02-01-2014, 08:19 PM
The way she was looking at him. It made a chill tease the base of his spine. Like the wretch imagined turning that ridiculous weapon on him. Oh please. Please let it be so.
Blood pumping, Dane waited for her to try. He held the girl's seedy little gaze and silently begged her to listen to the instinct that tensed her muscles to attack once more. His retaliation licked the back of his mind even as the imagination before a kill sparked every hair on his body into sweet anticipation. Do it! Please! he urged.
She stayed her hand. The moment diminished. As did Dane's flickering interest in slicing Aria up with her own sword like a piece of rare steak.
Instead, he turned to something more vital: seeking his hat. The bloody thing must have blown away, born on the same gust of wind that ruffled his coat about his legs, billowed Aria's from her tiny skeleton, and rustled the carnations' willowy petals.
Her attempt at the obvious did little to crack against Dane's mood, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless. His reply snapped.
"An 'ijirah' of myth and legend. I don't believe in such things."
He said then suddenly stalked across the bed of white flowers. Nestled beneath the stems of a hundred carnations was his hat.
He picked it up and smacked it free of debris. When he looked up from a closer inspection, he let the comet of power streak clean from his grasp altogether, but only to be replaced by another roaring behind freshly glimmering eyes. "Monsters, however. Are everywhere."
He spoke gently, reverently.
Unfortunately, the hat had been snagged on the pilings, likely from streaking across the roughened cement that had also dug sharp in his palms. A waste, he thought, and Dane dropped the thing in the nearest wastebasket and returned to Aria.
He was by no means a large man, but compared to the girl and her steak-knife, he was a giant. So taking her by the hand was easy enough, but only to turn her wrist and study the hilt. "Do I not look 'okay'?"
He asked, but like her, did not seek an answer. There was nothing in him but curiosity.
"What kind of girl speaks of myths and monsters, walks graveyards at night, and duels in cold steel? None that I believe to have encountered before,"
he said, grip tightening.
Blood pumping, Dane waited for her to try. He held the girl's seedy little gaze and silently begged her to listen to the instinct that tensed her muscles to attack once more. His retaliation licked the back of his mind even as the imagination before a kill sparked every hair on his body into sweet anticipation. Do it! Please! he urged.
She stayed her hand. The moment diminished. As did Dane's flickering interest in slicing Aria up with her own sword like a piece of rare steak.
Instead, he turned to something more vital: seeking his hat. The bloody thing must have blown away, born on the same gust of wind that ruffled his coat about his legs, billowed Aria's from her tiny skeleton, and rustled the carnations' willowy petals.
Her attempt at the obvious did little to crack against Dane's mood, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless. His reply snapped.
"An 'ijirah' of myth and legend. I don't believe in such things."
He said then suddenly stalked across the bed of white flowers. Nestled beneath the stems of a hundred carnations was his hat.
He picked it up and smacked it free of debris. When he looked up from a closer inspection, he let the comet of power streak clean from his grasp altogether, but only to be replaced by another roaring behind freshly glimmering eyes. "Monsters, however. Are everywhere."
He spoke gently, reverently.
Unfortunately, the hat had been snagged on the pilings, likely from streaking across the roughened cement that had also dug sharp in his palms. A waste, he thought, and Dane dropped the thing in the nearest wastebasket and returned to Aria.
He was by no means a large man, but compared to the girl and her steak-knife, he was a giant. So taking her by the hand was easy enough, but only to turn her wrist and study the hilt. "Do I not look 'okay'?"
He asked, but like her, did not seek an answer. There was nothing in him but curiosity.
"What kind of girl speaks of myths and monsters, walks graveyards at night, and duels in cold steel? None that I believe to have encountered before,"
he said, grip tightening.