#sortilegum

his surprise morphs into a pause, and for a moment, stills his tongue. it lasts, however, a mere handful of heartbeats. the answer is obvious, and not once subject to debate. it's yes; it is always 'yes', now isn't it...? ( is it, though. )

          “ . . . huh? yeah, Q, of course. whatever you need. ” need, not want —— a sharp-edged precision in that one choice of words. an important distinction. ( it's instinct, rather than a conscious decision; yet Hidan's instincts rarely lead him astray in all the ways that matter. )  

SEND ME A “ 🎨 “ AND I’LL DRAW YOUR MUSE!! 

parties are never dull. not to Malcolm –– just kidding. did you actually believe that? ( parties had ceased being entertaining at the turn of the 20th century, if they had ever been entertaining at all and not merely a balm, mere medicine for— hush. none of that matters now. not in the face of inevitable change that will sweep the slate clean and rewrite history. ) 

     I disagree. we are masters of our own fate. 

the words bring about the lightest of frowns upon pale features. whether his interlocutor realizes it or not, whether it is a test or not, those words…. oh, those words. .. .. how.. . . . conceited. Malcolm holds no wrathful impulse towards them, nevertheless. just a cool, endlessly blue melancholia, and perhaps a wish for basking within that same delusion. he once believed it, you see. but only a privileged few truly choose their fate. for most, to assume one has complete control over one’s fate is not only presumptuous, but flirts with the very edge of madness.

                 “ you cannot disagree with my fate, for its experience is mine alone. ”  he likely misses the point on purpose, if the manner in which his eyes dance is to be believed. but no affront is meant. for his tone is placid, lamblike even at the altar of slaughter. the movements of his long body languid ( albeit failing to denote genuine ennui ), Malcolm takes a seat upon plush cushions, having had enough of standing around. hmm. it certainly has been some time since Malcolm indulged in others’ reality. or in making himself solid within such. most days now, he is liquid, the absentminded jest that brings forth laughter yet is forgotten when the last chuckle dissipates. ( it’s a comfortable state of being. )  yet under the weight of that dichromatic gaze,  he feels both seen and dissected, albeit not unkindly. perhaps to akin to a butterfly, already pinned to the board and shielded under glass, being twisted about to be viewed from different angles. 

so Malcolm rewards it with truth and the veneer of a smile to contrast the grin offered to him, gaze fixed upon those eyes. ( then, an absentminded gesture of a hand, as if dismissive of his own words or their gravitas. )

             “ I have seen ugliness both in the world and the hearts of others. I have seen friends sell friends for a pound of flesh and the illusion of peacekeeping. I have seen families bury their own alive to serve their own interest, or in pursuit of their own twisted folly. I have seen how violence begets violence. nature may be bestial, but it is man who repulses. ”   man. such a small, single-syllable word, encompassing so much more.  

a pause, white lashes fluttering down ( as Malcolm gazes at his own fingers, steepled together ),  against his cheek ( as eyes close for a brief moment ), then up to unveil a violet gaze once more. 

“A gentleman are you?” There was a hiss that played on the old lindwyrms tongue and for a moment a crack of amusement against their reserved face. Entertain me. Captivate me. A wordless voice spoke from behind veiled eyes. It had been such a long while since there had been anything to hold their interest.

Their laced wrists curled beneath the herculean grip, testing them. The sharp corners of their lips twitched at the ends of black tussles. Curious. And what would you be? The question encircled their mind.

As cold as ice, as white as snow. Little white crocodile won’t you show me your teeth?

“I am at your mercy.” A slightly tease, and the truth. They wished to study their attacker, their moves, and their reaction.

Now, he had been scolded for eating things he shouldn’t before. This had included feeding from the wrong people. Would this person fall into either of those categories? Perhaps. The pit of his stomach was twisting in disagreement. All he wanted was something to fill his belly and to carry on with the rest of the night. Oh, forget how blood was compared to wine! He felt this forever running stream to be more like absinthe or opium. Addicting to the end of his immortal life.

Those obsidian locks and quirked smile had him fixed for the moment. Eyes that to him looked almost lifeless. Still his mind wondered who this person was. His own lips pursed to the side with that curiosity. It was likely that Félix would waste the moonlight examining them. Another thing he had for a fault. A new worry that the prey would catch this and try to struggle their way out of his hold.