// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //
“It does.” He murmurs, offering a small brief shrug, pushing past the souring, bitterness of that particular conversation for something a bit more fun — like the types of things he can turn into. He captures her attention with the mention of snakes, however, and the arm she holds onto begins to shift to the sleek black and bronze scales of his snakeshift, as he bobs his head in agreement. “It’s a spitting cobra that I have.” He rumbles as if for explanation and agreement — the snake was one of his favorites, specifically when it came to curling around necks.
He watches the shawl she wears slip from her shoulder but he looks past it back to her as he offers his services by means of swimming lessons to Maeve, humming a quiet laugh as he tilts his horned head. “I suppose it isn’t.” He agrees gently, smirking lightly as her next question colors the air. His steel gaze lingers on her even as she pulls away a fraction. “I can’t give away all of my secrets, now can I?” It’s a bit matter of factly said, even if it edges on a purr.
They reach the sands, however, and he pauses his steps as she steps away and blocks his path, hands suddenly on him over scales that slowly begin to recede back into tattooed skin beneath the fabric. He’s used to towering over everyone, this is no different, but he does incline his head toward her, scanning her with the edge of a smirk on his lips. “No, I don’t suppose you can.” He hums, hands rising to brush his clawed fingers along her shoulder, drawing one talon up the side of her neck. “But now I’m under the impression that I’ll have to truly stand out.” He admits with a quiet, breathy laugh, his wings flaring slightly on either side of him.
He watches the shawl she wears slip from her shoulder but he looks past it back to her as he offers his services by means of swimming lessons to Maeve, humming a quiet laugh as he tilts his horned head. “I suppose it isn’t.” He agrees gently, smirking lightly as her next question colors the air. His steel gaze lingers on her even as she pulls away a fraction. “I can’t give away all of my secrets, now can I?” It’s a bit matter of factly said, even if it edges on a purr.
They reach the sands, however, and he pauses his steps as she steps away and blocks his path, hands suddenly on him over scales that slowly begin to recede back into tattooed skin beneath the fabric. He’s used to towering over everyone, this is no different, but he does incline his head toward her, scanning her with the edge of a smirk on his lips. “No, I don’t suppose you can.” He hums, hands rising to brush his clawed fingers along her shoulder, drawing one talon up the side of her neck. “But now I’m under the impression that I’ll have to truly stand out.” He admits with a quiet, breathy laugh, his wings flaring slightly on either side of him.
some princes don't become kings
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
