01-26-2008, 09:22 PM
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An intriguing story. He wondered briefly why she felt it prudent to tell her life story to him during their first meeting even though she had said "most of my friends do" as if it were an invitation. Reasoning took over and governed his wondering, shaping it with skillful hands: it was therapeutic, telling everything to a stranger. Strangers could give you insight and advice that friends would hold back out of politeness, and, social by nature, most wolves would probably not frown upon it. Unfortunately for her, this day was a day for cryptic riddling and secrecy, as evidenced in his response. "A mate...?" Laughable. Laughable, but he didn't laugh. To most, this was a legitimate inquiry, but to one such as himself, a perfect example of asexuality, not so much. And behind all of his dandyism and politeness there lay in wait an icy cynicism, so indeed it was that he thought "love" nonexistant — only something borne as the byproduct of an idealistic sex drive. "Of course not. Why would I be here if that were the case?" The only "something special" from his home was a certain breed of antagonism that he had yet to encounter in his travels elsewhere, and he was spending his life running as far away from it as possible. There was a soft something in the air, pixies' bells — a shimmering silver glamour that drowned out all else. Snow, muffling all natural sound, leaving only the tones of their voices made flat and hollow in following. Many things in the world were beautiful, but none of them in quite such a way as a city blanketed with snow. Something to look forward to. |