08-28-2021, 09:05 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-28-2021, 09:09 AM by Solomon. Edited 1 time in total.)
Oh hell, the way this wolf looks at him makes him mighty suspicious. They would promptly move closer then, so close that they could even have a decent conversation.
When she finally settles she offers him an answer, one he responds to with his own silent look. Contemplative, intrigued, calm, and most of all, he’s shamelessly scrutinizing her. Deciding whether or not he deems her a threat, something he hasn’t made him mind up about yet.
Even when she points out their pack scents and the fact that they’re both exploring he remains quiet for a long while. Then all of a sudden he breaks the spell.
“Mm, yeah, it sure seems so, doesn’t et?” He says completely normal, eyes widening slightly as he looks about the desert. “An’ wot’s a woman of your stature doin’ in a desert at this ungodly hour of tha day? Explorin’?” He repeats in sarcastic question. Squinting his eyes at her and absentmindedly gesturing with a paw. A small smile tits dark lips skyward as he continues. He doesn’t give her time to answer.
“No, no, no, mate, I fhink you’re out for blood, right. I- fhink you’re one of those barney rubble types, mm?” He says it with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Only he abruptly changing subjects with another gesture of a meaty paw, this time at the desert. Allowing his eyes to look about the sandy hills until he eyes her up again. With now half lidded eyes, he seems contemplative, as if he’s trying to crack a puzzle or figure something out, but in a terribly casual manner.
“Ya know,” He leads, “for some, tha desert is like a second birth. Woul’n’t you say, mm?” It’s a simple question, said as he begins pacing about. Continuing with a knowing dip of his head, not meeting her eye. “It gives ‘em birff. Y’know like bein’ born again.” Then he looks at her, that smile back on his face once more and a knowing glint to his eye — suspicious. “But for others, tha desert is nothin’ but a large cemet’ry yeah. It fuckin’ buries ‘em, mate.” A pause. “An’ for some blokes, it represents purity.”
He goes quiet, scrutinizing her reactions. He’s always so talkative, always loves to throw in a good metaphor or two just to keep them distracted or maybe play with them a bit. Bring them ‘round and ‘round with his words until he confuses them. A real delight it is.
“I fhink you’re in relation to ‘at second one, eh. You’re a fuckin’ predata, sittin’ — waitin’ for ya next victim. You got the look aboutcha, love.” He stares dead into her eyes. “Tha look of a fuckin’ predata.”
He starts pacing again. “So, love, wot am I to you today, mm? Wot is my relation to this desert? Purity? Or a fuckin’ cemet’ry? You tell me, mate.”
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