Maybe you'd have more friends if you weren't the type to piss off everyone around you. Do your fellow socialites know who I am? Do you think they'll believe my allegiance is anywhere but with my own people?
Really Glen don't be dull. I don't play the court game that badly. Even if you stood on the roof and shouted the superiority of humans the worst you'd get me is a headache from the council. Go ahead, if you want to, maybe you'll make friends with the livestock.
You could visit them if you like, the humans who make our meals.
[That catches his interest for a moment. But he shoves it down -- he can't help anyone. He knows that. And would they even accept it from him as he is now, if he tried?]
[He obediently makes eye contact, giving Felid the most openly hateful stare he can manage. It's hard, when that face makes his heart break. But the anger and fear and resentment that it inspires aren't gone, so he can still summon them up. It's just a terrible contrast.]
He didn't expect that. And he didn't expect his own reaction to it. Murderous intent is there in droves, and thrill at the idea of getting the hell away from Felid, finally, for good. But along with that comes terror, at the idea of losing him and at the thought of being the one to do it. He wants him gone. He wants to get away from him. But presented with the opportunity to do it, his hands shake and his face pales, and his heart races in both excitement and horror.
It's a bit too much from different angles. He's not stable enough for it right now, so his breathing becomes shallow and sharp, his thoughts losing coherency in the face of the emotional war between blackest hate and complete infatuation.
In the end though, he clamps down, not as hard as he could, but plenty enough to be nasty. It's just that he knows he won't have the strength to reach for that sword no matter what.]
[It's a thrill, watching Glen's face as he wars with hate and love and his own inability to follow through on what he wants. Felid brushes his fingers over Glen's cheek, tender and gentle as Glen's hands squeeze his neck, making him catch his breath and lean into the rough hold.]
[But not stopping him.]
[Not pulling at his hands, not struggling, as docile as promised.]
[He stalls a bit longer, fighting with himself until he feels like he's short-circuiting. Eventually, with a frustrated, almost agonized sound, he squeezes hard enough to crush Felid's windpipe in one violent burst. But he knows that won't kill him. And he knows he can't kill him, so at that point he just dissolves into half-crazed hyperventilating and tries to get out from under him to retreat.]
[Felid whines as his windpipe is crushed, collapsing on Glen as that genuinely, if briefly, incapacitates him. His neck is already regenerating though, in seconds he's breathing raggedly then normally, but he stays leaning on Glen, his hair, and the fact that his face is tucked against Glen's shoulder, hiding his excited, delighted smile.]
[The benefit of being transformed is that he is strong enough to shove Felid off of his lap now. He still couldn't beat him seriously, but in a situation like this he can give a good enough shove to put a little distance between them.
Of course he has nowhere to go, but he's still going to get up and try to go... somewhere. Just. Out of Felid's personal space, even if that just means stumbling til he's hit a corner and sinking to the floor, trembling. Congratulations Felid if you hadn't broken it before you have now.]
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You want me, admit it.
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[He has a death wish what do you think he'll do?]
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You could visit them if you like, the humans who make our meals.
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I'd rather not waste my time.
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[He shoves Glen lightly back against the couch.]
Look at me Glen.
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If you really, truly want to kill me, go for it. My sword's in reach even.
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He didn't expect that. And he didn't expect his own reaction to it. Murderous intent is there in droves, and thrill at the idea of getting the hell away from Felid, finally, for good. But along with that comes terror, at the idea of losing him and at the thought of being the one to do it. He wants him gone. He wants to get away from him. But presented with the opportunity to do it, his hands shake and his face pales, and his heart races in both excitement and horror.
It's a bit too much from different angles. He's not stable enough for it right now, so his breathing becomes shallow and sharp, his thoughts losing coherency in the face of the emotional war between blackest hate and complete infatuation.
In the end though, he clamps down, not as hard as he could, but plenty enough to be nasty. It's just that he knows he won't have the strength to reach for that sword no matter what.]
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[But not stopping him.]
[Not pulling at his hands, not struggling, as docile as promised.]
Mm... You're hesitating.
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Glen...
[His voice is soft.]
Shh, it's all right.
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[The benefit of being transformed is that he is strong enough to shove Felid off of his lap now. He still couldn't beat him seriously, but in a situation like this he can give a good enough shove to put a little distance between them.
Of course he has nowhere to go, but he's still going to get up and try to go... somewhere. Just. Out of Felid's personal space, even if that just means stumbling til he's hit a corner and sinking to the floor, trembling. Congratulations Felid if you hadn't broken it before you have now.]
Don't touch me. Stay away from me.
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