"Long live my k i n g."
& more than a simple handful of invitations had been sent in the vizier’s way, from different parties alike. Years ago, almost forgotten in the mixture of ‘happy’ memories, already had darkness been tasted, savored, e n j o y e d, by the one who so loyally stood beside the King of Sindria. As of more recent events, a particular magi’s very own presence had swayed and altered the tranquility that had been built within and around the former assassin – funny, how even a single word can cause so much disaster.
Ever loyal to Sindria, ever blissfully… R O T T E N .
For someone who has been aware of exactly how dirty hands are, the amount of lives those palms have claimed and precisely how much body and obscure corners of his soul missed – ACHED – to be one with the thrill that power and darkness altogether brought… for someone like that, corruption was not difficult. In fact, one could dare say that Ja’far needed but a little push!
And that brings things to the present – the parliamentary officer of oh, prosperous Sindria, whose robes are gorgeously adorned with stains of crimson hues splattered in unequal patterns. Why, hands seem to have overdone the deed of ridding beloved Sindria of traitors; little pawns that run away from an interrogating, shady mind you, general only deserve the fate that has been forced upon them, no? Alas, perhaps a quick death would have been better than toying around with them until boredom settled in and limbs were scattered around the near perimeter.
With an exaggerated sigh does Ja’far pat at the dirtied clothes that cover his entirety of frame and cranium tilts upwards a little when an outer presence is acknowledged; it feels right, natural, wonderfully amazing, and it’s impossible to contain a chuckle, albeit soft, that manages to escape the freckled man’s lips. Because, of course, the surprisingly warm breath that contacts skin behind ear along the deep laughter that resonates within hearing canal is more than enough to cause the sindrian to SHUDDER.
& ; i'm a little b a d,
But, is that all? No. The most exhilarating turn of events is when a whispered, wanton “Long live my k i n g” seems to dance past the fallen magi’s lips – he sounds amused, proud even, at the sight of the recent addition to his king candidates.
Watching – observing – Ja’far F A L L had been an exquisite scene, according to Judal, when the oracle told the little story to his very own K I N G.
Whether Judal’s words were mocking or not… that was beyond the point. Right now, all that seems appeasing to the corrupted soul of the former /murderer/ is receiving praise and for body to welcome the electrifying touches that his favorite creature in the world could deliver. Now, don’t get him wrong – Sinbad is still someone Ja’far considers amazing, he IS powerful and charismatic, but the light in which Judal is viewed is different, completely, or should it be classified as ‘the darkness in which he’s viewed as’?
but i fuckin' love i t !
Corner of lips lift a tad into a pleased grin and head moves to tilt to the side just slightly a few seconds prior to a foreign yet quite familiar hand roughly seizing platinum strands of hair. As if on cue, the immediate reaction is to g r o a n and take a step closer to the magi that stands before him. “Right—yours,” a laugh exits Ja’far’s lips with rather ease, and another small inclination forward has face inches away from the opposing one,
“Long live your king, and long live MY magi.”
