Word Count → 503 :: angry col is angry.
His red eyes were narrowed at his younger brother, and he thought it rather funny that his were such a more extreme color than Jacinto's. Columbine's eyes reflected the demon that roared with him, strong and fully in control of every move the Lykoi brother made; Jacinto's, in comparison, were slightly softer - gentle, even. He struggled to understand how the younger man could have turned out so normal; while Columbine ahd certainly taken the brunt of the abuse, it didn't mean that the others were entirely spared. No, they'd all suffered, from Ilusion to Helotes to Jacinto to Columbine himself, and this abuse shaped them, regardless of whether or not they would admit it. A cruel father was especially influential for a young man, and sometimes, in the dark recesses of the night when the shadowy demon was most comfortable, the Hastati wondered what he might have become without Kerberos' abuse.
For these reasons and more, Columbine was compelled to swing his fist at his brother, hoping to connect with soft flesh and fur. An infuriated snarl lifted on his lips; the volatile temper had been triggered, and the man wanted to make Jacinto hurt like he had hurt so many times before. His voice, normally loud and imposing, sank to a dangerously soft level as crimson eyes narrowed in disgust and hatred. You dare question what I did for you, Jacinto? he snarled, guard hairs raised even in his bipedal form. You dare question the sacrifice I made for you? For all of you? Look at me, Jacinto! Look at my scars, at my tattered ear, at the spot where my tattoo should be! I sacrificed my body and my very identity for our family and all of you, but especially you, squander it like it was nothing! I protected you, defended you from that... from that madman so you would develop healthy, strong - a warrior as our bithright demands. And instead I find you making bed with a mere whore and forgetting what you could be! But even before this, I knew you to be soft, and your softness is the very thing that disgusts me. The angry man drew close now, his hot breath close enough to Jacinto's to perhaps ruffle a few strands of fur. You're right, Jacinto. Perhaps I shouldn't have saved you. God knows you wouldn't ahve been strong enough to survive on your own.
These words were utterly mad; it was an indicator of the decline of Columbine's mind. His eyes were filled with uncontrollable fire, and there was an obvious need for blood in the man's stance. In the several moments of silence in which he panted, it was clear that whatever protector once inhabited Columbine Lykoi was gone. I can do whatever I want, Jacinto, the man eventually whispered, words threaded with danger's sweet caress. You can't stop me. Take your whore of a mate, but I promise, someday you'll get yours for bringing shame to our family - to my family.
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