Phew! So this took longer than expected, mostly because I had finals and totally forgot. But I’m pleased to announce that the winners of my 300+ Follower Giveaway are...*drum roll*

FIRST PLACE: murroyilodel       ( fully-colored drawing of muse to be used in a promo graphic ) 

SECOND PLACE: kingofthiieves       ( line-art drawing of muse ) 

          Skepticism was s c r i p t e d               along the  h e r o' s  features;

Ocean irises glowering with equal  s u s p i c i o n-- Regardless of the distance sprawled before this presence, that attire was more than recognizable... Definitely worth questioning; adorned JUST like the thieves he recalled Aladdin  p r e v i o u s l y  mentioning during his last visitation.

( A little too fleeting to judge, but it couldn't be helped. )

“Hey you!” With gloved palms cupping each side of his aperture, the words slipped-- out of his own control.

“Keep starin' at the Palace like that 'n' people are gonna start thinkin'!”

   He is impatience, he is  v e x a t i o n.    Solid he stands, arms crossed. he struggles to maintain    p r o p e r  composure. The glove he wears to cover the    price he’s paid for magic is different--he still has yet    to reclaim his magic after the last and final showdown    with Agrabah’s irksome heroes. Thus is the reason he    stands before the stranger, overlooking with a level gaze.

   The stranger’s stance is regal, haughty even. Though to    the necromancer any that don’t show all but the utmost    servitude are considered obstinate beyond repair. He    can see little of the stranger’s face,  c o v e r e d  as it is.    Obscuring cloak is held together with a symbol near familiar--    a  h a n d. Perhaps he read of such symbol in one of his    books; obviously something that held  l i t t l e  import to the    sorcerer if so  e a s i l y  dismissed. He admired the others    choice in clothing; arms unwrapping to smooth over fabric of    similar regal blue.

anonymously (or not) tell me what you think of my character portrayal.

“Don’t touch her, you filthy jackal!”

Both Razoul and Alanna were surprised by the deep voice, and both stopped to look up at the speaker. Razoul still had his meaty fist around Alanna’s thin wrist hard enough to bruise, but neither was paying attention to that. Only to the man in front of them.

“A-abba?”

“Oh? And who’s this little streetrat to you?” Razoul sneered, unintimidated by Cassim’s imposing figure or the command in his posture and voice. Of course, the sound of Razoul’s voice jarred Alanna back into the present, and she started trying to pull out of the captain of the guard’s grip again.

“She is my daughter,” Cassim growled, stalking over to them and grabbing Razoul by the collar of his vest and pulling him so they were eye to eye. The guard released Alanna in shock at the thunderous fury in the older man’s eye, sending the young woman tumbling to the ground. “And if I see you lay a hand on her again, you will lose much more than that hand.”

“So the streetrat has family after all, eh?” Razoul sneered again. “You better make sure I don’t catch her stealing again, then, got it?” he snapped, jerking himself out of Cassim’s grasp.

“Are you all right, alilun jawaher?” Cassim asked quietly, helping Alanna to her feet. She could see and hear his concern, and he was careful to grasp her forearm  instead of her bruised wrist.

((Omigod, I love you right now! I’m actually in the middle of writing a drabble based on this meme, but that doesn’t mean I can’t answer it! lol))

Send “Don’t touch them” to see my muse’s reaction to your muse defending them against a physical threat