my h e a r t is a fist drenched in blood.

Sirius Revlis · 06-16-2012, 10:10 AM

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HAIL THE CONQUEROR WORM

WC (+3) Exit Siri, too <3

They gypsy whore turned to him, and his eyes spotted the line that marred her, the source of the light scent of her blood in the air, mingling with his own, and that of their enemies. Black lips twitched murderously; There had always been a masochistic air to the Thistle King. Women were not expected to be warriors, as men were, in his eyes - Although, of course, some women could prove themselves worthy, most served another purpose entirely. Isabella was such a creature. While he had never doubted her cunning or wit, she was not a creature built for warfare; Too beautiful, too entirely soft and female of form. Her skills lay elsewhere, in the mind of the King. And for this reason, amongst others, the sight of her wound caused cold fury to simmer again in his blood - They had harmed the women of his kingdom. What next, the children?

There was an elegance to the stubborn set of her features, though, and he would respect that by not causing a scene. They were both creatures who relied on their masks to exist - Both skilled enough liars to hide the truth of their weaknesses. Her reply provoked a low growl from him, bemused in spite of the lingering anger.

The other woman had returned, and he was distracted by her enough to allow Isabella the opportunity to slip in against his mammoth, beastly form. While he stiffened to the display of aid, he did not rebuke it, instead allowing his attention to fixate on the skull-masked lady as she spoke. "If you are a healer by trade, then your war-fury is... Unexpected," Sirius rasped about his large fangs, "But I will not require your services this day. There are others who might - Tend to them instead." His pride, voracious and sinful, would not allow him to seek the healer's aid while he could still stand. Narrowed pupils watched as the strange woman rode off.

When she had departed, he turned his attention once more to Isabella. The lady was pressing her silk to his more grievous wounds, and the syrupy dark blood was seeping into the material. They were stains that she would never be able to be rid of. "You waste your good fabric," The exhausted beast grumbled, although his heart was not in it. "Get off of me, woman, I will be fine. Although, now I will have to send for more silks for you, from the ports," It was as close to a thank you as she would receive, as he was capable of giving. Eyes once again graced the wound that edged garishly across her chest. "See to it that you are treated, if you've not the potions to do it yourself. Go home, Isabella. Tell any others you see of what has happened here," And with those parting words, the monarch forced himself into a limping lope, headed back towards the heart of the kingdom.

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