and when i sing, these lies come out

Myrika Tears · 01-05-2012, 08:36 AM

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The man seemed to have his own clouds hanging about them, though Myrika was rarely one to allow dour moods to dampen her own. Still, she felt herself reel back a little, thinking perhaps his coldness was due to her size. Perhaps -- he was larger than she was, but this meant little. Boys larger than she had made fun of her back in Thornloe; her comparative size seemed to mean little in the face of bullies. The only thing that seemed to matter was that she was big for a girl and she had big, stupid-floppy ears and a tiny little muzzle to go along with it. The words stung then and they stung further after years of rumination and contemplation on the russet hybrid's part.

Still, she would not entertain the thought of rudeness -- she'd stay and entertain his conversation as long as he seemed interested in having her. Or, at least, as interested as he could get. Myrika was not certain that his reserved demeanor was in response to her, specifically -- though her first instinct was to attribute it to herself, she now thought perhaps he was just generally colder. Not all in the world possessed a sunny demeanor, after all, and even she could experience moodiness and a strong desire to be left alone.

The man introduced himself with a long name that spun her head, and Myrika regarded him with calculation. Perhaps such a title was simply a joke, and he was pulling one over on her? No, she thought not. He did not seem to be the type for jokes, him with the striking and hardened eyes. Even long moments after they'd met, Myrika still found herself rather captivated by their glittering hardness, rather like gemstones set into ornate obsidian. His darkness of pelt spoke wolf, but the russet Consul had never been one to hold too harshly against wolfish bloodlines.

That's a long name, the woman commented cautiously, hoping the remark would not set him off. He didn't seem the type for explosions of anger, reserved as he'd been thus far, but Myrika was anxious already, and she would tread cautiously regardless of the subject matter. Pretty, too, she added, thinking it was. It had a certain cadence, and it rolled off of his tongue in that lovely accent. She would have liked to hear him while excited -- were he to gasconade about some particularly favored subject, she might have found herself grinning from ear to ear by the time he was through.

Eira took a step forward on her own accord, leaning her head toward the man. Myrika watched her do so with amusement; she was generally friendly enough with strangers, but she did take a liking to particular Luperci, it seemed. The blue roan had her preferences, as did they all, and it would seem Ángel was among them. She likes you, the woman said, hoping to quell her own nervousness with the words. That her horse liked Ángel was a good sign, but this did not necessarily mean he would remain pleasant to the rider for long.

Myrika was all too aware of bullies and their sudden turns to cruelty. Some in Thornloe had especially enjoyed such -- they pretended to befriend her for a few hours, and later turned viciously on her. She had been lucky, she supposed, none had taken it in their head to befriend her for a prolonged period of time. She might have shared all her secrets and dreams and fears, and then she would have had a whole world of trouble to content with.

Myrika is by Nat!

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