MAGICKA LEVEL 100%
RESTORED TO 100%
Audland's brow goes slightly up at Plover's grinning confession. To smile
that wide so much it makes you feel sore? Xe conjures a beautiful world. Audland doesn't comment on it
(perhaps due to being in kind of the same boat, albeit for different reasons). Audland would also neglect to comment on the glimpse he caught of that smile breaking into a frown upon his introduction of a
spacious vacancy between them. Xe would understand it later, but that wasn't what bothered him. Something else was crawling under his skin.
It wasn't the same feeling creeping through him like the burning tendrils that bound him to the hateful coil of exacting revenge upon that one pest from the dungeon. Just thinking about
that one made cold sparks jump from Audland's hide. Thinking about
this though, watching it happen; it crawls under his skin and it sends sparks through him as well, but in the opposite direction. Intuition suggests that this isn't even as big as this whatever-it-is gets. Audland doesn't know what it will look like if the feeling gets worse. Doesn't know if that's what he wants to see. Is it?
Audland doesn't offer a hand to help Plover up. He thinks about it, but abstains. And when he does, Audland blames it on the fire that is point-two seconds from bursting through a random part of his body against his will. But in the back of his mind he knows that there is a lick of unfamiliar nervousness to blame as well.
Audland doesn't know it yet, but Plover isn't planning on giving him a choice.
He stares in mild confusion as Plover speaks of a "middle name". As through a name could be in the middle of something. His head tilts slightly and chuffs out a weak little
"Heh," but besides that Audland leaves no external indication of his befuddlement. When Plover tries to douse his flames with several pawfuls of sand, Audland winces but remains neutral, curtly grunting out a
"Thanks," even if the unnatural fire doesn't dim all that much from the attempt.
'FIRE SAFETY!' "Heh. M' whole body is a fire hazard." The inherent sauciness of that sentence phrasing might have made Audland flush underneath those many miles of fur. We'll never know for sure. He doesn't comment on that either. Instead, he lets his own silence fill the cracks forming in his placid demeanor while his eyes follow Plover's motions like a cat on a laser dot. Or perhaps in this moment, as he stands in front of a Plover who is planning his cuddly demise, Audland better fits the role of a rabbit wearily watching its captor.
Then Plover outstretches a hand that makes Audland's neurons fire up just enough to help him conceive of the notion that he now has something of a
snack date to attend to. To look forward to, even, if he chooses to do so.
Audland stares at the hand in idle confusion, unsure for a moment of what it means for him to do, and then for another moment of whether or not he should—? would—? wants to—? partake. The whatever-it-is feeling is growling at him and he can't tell whether that makes him more curious or afraid—and upon realizing that, Audland realizes that the whole thing is just silly. The logic
should be as simple as this: given how close their bodies were mere moments before, being stingy
now is more like being
cheap—or worse,
chickening out.
(Plus it might make Plover frown again, and Audland was long past the end of his will to further pain his fellow green edition fuzzy meatball.) Audland supposed that he would simply have to smile and accept his fate: he awkwardly slides his hand against Plover's with a lightness and uncertainty that he had
not displayed in the tussle prior. Whatever Plover does with that remains to be seen.
Audland would let Plover lead him away to... wherever xe planned on going. To the victor go the spoils. It was finally time to EAT!
- exit -
@Plover