[there was something about this alternate world, where the boar walked instead of crawled, was crowned, respected, that galled him. a miniature portrait of a Faerghus that could have been. a window into another life.
and he wanted to smash it. scatter the pieces, pretend he'd never seen it, heard of it. enraging to think about, because rage was the only emotion he could picture having, using, in a case like this. he wanted to kill claude for even talking of it, a thick and muffled dark wisp wrapping around his brain like a poison, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. give him a little of the vengeance he sought out.
there's a drawn out, tense moment—before he turns away from claude, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.]
no subject
and he wanted to smash it. scatter the pieces, pretend he'd never seen it, heard of it. enraging to think about, because rage was the only emotion he could picture having, using, in a case like this. he wanted to kill claude for even talking of it, a thick and muffled dark wisp wrapping around his brain like a poison, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. give him a little of the vengeance he sought out.
there's a drawn out, tense moment—before he turns away from claude, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.]
Hah.
This one has everyone fooled.