[aw] udugigvdi ale gvgeyui

Anatole Aston · 07-08-2012, 03:29 AM

[html]

(511) shhhh be my muse. sorry if this is disjointed, I just got back from the bar

Despite being born within this branch of AniWaya (for even Anatole understood they were a colony of sorts) he had failed to grasp the process by which they lived. He was trying now, and harder especially when there was a guide and a hand to aid him. Anatole was not dumb, but he was simple, and his simplicity demanded order. As long as a firm hand guided him, he would be dutiful son and soldier. This was why even if she did not realize it Ulilohi had affirmed her position to him, directing him and ordering him by subtle movements and tonal shifts he identified with those in leadership positions.

As it stood now, the man approaching him had none of these qualities. Anatole was reminded, however, of his cousin and thought of how Claudius had somehow risen to leadership standings himself. This was all well and good for him—Claudius, while still stuttering, no longer acted like a scared child as Anatole had remembered him for. Though his voice was weak his will was strong, and Anatole was loyal to his blood if nothing else and would have come to defend him should such need arise. Even when his mother had abandoned her sister, she had sworn to avenge the death of Noir should the chance rise. The scout remembered this promise, and one made to his aunt, and hoped to one day be the strength she needed. Perhaps he would even get Claudius to raise arms against the offenders.

Anatole was still, much as a predator around nervous prey might be, though his eyes scanned and searched and noticed everything. He was constantly aware of his surroundings, and broke down things into simpler patterns. This man was, at one point, a warrior—he saw this in his strong body and stance, even if it was subtle. The speech was made more of nerves, and with the magnetizing polarity of his gaze, Anatole accounted for it. He was quiet for a beat, then two, and after a moment of consideration finally spoke.

“I know some,” he said plainly, his thick Quebecois accent a peculiar thing. It was nearly Eastern European in its make, but somehow different. It marked him as a foreigner still, even though he was born a native son. “If I don’t understand I’ll ask you,” the scout went on directly, not one to feign ignorance for the sake of saving pride. He had more than enough of that based on his physical skills alone. Even if he wasn’t clever or swift in thoughts, his body was a staggering explosion of height and muscle mass that, along with his well-trained background, provided more than enough to back up his less than stellar mental skills.

“My name is Anatole. I’m the Waya Agateno here,” he added, careful of his pronunciation when it came to his rank. He was pleased to have ascended to the secondary tier and hoped sorely to become the master. Patience, of course, was one of his first lessons. The spirits certainly knew he needed it.

Login




Remember me Lost Password?