight. I think you’re too lovely to throw in a cell and let rot, so you’ll have to keep me company instead.
“Errr… well, thank you. Very much.” The other does not seem to leave much room for debate on the matter, but his compliment is as awkwardly received as his joke. “I am not sure how good of company I will be,” Pravda warns, rather lamely.
But the other’s vibrant, brazen, curiosity has piqued his interest. He smiles belatedly and studies the other with a stare that lasts a little too long to be anything but awkward. “I’m Pravda.”
He has nothing else to give, save his name.
