a devil on the run, a six gun lover, a candle in the wind
Feathers ruffle, only for a moment, rippling across the harpy's form in a display that causes blues and greens to shimmer in the shadows of his plumage. Eyes as deep and dark and black as the rest of the feathers flash up in a face that's ghost pale in comparison, flecked with markings that make him appear splashed with ink. Depends on where it's comin' from, he purrs through the Attuned bond in comparison, the great, curved talons of his feet digging further into the mud.
Sight of the manticore has suspicion prickling through the bond, then - after a recent encounter with a dragon, and with flight feathers still growing back in, he's not keen for a repeat performance. Still, doesn't really stop him from making decisions that some would consider stupid, or reckless. You throw somethin' in the pool, make it bleed? he wonders, jutting his chin at the crimson waters.
Sight of the manticore has suspicion prickling through the bond, then - after a recent encounter with a dragon, and with flight feathers still growing back in, he's not keen for a repeat performance. Still, doesn't really stop him from making decisions that some would consider stupid, or reckless. You throw somethin' in the pool, make it bleed? he wonders, jutting his chin at the crimson waters.
Arsen
