The Cross Cloaked in Mists
01-18-2014, 11:50 AM
Carlito "Sucre" Dalibor
"That wish can certainly be granted." Wounded. So wounded. This angel, so sharp-tongued and quick to hurt him! Oh, he loved her all the more! It drove a stake right through his little sinning heart to feel her violet eyes wishing the worst upon him. But, he had brought it upon himself. Sucre conceded round one to the Beauty in the Mist.
What could he do to convince her that he was harmless? He'd do anything, absolutely anything. At her words, the brute developed the appearance of a sad and beaten puppy. His ears drooped and his mouth fell open, aghast at the ugliness that fell from her lips. He was the picture of wounded pride and he was, perhaps, a bit too theatrical with it all. What could he say? "..especially with strangers." Sensing an opportunity, his demeanor lightened considerably. "Then let's not be strangers!" His ears lifted and his tail, once tucked tightly around his paws, loosened enough to thump happily on the ground. Surely once they were better acquainted this angry princess would open up and grace the moor with a hidden personality so bright it would clear away the fog. "Please, my Lady, give me your name so I might know who has wounded this tender heart so thoroughly."
She stood before him, a warrior. He saw this. Maybe she wasn't a warrior in the physical sense, but she was definitely a warrior of the heart. If he had offended her in some way, which he sensed he had but quite wasn't sure how, then he was deeply sorry. The fae remained distant and unreachable, choosing to see him as nothing more than a brutish rogue. He was brute, yes, and not a very clever one at that, and he was also a rogue, caring only for himself with no loyalties to anyone. But he was just as deserving of forgiven as the next.
He sensed he was losing her, that she might flee him at any second and his pulse quickened. How could he win a moment of this wild creature's time? Sucre racked his brain for something more to say, words that would hold her fast. His mind came up with none. If only she'd spare him a few more words, something, anything with which he could use to try and gain her trust. Really, his intentions were nothing short of honest. All he wanted was a piece of her time and perhaps a smile with which he would remember in later days and warm his blackening heart.
"That wish can certainly be granted." Wounded. So wounded. This angel, so sharp-tongued and quick to hurt him! Oh, he loved her all the more! It drove a stake right through his little sinning heart to feel her violet eyes wishing the worst upon him. But, he had brought it upon himself. Sucre conceded round one to the Beauty in the Mist.
What could he do to convince her that he was harmless? He'd do anything, absolutely anything. At her words, the brute developed the appearance of a sad and beaten puppy. His ears drooped and his mouth fell open, aghast at the ugliness that fell from her lips. He was the picture of wounded pride and he was, perhaps, a bit too theatrical with it all. What could he say? "..especially with strangers." Sensing an opportunity, his demeanor lightened considerably. "Then let's not be strangers!" His ears lifted and his tail, once tucked tightly around his paws, loosened enough to thump happily on the ground. Surely once they were better acquainted this angry princess would open up and grace the moor with a hidden personality so bright it would clear away the fog. "Please, my Lady, give me your name so I might know who has wounded this tender heart so thoroughly."
She stood before him, a warrior. He saw this. Maybe she wasn't a warrior in the physical sense, but she was definitely a warrior of the heart. If he had offended her in some way, which he sensed he had but quite wasn't sure how, then he was deeply sorry. The fae remained distant and unreachable, choosing to see him as nothing more than a brutish rogue. He was brute, yes, and not a very clever one at that, and he was also a rogue, caring only for himself with no loyalties to anyone. But he was just as deserving of forgiven as the next.
He sensed he was losing her, that she might flee him at any second and his pulse quickened. How could he win a moment of this wild creature's time? Sucre racked his brain for something more to say, words that would hold her fast. His mind came up with none. If only she'd spare him a few more words, something, anything with which he could use to try and gain her trust. Really, his intentions were nothing short of honest. All he wanted was a piece of her time and perhaps a smile with which he would remember in later days and warm his blackening heart.