Beggars can't be choosers

Saracyn was not a fan of having to wait, so he prayed that for his mood and Scylla's sake, she responded to his call sharpish. What the crimson brute hadn't expected though was for a vocal call to ring out for him across the lake. Perplexed and taken aback, the dire brute lifted his head and snapped his gaze off in the direction of the familiar voice. There, lying across a sunbaked stone, was the slate and cream fae he had been looking for. She gave him a little wave with those dexterous little paws of hers, but made no effort to rise or come answer his call. Sara stared at Scylla from across the shimmering water, and when it became apparent that she wasn't going to come to him, the prince groaned outwardly and began the trek around the perimeter of the lake toward her. Seemed like she was going to make him work for what he wanted...

Approaching the large rock that acted as a lounger for the petite fae, Saracyn glanced up at Scylla—although it wasn't much larger than his own head height, so it was more like she was on eye level with him now. "Enjoying the sun?" he began sarcastically, quirking a brow as he checked to see if her legs were broken or something. He bit his tongue on any further comment though, knowing he had to at least act amicable for the time being. Insulting her would likely only hinder his purpose of trying to keep her to stay. "I wanted to talk to you about you and your family, and how much we value your presence and skills in Elysium." Did that sound odd coming out in Saracyn's voice? Yes, no doubt. But was he trying his damnedest here? Hell yes he was.

"Saracyn Mendacium"