01-26-2009, 07:51 AM
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| http://i24.photobucket.com/albums/c13/v ... ablebg.jpg);font-family:trebuchet, verdana, sans-serif; text-align:justify;padding:15px;color:#AC7E66;line-height:13px;font-size:12px;"> Word count: 307 The male sighed, but Mew let it pass. Not a polite gesture, but she mustn't forget that this one came from elsewhere, where rules of politeness might be different. Norms changed from place to place. Instead of letting it annoy her, the femme listened, focused, to his words. The explanation he put forward seemed decent enough, but somehow Mew did not trust it. How did one get thrown out of a pack from yelling a little, or being passionate in times of war? After everything she'd been through, the femme had little faith in the spoken word. Little enough to never fully trust anything anyone said, unless they had proved themselves truthful to her time and time again. However, she would pretend for the time being, that she trusted his words. Outside, her face was a mask of formality, nothing able to penetrate her and see what she was really thinking. Should his explanation turn out to be the actual truth, then it was fairly understandable. Yelling and the like wasn't really polite, but she was sure that if given a chance, the male would ... "understand" their ways. Or be shown the door - or in this case simply thrown outside the borders. Well then, I suggest you refrain from play-fighting. Her smile was back up, plastered on her face, but her tail remained still. The sentence was shaped both as sort of an order, or expectation, as well as a joke. He would understand, surely, she hoped. While she was looking at him, the male started to shift, quickly replying to the question that was forming in her mind. Annoyed, but still patient, Mew waited for him to finish, looking away so as not to be impolite. When he was finally done, her green eyes again sought his hazel, awaiting some sort of response from him. |