Post by Asher Branwen on Mar 13, 2020 17:45:43 GMT
High fashions were a foreign concept to the young man watching his night's companion pull his feet free from the confining grasp of his tightly laced boots. The struggle looked akin to everyone who'd ever tried to pry the sword free from the stone before Arthur.
At the behest of the mock indignation for Seren's "scandalous ways" for deigning to show ankle in his presence, Asher found his fingers pressing against his chest, a deep huff as he snuffed his nose into the air with a ruffle of his feathers.
"Why I've never!"
His voice dripping with the nasally and pompous tone of most any noble he'd ever had the displeasure of speaking with.
"To be flashed such luscious body parts in such a public setting? The outrage. The indignation!"
Shuddering as if it was the most appalling thing any being could ever be met with.
His voice plummeted to its immense depths when his head dropped to coyly eye the avenging angel sat before him.
"I shall do everything in my power to behave myself," still teasing.
It wasn't that hard to keep himself in check, truly. Flushed faced and heated he could surely get, but he strove to be as gentlemanly as one could manage in his state.
"But lest you forget, twas you who started flashing all that ankle at me."
His fingers running through strands of hair like the wings of a dove, lips hovering just over the ivory trellises as a lidded gaze, eyes like storm clouds, peered out through the heavy shadows falling across Asher's features. His stare wicked and fervorous, shimmering with every aspect of his publicly given alias.
The trickster god alight in twin snowstorms.
A breath of a laugh.
Asher had risen to his full height, adjusting his wings to stop them from dragging on the ground. Whatever Seren believed of the traditional ways of the Fairy Folk and their fëa, the half-blood did not. In fact, Ash had never been given the chance to know or understand any of the things regarding half his bloodline. Fae was not a topic often spoken in the Branwen household, at least, not openly.
Besides.
Asher was no Half-Fae, afterall.
Oh, no.
Not according to the public statement, no. Of course not.
He was all the product of Edgar and Felicia, not a hybrid, but an anomaly.
What was it they'd been saying at one point? The wings were just a manifestation of Edgar's immense power?
Something to that effect.
Ludicrous.
Publicly people applaud and congratulate the man, but those two- Asher's so called "parents", were fooling themselves immensely if they truly believed a single person bought that absolute crock. Not once in the history of pure-blooded sorcerers did a child just suddenly pop wings out. Perhaps when Beelzebub, himself, finally loosed himself from Felicia's gaping maw they would try to write the Devil off as another "show of our absolutely massive magical cocks".
No.
No Fae studies would ever grace Asher's presence.
Not within the Branwen estate, anyways.
Music muffled by distance filtered softly through this foreign world Seren had allowed Asher to step through the portal of. If this is what is was to plummet down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, Asher could not comprehend why Alice would've ever wanted to flee from the majesty of it all. As for the white rabbit this young noble currently chased after, Ash would let this man drag him as far down that hole as one could venture. He was having far too liberating of a time to make for the exit of this Eden.
He didn't get to see plants often. The Branwen estate was not a spectacle built for parties, but an ominous tower of dark magics and forbidden knowledge. You would find no massive and lush garden there unless it had been so built for the growing of Hemlock and Nightshade.
"A maze," Asher mused aloud, "Made for escape?"
Curious and curiouser.
Perhaps if he really wanted to he could try to scout the labyrinth from above, assure himself no Minotaur would come barreling around the corner at any given moment.
But where was the fun in cheating?
"If 'escape' is what they say is at the end of this maze. I can't help but wonder just what kind of escape would be masked by the guise of 'getting lost'."
Speaking of curiosity?
Had it not killed the cat?
But even as the thought passed the young half-blood's mind, he felt himself edging against the entrance to peer into the dense shrubbery as if he might be able to will himself to see what lie in wait at the end.
Had satisfaction not, then, brought the cat back, though?
At the behest of the mock indignation for Seren's "scandalous ways" for deigning to show ankle in his presence, Asher found his fingers pressing against his chest, a deep huff as he snuffed his nose into the air with a ruffle of his feathers.
"Why I've never!"
His voice dripping with the nasally and pompous tone of most any noble he'd ever had the displeasure of speaking with.
"To be flashed such luscious body parts in such a public setting? The outrage. The indignation!"
Shuddering as if it was the most appalling thing any being could ever be met with.
His voice plummeted to its immense depths when his head dropped to coyly eye the avenging angel sat before him.
"I shall do everything in my power to behave myself," still teasing.
It wasn't that hard to keep himself in check, truly. Flushed faced and heated he could surely get, but he strove to be as gentlemanly as one could manage in his state.
"But lest you forget, twas you who started flashing all that ankle at me."
His fingers running through strands of hair like the wings of a dove, lips hovering just over the ivory trellises as a lidded gaze, eyes like storm clouds, peered out through the heavy shadows falling across Asher's features. His stare wicked and fervorous, shimmering with every aspect of his publicly given alias.
The trickster god alight in twin snowstorms.
A breath of a laugh.
Asher had risen to his full height, adjusting his wings to stop them from dragging on the ground. Whatever Seren believed of the traditional ways of the Fairy Folk and their fëa, the half-blood did not. In fact, Ash had never been given the chance to know or understand any of the things regarding half his bloodline. Fae was not a topic often spoken in the Branwen household, at least, not openly.
Besides.
Asher was no Half-Fae, afterall.
Oh, no.
Not according to the public statement, no. Of course not.
He was all the product of Edgar and Felicia, not a hybrid, but an anomaly.
What was it they'd been saying at one point? The wings were just a manifestation of Edgar's immense power?
Something to that effect.
Ludicrous.
Publicly people applaud and congratulate the man, but those two- Asher's so called "parents", were fooling themselves immensely if they truly believed a single person bought that absolute crock. Not once in the history of pure-blooded sorcerers did a child just suddenly pop wings out. Perhaps when Beelzebub, himself, finally loosed himself from Felicia's gaping maw they would try to write the Devil off as another "show of our absolutely massive magical cocks".
No.
No Fae studies would ever grace Asher's presence.
Not within the Branwen estate, anyways.
Music muffled by distance filtered softly through this foreign world Seren had allowed Asher to step through the portal of. If this is what is was to plummet down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, Asher could not comprehend why Alice would've ever wanted to flee from the majesty of it all. As for the white rabbit this young noble currently chased after, Ash would let this man drag him as far down that hole as one could venture. He was having far too liberating of a time to make for the exit of this Eden.
He didn't get to see plants often. The Branwen estate was not a spectacle built for parties, but an ominous tower of dark magics and forbidden knowledge. You would find no massive and lush garden there unless it had been so built for the growing of Hemlock and Nightshade.
"A maze," Asher mused aloud, "Made for escape?"
Curious and curiouser.
Perhaps if he really wanted to he could try to scout the labyrinth from above, assure himself no Minotaur would come barreling around the corner at any given moment.
But where was the fun in cheating?
"If 'escape' is what they say is at the end of this maze. I can't help but wonder just what kind of escape would be masked by the guise of 'getting lost'."
Speaking of curiosity?
Had it not killed the cat?
But even as the thought passed the young half-blood's mind, he felt himself edging against the entrance to peer into the dense shrubbery as if he might be able to will himself to see what lie in wait at the end.
Had satisfaction not, then, brought the cat back, though?