He’s come to expect people coming and going whenever he is here, the wonder that is hidden within The Fangs open to all, after all. At first he felt some modicum of discomfort at sharing in his vulnerability with others, but soon realized that most came here for peace and didn’t spend precious breath talking. Or maybe they just didn’t want to talk to him. Regardless, it suited him just as well no matter the reasoning, though whenever someone did encroach, just as someone had now, he still shifted subconsciously in the waters, moving his cane closer to the water just in case — to make it easier on himself when getting out of it. The worst part was always the pity whenever he could tell they were watching him struggle with leaving the waters; he’d rather spare himself the sentiment as much as he could. Usually he left it at that, returning a nod here and there and then closing his eyes once again to return to the blissful moment of numbness the magical hot springs offered him. Not this time, though.
This time his curiosity was piqued.
Social he may not be when it comes to matters of insignificance to him, but it was another matter entirely when the closest thing to a god that would likely bother speaking with him was present. Eyes blazing with intensity, he watches Ronin unwaveringly for a moment, expression unreadable save for obvious interest in his presence. He stops only when he realizes that his staring could be interpreted in ways he didn’t mean — curse everyone and their need to partake in all things related to the mortal flesh — brow crinkling into the faintest of frowns. No matter. He wasn’t going to let the sudden stutter in his focus sway him from his questions. There were higher things at stake here.
Shifting ever so slightly, the waters still lapping at his tanned skin, he casts his gaze farther, this time, giving the man his metaphorical space even as his voice rises up, the lilt of it deceptively flat — it brims with fire despite it, to those clever enough to pick up on it. The fire of hatred? Of envy? Of just pure unadulterated curiosity? Who could say. All that mattered was that it was certainly present. ”You’re the Demigod, yes? Safrin’s.”
— EGO NIHILITAS NON QUAESIVIT, SCINDITUR MIHI APERTIS
This time his curiosity was piqued.
Social he may not be when it comes to matters of insignificance to him, but it was another matter entirely when the closest thing to a god that would likely bother speaking with him was present. Eyes blazing with intensity, he watches Ronin unwaveringly for a moment, expression unreadable save for obvious interest in his presence. He stops only when he realizes that his staring could be interpreted in ways he didn’t mean — curse everyone and their need to partake in all things related to the mortal flesh — brow crinkling into the faintest of frowns. No matter. He wasn’t going to let the sudden stutter in his focus sway him from his questions. There were higher things at stake here.
Shifting ever so slightly, the waters still lapping at his tanned skin, he casts his gaze farther, this time, giving the man his metaphorical space even as his voice rises up, the lilt of it deceptively flat — it brims with fire despite it, to those clever enough to pick up on it. The fire of hatred? Of envy? Of just pure unadulterated curiosity? Who could say. All that mattered was that it was certainly present. ”You’re the Demigod, yes? Safrin’s.”
