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[ooc] -- i thought you'd be there.
holding daisies, counting stars. -- [bic]
Slay’s exaggerated yawn only earned him an exaggerated eye roll, and Cercelee rehearsed the words to her next song. If any song she was to sing to Slay, it might as well be a lullaby, not only because they were the only songs she truly knew but also because who better to sing a lullaby to than the sleepiest wolf in the pack? If anyone was to appreciated, as they had no pups to lull into slumber at the moment, it would be Slay. Yet he had not given into her soothing voice, yet Cercelee had not given up.
Oh, well I don’t know how I’d go about searching your insides, I suppose that would be messy business indeed. Let’s just skip that, shall we? Besides, we all know you’re a handsome devil, I’m not arguing that. Cercelee graced Slay with another roll of her eyes. So handsome, I suppose, that if one did not know better, they would think they were looking at royalty, eh? The divine on earth. Yes, that was how humans had once thought of their kings and queens, their rulers, as incarnations or messengers of gods, and they were treated as such. Did any wolves have customs like that? So many packs were evolving to adopt human ways, would they one day adopt the humans way of ruling?
I know a song about Kings and Queens you know. Cercelee cleared her throat, imagining her mother’s voice instead of her own. Slow and soothing, Cercelee sang with more feeling this time, trying to invoke either sleep or more of a response than just a joke from the male. Lavender’s blue, Lavender’s green. When you are King, I shall be Queen. Who told you so, dilly dilly? Who told you so? ‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, That told me so. Call up your friends, set them to work, some to the plough, some to the fork. Some to the hay, some to the thresh corn, Whilst you and I, keep ourselves warm. Lavender’s blue. Laverder’s green. When you are King, I shall be Queen.
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