There was such tension within the younger male that Sirius could feel it, vibrating and pulsing out from him in waves. Such discord was something that his senses could easily lock on to - The Hunter found strangeness in all things, and strangeness was most often weakness. The weak in the herd became prey.
But, in Larkspur's son, this discord served as nothing but interesting to the predatorial monarch. His livid gaze prowled the youth's dark features, and found handsomeness there. Unlike Larkspur, who was grizzled and carved from the mountains themselves, Pandemic had some of Eris' mystery about him - His ebony pelt was an absence of light, plush and deep like the blackest midnight Sirius had ever seen. There was beauty in the male; Not like the beauty of his sister, a beauty that was flaunted before Sirius more often of late, but a beauty nonetheless. Approval graced the acidic poison of the Boss' gaze, but it was fleeting, and quickly replaced by curiosity as the second crate was lifted.
This one was larger than his, and heavier too, Sirius guessed as he observed the strain in the younger male's strong arms. It was covered by a sheet of heavy fabric, no doubt to hide the creature within from the rays of the sun as they had traveled. The king could smell the animal within, could hear it shuffling, the graceful sounds of feather sliding against feather. Shifting the box he held with the peacock chick snuggled inside under one arm, the Thistle King leaned forward, his black nose twitching in anticipation.
Clawed fingers hooked the bottom of the fabric and pulled it back slowly, not wanting to startled whatever sat within the dim gloom of the cage. Narrowed pupils were immediately met with ones so large and perfectly round that they, like the pelt of the Arbiter's son, seemed to be a total absence of light. For a moment, owl and King gazed at eachother, unblinking. Finally, Sirius lowered the material and took a step back. His face fell in serious lines, unbroken by the twitch of a smile or the flash of yellow teeth. The owl was a sacred creature, and whatever gods held power over this realm had turned its feathers a dark and mottled black. It was a powerful creature, an omen to all who lived beneath the cold eye of the moon, and it was not something to be smiled at.
He nodded, just once. "You have completed your tasks. By decree of the throne of Thistle and by the law of my blood, I say this: Pandemic D'Angelo, Erisson and seed of the Family, you are now a man." Yellow teeth flashed, not in a smile, but in the primal way of ancient beasts to show their trueness.
.gsiri-01 {width:500px;margin:0px auto;text-align:justify;line-height:15px;font-family:Georgia, Helvetica, serifs;font-size:12px;letter-spacing:.75px;word-spacing:1px;}
.gsiri-01 .ooc {text-align:left;font-style:italic;font-size:11px;border-bottom:1px dotted;padding-bottom:5px;letter-spacing:.90px;}
.gsiri-01 p {text-indent:40px;padding:0px 0px 5px 0px;}
.gsiri-01 b {font-size:13px;letter-spacing:1px;}
.gsiri-01 .name {text-align:center;font-family: 'Permanent Marker', cursive;font-size:50px;line-height:20px;}
.gsiri-01 .quote {text-align:center;font-size:10px;padding-top:10px;letter-spacing:10px;text-transform:uppercase;}</style>[/html]