[ If Larus said that about any other minority, it'd be offensive, wouldn't it?
Dennis' expression shifts minutely toward something wry and sharkish. He trails the tip of his tongue over his fangs. His touch at Larus' temple lingers for more than a second too long before it strays upward to capture a couple errant strands of golden hair and swish them forward, over the rim of those frames, mussing Larus up a little instead of tidying him. He trails chilly knuckles slowly down the side of Larus' face and crooks an index finger to hook his chin. His gaze slips only momentarily downward, toward the carotid and jugular, before he tilts his head to appraise the effect of the shades from arm's length.
Yep, as suspected: total douchebag. Big fucking Lebowski vibes. Adorable.
Pretty boy like that could make it work, if there was an ounce of levity to his personality. Unfortunately for the both of them, if there is? He's yet to draw it out. What other vestigial charms might be hidden somewhere in there, atrophied by what Dennis surmises from context clues must've been a short, tough life? Blunted amusement animates his glazed eyes as he looks Larus over, and he raises a brow. ]
She allows this? [ He senses her, smells her back there, and noted the lack of pulse before he'd made it within a city block. Does she find savaging her own kind more objectionable than some other vampires they know? Or is she simply too weak to protect what's hers? The moment stretches, then he drops his hand and his gaze to turn back to that stand for another look. An afterthought: ] Maybe purple's more your color.
[ It's too much contact that he doesn't want but still tolerates until Dennis is turning away again. He can pretend, then, that there's not the ghosting itch reminiscent of actual touch, that there's no such curiosity that burns through to the center of him when he wonders what the other must actually be thinking. It's not as if he hadn't caught that look, where his eyes had fallen before he'd stepped back. But Larus also doesn't have the interest to chase it quite yet, instead turning his attention elsewhere as Dennis continues to look through the rack of sunglasses.
Is this what people do? Is this what they waste their lives on?
Why does it matter to him when there's an inevitable eternity stretched out before him?
Maybe it's not so much about that as it is the curtain that's been slowly lifted between them, thoughts shifting to the prick of Dennis' teeth in his forearm and how they'd gotten roped into this situation in the first place. At least nothing had come of that, though he's loathe to consider how many personal rules he's breaking by continuing to converse with him. Vampires aren't generally the preferred company keeps; in fact, he prefers not to keep any at all. It's just easier to move around that way. ]
Not exactly. [ The complications of explaining territories and whatever else aren't a conversation he wants to have. Sometimes, he thinks vampires are even worse than werewolves. ] But I know her, so it's easier to let me do the talking. [ And because he has nothing better to do that isn't staring at the back of the other's neck, he finally steps in close to Dennis and hovers around him, indicating a darker pair tinted a very deep burgundy. ] You should wear those.
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Dennis' expression shifts minutely toward something wry and sharkish. He trails the tip of his tongue over his fangs. His touch at Larus' temple lingers for more than a second too long before it strays upward to capture a couple errant strands of golden hair and swish them forward, over the rim of those frames, mussing Larus up a little instead of tidying him. He trails chilly knuckles slowly down the side of Larus' face and crooks an index finger to hook his chin. His gaze slips only momentarily downward, toward the carotid and jugular, before he tilts his head to appraise the effect of the shades from arm's length.
Yep, as suspected: total douchebag. Big fucking Lebowski vibes. Adorable.
Pretty boy like that could make it work, if there was an ounce of levity to his personality. Unfortunately for the both of them, if there is? He's yet to draw it out. What other vestigial charms might be hidden somewhere in there, atrophied by what Dennis surmises from context clues must've been a short, tough life? Blunted amusement animates his glazed eyes as he looks Larus over, and he raises a brow. ]
She allows this? [ He senses her, smells her back there, and noted the lack of pulse before he'd made it within a city block. Does she find savaging her own kind more objectionable than some other vampires they know? Or is she simply too weak to protect what's hers? The moment stretches, then he drops his hand and his gaze to turn back to that stand for another look. An afterthought: ] Maybe purple's more your color.
no subject
Is this what people do? Is this what they waste their lives on?
Why does it matter to him when there's an inevitable eternity stretched out before him?
Maybe it's not so much about that as it is the curtain that's been slowly lifted between them, thoughts shifting to the prick of Dennis' teeth in his forearm and how they'd gotten roped into this situation in the first place. At least nothing had come of that, though he's loathe to consider how many personal rules he's breaking by continuing to converse with him. Vampires aren't generally the preferred company keeps; in fact, he prefers not to keep any at all. It's just easier to move around that way. ]
Not exactly. [ The complications of explaining territories and whatever else aren't a conversation he wants to have. Sometimes, he thinks vampires are even worse than werewolves. ] But I know her, so it's easier to let me do the talking. [ And because he has nothing better to do that isn't staring at the back of the other's neck, he finally steps in close to Dennis and hovers around him, indicating a darker pair tinted a very deep burgundy. ] You should wear those.