9/28/2026, 6:30 PM
She fidgets a little beneath the compliment, which makes Sverke want to offer more. The tipping point from collected and cold to flustered - where is it? Does he have to laud her icy gaze, or wax poetic about the way she bleeds into shadows like silk in water?
She agrees: trouble. Sverke hums his affirmation, a ripple through his shoulders as he settles deeper into his poise. No hunt, then. Ah, a shame. Sverke is patient, but not well-attuned to stillness. He'd have liked to seen his new friend dressed in the crimson of a fresh kill - compare the color to the petals adorning her now like a wealth of jewels.
He doesn't quite catch the sound of the fraying edge of her sigh, but does hear the silence that stretches companionably between them. His cheek cushions against the ridge of his forearm. Quiet, Fa'liya had said, and Sverke knew when to shut his mouth. He's rewarded with another question, one that makes him grin: all teeth, a flippant and boyish smirk tinged with that hint of something far older and hungrier he has a hard time keeping a leash on.
Oh, I am trouble.Never let it be said he didn't offer fair warning. The rising excitement in his demeanor settles again, ruffled fur flattening into folds of navy linen over his frame.
But for you, Fa'liya, I can be quiet.If that was really what she wanted. Maybe a stroll through the maze dripping with flowers. Maybe just a quiet, meandering conversation. Maybe she'd just up and leave - find her quiet in solitude.
