Dear Tiberius? That was awfully familiar for a man he’d only spoken to a handful of times in his life. Generally, when anyone but Enzo did anything fanciful with his name, well … It was usually an insult – or prelude to one. Tiberius braced for that, expression genial but a little fixed.
But it did not come. Not exactly.
Instead, Arvina spoke a great deal of strange nonsense about cats and power. Tiberius nodded along for a short time, brows pinching together as he tried to follow the metaphor. If there even is one. He folded his hands in his lap, turning the lynx-head signet on his middle finger, wondering if he was about to be accused of something. When that didn’t come either, he focused less on Demetrius’ face, and more on the trunk of his body – where the essence of his spirit or demon was most likely to be focused.
Indeed, there was something there. A deep violet – though distinct from that of Pride, more wine red than blue – that fluttered toward ascendence even as Tiberius watched. Lips parted, he leaned in slightly, trying to identify Arvina’s passenger. It was not like any other demon Tiberius had ever seen or studied. Curious, like fancying yourself an expert birdwatcher and suddenly hearing a new song outside your own bedroom window. Hastily, he lifted his gaze.
“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t think I follow you. They are indeed worthy creatures, but–” He cut himself off abruptly, venting a short, frustrated exhale. A cat was like an Archon's power as much as a raven was like a writing desk.
And the cult’s mission was not absurd if it was successful. Considering they could only guess at their aims – unless Arvina knew and wasn’t saying – Tiberius wasn’t willing to call them poor doomed idiots just yet.
“Is there anything I might do for you, my Lord? I would not wish to keep you from your other appointments.”
@Demetrius Arvina
But it did not come. Not exactly.
Instead, Arvina spoke a great deal of strange nonsense about cats and power. Tiberius nodded along for a short time, brows pinching together as he tried to follow the metaphor. If there even is one. He folded his hands in his lap, turning the lynx-head signet on his middle finger, wondering if he was about to be accused of something. When that didn’t come either, he focused less on Demetrius’ face, and more on the trunk of his body – where the essence of his spirit or demon was most likely to be focused.
Indeed, there was something there. A deep violet – though distinct from that of Pride, more wine red than blue – that fluttered toward ascendence even as Tiberius watched. Lips parted, he leaned in slightly, trying to identify Arvina’s passenger. It was not like any other demon Tiberius had ever seen or studied. Curious, like fancying yourself an expert birdwatcher and suddenly hearing a new song outside your own bedroom window. Hastily, he lifted his gaze.
“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t think I follow you. They are indeed worthy creatures, but–” He cut himself off abruptly, venting a short, frustrated exhale. A cat was like an Archon's power as much as a raven was like a writing desk.
And the cult’s mission was not absurd if it was successful. Considering they could only guess at their aims – unless Arvina knew and wasn’t saying – Tiberius wasn’t willing to call them poor doomed idiots just yet.
“Is there anything I might do for you, my Lord? I would not wish to keep you from your other appointments.”
@Demetrius Arvina
01-17-2025, 12:23 PM
