02-17-2021, 01:57 AM
Phillip's voice was tight and Armande smiled to himself. The role of picador was not one he took often. Most times, his indomitable force of will, the sheer overwhelming nature of his arguments, or the projection of his towering persona was enough to bring people in line.
But there were those who bristled, their backs up, ready to do anything but what was required. Obsequiousness was not an arrow in his quiver. But a sharp prick or the slap of rebuke could pierce their wall of pride.
It was enough that it had worked. His Eminence, the Holy Father, the Pontifex Maximus, and Sovereign Servant was willing to forgo his need of titles so as to work together.
There was no gloating on his face- nor the laughter that wanted to erupt as he overheard snippets of Valeriya's conversation with Rowan. Patricus was a beautiful man. He'd have to be dead not to notice that. He enough measure of the man, though, to not hold any breath in the hopes that he join their union, as interesting a thought as that might be.
As they walked, Armande took note of the barrenness around them. At Phillip's words, he nodded. "Landscape change much over millenia. Whatever was divine in Eden seems to have gone." His voice became thoughtful as he opened himself to the world, feeling, for the first time, the lack of life. Foolish, of course, as grass and insects still inhabited this land.
He slowed, inhaling, looking around and then at his companions. "It feels dead." Yet something lived. He felt, rather than heard, a thrumming, as if underground.
The helicopter and camper were hidden by the tree line they had left. The gentle undulations of ground carpeted in long bent grass seemed an ocean, and something was moving underneath. His eyes went sharp as he scanned the landscape.
His voice sharpened, his words for Valeriya and Rowan. "We are not alone. Be ready."
[[Rowan and Valeriya, see PM]]
But there were those who bristled, their backs up, ready to do anything but what was required. Obsequiousness was not an arrow in his quiver. But a sharp prick or the slap of rebuke could pierce their wall of pride.
It was enough that it had worked. His Eminence, the Holy Father, the Pontifex Maximus, and Sovereign Servant was willing to forgo his need of titles so as to work together.
There was no gloating on his face- nor the laughter that wanted to erupt as he overheard snippets of Valeriya's conversation with Rowan. Patricus was a beautiful man. He'd have to be dead not to notice that. He enough measure of the man, though, to not hold any breath in the hopes that he join their union, as interesting a thought as that might be.
As they walked, Armande took note of the barrenness around them. At Phillip's words, he nodded. "Landscape change much over millenia. Whatever was divine in Eden seems to have gone." His voice became thoughtful as he opened himself to the world, feeling, for the first time, the lack of life. Foolish, of course, as grass and insects still inhabited this land.
He slowed, inhaling, looking around and then at his companions. "It feels dead." Yet something lived. He felt, rather than heard, a thrumming, as if underground.
The helicopter and camper were hidden by the tree line they had left. The gentle undulations of ground carpeted in long bent grass seemed an ocean, and something was moving underneath. His eyes went sharp as he scanned the landscape.
His voice sharpened, his words for Valeriya and Rowan. "We are not alone. Be ready."
[[Rowan and Valeriya, see PM]]