09-10-2012, 05:48 PM
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Lips curled in retaliation as the woman struck him, his functioning sight set ablaze as he snapped his head back to stare at the voodoo woman. As soon as she grabbed that slim muzzle of his, jaws parted, yellowed teeth displaying his distaste of her mannerisms, though the beast wasn't one to really speak of such things, seeing as how he had just broken into her home and eaten supplies while she witnessed it. One of those hands came up, spidery fingers gripping the woman's wrist, uneven, yellowed claws starkly contrasting with that caramel fur of her limb.
Her rambling only continued to irritate the beast, his wide eyes narrowing perceptively as she continued. That accent of hers; it was thick. Palpable, nearly. It was something that stuck in the throat, and rolled off the tongue. He could recognize the french dialect mixed with her swamp-witch accent, atrocious and assaulting to the ear that pinned back against the male's long locks. The sounds were only punctuated and accented by the croons and flaps of the irritated vulture behind her. His predatory gaze was intently trained on the woman, however, the one who so crudely thought to discipline him. The one who dared to defy him. She was not his mother.
And yet! Here she was, daring to act as such? Such thoughts caused an ache in Bastion's skull, a dull pounding in his scarred temple, though he never removed his grip, never misplaced his vision from her muddy gold eyes, remaining silent. The pounding persisted in his skull, spreading a bit and causing the bottom lid of his malformed eye to pull up faintly, as though the twitch in facial features would break the tempo of thuds and the ache.
The predator was thinking less of her words now, the sound strange and foreign as it swam through his mind. En... En... Deux... En... De, de, un... The situation was growing frustrating hand tightening it's grip in slight. Un...? Un, deux, trois... Where was the trois? Was she deliberately doing this? Counting so slow, failing to finish the sequence? Clearly, this was all a test, a clever test at his patience, and he was failing. Such feelings were announced as a low, bubbling rumble from his chest.
"Trois," he finished for her, gaze daring her to oppose him. His stance was aggressive. He had been caught up in trying to get her to finish the three number sequence that he hadn't bothered to focus on her interrogation.
"You speak too much," he muttered once more, clearly irritated by her hard-to-understand rabble.
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Word Count: 400+ -- Bastion no understand >:C
Lips curled in retaliation as the woman struck him, his functioning sight set ablaze as he snapped his head back to stare at the voodoo woman. As soon as she grabbed that slim muzzle of his, jaws parted, yellowed teeth displaying his distaste of her mannerisms, though the beast wasn't one to really speak of such things, seeing as how he had just broken into her home and eaten supplies while she witnessed it. One of those hands came up, spidery fingers gripping the woman's wrist, uneven, yellowed claws starkly contrasting with that caramel fur of her limb.
Her rambling only continued to irritate the beast, his wide eyes narrowing perceptively as she continued. That accent of hers; it was thick. Palpable, nearly. It was something that stuck in the throat, and rolled off the tongue. He could recognize the french dialect mixed with her swamp-witch accent, atrocious and assaulting to the ear that pinned back against the male's long locks. The sounds were only punctuated and accented by the croons and flaps of the irritated vulture behind her. His predatory gaze was intently trained on the woman, however, the one who so crudely thought to discipline him. The one who dared to defy him. She was not his mother.
And yet! Here she was, daring to act as such? Such thoughts caused an ache in Bastion's skull, a dull pounding in his scarred temple, though he never removed his grip, never misplaced his vision from her muddy gold eyes, remaining silent. The pounding persisted in his skull, spreading a bit and causing the bottom lid of his malformed eye to pull up faintly, as though the twitch in facial features would break the tempo of thuds and the ache.
The predator was thinking less of her words now, the sound strange and foreign as it swam through his mind. En... En... Deux... En... De, de, un... The situation was growing frustrating hand tightening it's grip in slight. Un...? Un, deux, trois... Where was the trois? Was she deliberately doing this? Counting so slow, failing to finish the sequence? Clearly, this was all a test, a clever test at his patience, and he was failing. Such feelings were announced as a low, bubbling rumble from his chest.
"Trois," he finished for her, gaze daring her to oppose him. His stance was aggressive. He had been caught up in trying to get her to finish the three number sequence that he hadn't bothered to focus on her interrogation.
"You speak too much," he muttered once more, clearly irritated by her hard-to-understand rabble.
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