08-03-2009, 11:20 AM
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Pale frozen eyes opened to stare at him, and then the wire-haired canine came to life, rolling and panting and shaking free of the granules of sand. Jacquez tilted his head quizzically, lips parted with surprise at the colourful accent she chattered with. Where on earth was she from, this dog on stilts? Half of her sentences were not real words, or so it would seem. He was a bit taken aback... although not for long.
The wolfhound grinned at him, and he could not resist smiling in return. She seemed interested in him, whoever she was. "Your eyes speak the truth, mademoiselle," he purred, deep in his throat. Language barrier - bah. Attractiveness spoke no tongue other than desire. "I come from the heart of the south, where every man fights for himself and the rolling swamps swallow up the ones who lose. I live in my northern kingdom, though, close to here..." His dramatic voice seemed to swell in the tranquil silence of the beach, drowning out the gentle surf and the wheeling cries of the gulls above. He was always the center of attention. Absent-mindedly, he raised his hand to scratch at the knotted scar of his shoulder socket, rubbing where his left arm should have been.
Her second outburst made little sense to the Frenchman, although had he understood her brogue, he would certainly have agreed with the sentiment. "And where do you hail from, o lady of steel wool? I have never met one such as yourself, ma douce. You are fortunate to have landed on these shores and spoken directly to royalty..." The tall Optime winked, dark eyes still roving curiously over her lanky frame. Surely if she shifted, she would grow to an even greater height - one greater than his own. That would be a first.
Pale frozen eyes opened to stare at him, and then the wire-haired canine came to life, rolling and panting and shaking free of the granules of sand. Jacquez tilted his head quizzically, lips parted with surprise at the colourful accent she chattered with. Where on earth was she from, this dog on stilts? Half of her sentences were not real words, or so it would seem. He was a bit taken aback... although not for long.
The wolfhound grinned at him, and he could not resist smiling in return. She seemed interested in him, whoever she was. "Your eyes speak the truth, mademoiselle," he purred, deep in his throat. Language barrier - bah. Attractiveness spoke no tongue other than desire. "I come from the heart of the south, where every man fights for himself and the rolling swamps swallow up the ones who lose. I live in my northern kingdom, though, close to here..." His dramatic voice seemed to swell in the tranquil silence of the beach, drowning out the gentle surf and the wheeling cries of the gulls above. He was always the center of attention. Absent-mindedly, he raised his hand to scratch at the knotted scar of his shoulder socket, rubbing where his left arm should have been.
Her second outburst made little sense to the Frenchman, although had he understood her brogue, he would certainly have agreed with the sentiment. "And where do you hail from, o lady of steel wool? I have never met one such as yourself, ma douce. You are fortunate to have landed on these shores and spoken directly to royalty..." The tall Optime winked, dark eyes still roving curiously over her lanky frame. Surely if she shifted, she would grow to an even greater height - one greater than his own. That would be a first.