ABRAHAM
So you can let it be known
I don't hold back, I hold my own
I don't hold back, I hold my own
The white dragon perched high, fiery eyes pointed down at the woman. She hissed too quietly for most to hear, but Abraham could feel it in his bones as he stepped through the doors to the training grounds. The white queen was displeased at the newcomer's smell, of her stench filling her facility. Her tail whipped behind her with her annoyance, but she did not move. She knew better than to act on what she wanted -- and what she wanted was to filet this dancer.
Abraham couldn't help but come entertain himself with what had gotten Gwyneverre so worked up. He strode easily, shoulders squared, towards the dancing woman. He scrutinized her with mismatched eyes, when finally near enough to stop and observe perfectly. He crossed muscled arms around his solid chest and lifted his chin. Abraham did not need to hide anything, and it was perfectly clear what was going on here: judgement.
"Four." The word fell from his lips matter of factly, and he lifted a single dark eyebrow. The "out of ten" was implied.
I can't be mapped, I can't be cloned
