Word Count » 3+
ooc: From this point onwards, post order is demolished (we aim to keep this thread as fast-moving as possible). This will make more sense after you've read my post, but could the individual who posts after me please HOLD DARI STILL, and could whoever posts after them please CUT OUT HIS TONGUE. Feel free to PP him struggling, as he is a pack NPC. Thankyou <3
Those who chose to eat of the spoils of Salsola did so with gusto. A silence fell over the long table - A silence of the tongue and of thought, for the noises of chewing and tearing and gnawing were quick to fill that void. Firelight flickered off of the faces gathered around him, and olive eyes drank them in keenly, filled with that sheer intelligence that some would say bordered on madness. His genius had brought them all here, and with such thoughts came the pleasant rush of arrogance.
A muttering pervaded his hearing, and large, elegant ears drifted back in annoyance. The male slave, Darijus, was whispering in urgent tones to Eris' girl, who in turned shushed him pleadingly. The interaction was not missed, but Sirius did not slow from his eating. Yellowed teeth scraped along a doe's thigh-bone, coated in fat-grease and a thin veneer of blood that made them shine eerily red in the dancing orange light.
For a moment, it seemed as though the evening would go as planned. But then the male slave stomped forward, reaching with one grubby hand for a delicious steaming hunk of hare near to the edge of the table.
Sirius rose quickly, the dark fur coat rustling about him like a pair of great, dark wings. Darijus' eyes lifted to him quickly, and they were laced with anger. "I am hungry! What makes you lot better than me, that you can eat while I starve?" The offending piece of meat was grasped tightly in his fist, and his posture emanated aggression.
The Thistle King's black lips peeled back from his teeth, in what could have been a grotesque smile, or a terrible snarl. "You dare talk to me, slave?" One cream hand rose, and fingers waved dismissively at the wolf. "Grab him. Silence him." From beneath his coat Sirius revealed a sharpened hunting knife, and threw it in a loose motion onto the table for any to grab. Who would have the honor of doing their leader's bidding, on this soul-less night? In the shadows of the table, the girl-slave Molca was shaking. "All slaves must know their place." Came the dark, brooding words, a severe look of displeasure marring the Thistle King's handsome features.
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