Word Count → 444 :: Columbine, the large, scary, evil.... Falsetto?
When Jacinto touched him, Columbine thought he was going to lose his mind.
All the self control he'd been exhibiting, all the anger he'd let build up in the cavern that once held a heart that was almost too large, nearly bubbled over the surface as the dark, furious male ducked out from underneath Jacinto's hand. No me toques, Jacinto, the man growled, his voice deadly quiet as he looked his smaller brother directly in the eye. No suponga que usted ha ganado ese derecho. Had Helotes not been there, Columbine would have jumped after Jacinto immediately, but for the sake of his brother the hybrid would keep it together. Regardless, there was a snarl on his lips and the hulking male was prepared to attack if Jacinto made the mistake of choosing to 'comfort' him again. It was better received - though that was entirely subjective - when Helotes attempted; the two had been close in their youth, and the shadowy male was less likely to attack that particular brother. Plus, Helotes was not weak, like Jacinto.
His brothers' words did not assuage Columbine's worry. Ilusion was in the wild with nobody to protect her... unless she'd taken a mate, and the thought of that made him utterly ill. Ilu deserved the best of the best, and Columbine would not settle to see her with anyone he did not approve (and, if he thought about it, he knew he would not be approving any man for his beautiful sister anytime soon). But while he did not respond to either of their comforts, Helotes' song brought Columbine to a happier place, a time when he did not harbor so much hatred towards himself and the world... It made him want to sing, something he was rather self conscious about for obvious reasons. Still, he could not help himself...
Que triste luce todo sin ti the man began, and his voice was not what would be expected from his large stature. It was a beautiful, pristine falsetto; the voice that could be assumed of a little boy angel, dressed in white robes and with innocent features. Or, perhaps, a pop singer, reminiscent of the human Michael Jackson (though Columbine would never have any idea who this person was). It was almost breathy at points, and though the words were sad, his fiery eyes darted to both his brothers to remind them he was not about to suffer their shit should they choose to give it. He continued in his lovely and absurdly high tones. Los mares de las playas se van, se tiñen los colores de gris, hoy todo es soledad....
Gods, he missed his sister.
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