WATCH THE NIGHT PASS US BY : IRA
Nov 12, 2015 13:05:20 GMT
Post by zuka on Nov 12, 2015 13:05:20 GMT
It was always humorous seeing people out of their comfort zones. Maybe that could be considered a sadistic sort of mindset but it was pretty much true in a lot of cases - seeing people trying new things like eating spiders among other creepy crawlies, seeing people put their hands down a mystery box with a blindfold and guess what slimy thing they were touching could possibly be, being forced to confront your fears ...
There was a reason for why so many game shows like these were popular. It was cruel, yeah, but people instinctively chortled at discomfort. They wriggled in their seats for extra cushion, slowly took a handful of chips and got ready to vegetate on their couches with their eyes affixed blankly on the TV screen. t the back of their minds, they knew it. Producers knew it, which was why they aired the shows in the first place. Actors knew it, so they could fully exaggerate their disgusted or fearful reactions to get a bigger profit.
And then there was Miyu, left elbow in very much pain from the contact with the roof tiles, hypothetical heartbeat pounding in his ears, still wheezing as quietly as he could and most definitely not making any money out of this, sweat beading at his forehead pasting his choppy bangs down, squinting into the persistent cricketing breeze that chased the stars.
He really, really deserved some pay. Please? Give to the poor. Steal from this pronounced peacock king, he probably won't even notice that it's gone.
When the peachicken began to laugh after giving him a cold analytic stare for almost a minute, he lamented even more that he wasn't getting some cash compensation for this.
The demon blinked owlishly and a little fearfully in the utterly bewildered sense, slipping his left arm between his stomach and drawn up thighs. All of that was lost in about a single lapse of a minute, Miyu indignantly straightening up as much as he could afford. 'What?' he snapped instantly, shifting a centimetre further away and his shoulders raising up tensely. He faltered at the ... explanation, eyebrows again knotting indecisively agitatedly at the centre. The brunet scarcely avoided firing up again with righteous anger, stunned into taken aback silence instead.
Guards. So he really was being serious, if he wasn't merely continuing to bluff.
And, at last, Nicostrata revealed his name.
Somehow, it fit. Of course it did, it met all of Miyu's internal criteria, excluding that one errant guess of his which had been George ... It was pretentious and suitably noblish - a slightly elongated "ah" in the mouth followed by the sophisticated twist of the third and fourth syllables. And that was only his first name.
(It suited because it seemed almost enigmatic, regal and impossible to guess without any clues - unique and distinctive, popping, attracting your attention and snaring it soundly in those mere few syllables; it was actually a little funny how just the sound of his name would be so directly reminiscent of the king himself, thin lips curved into a sardonically amused smirk, a single flash of his silvery eyes. Not that Miyu was waxing poetic here or anything.)
Yeah, it was a dumb name.
Miyu hesitated for a moment before following the other in speaking, choosing in the seconds before to instead randomly focus on inane things - the tiles, the painfully shredded and bruised skin on his left elbow he'd have to hide later, N...icostrata's clothes - but did so without pause, albeit the length he took in saying it.
' ... Nicostrata Crostatus, huh.'
It was no secret, either, how different he and the other spoke. Him so clearly easygoing and simply colloquial, the Avimosum with a distinct measure of refined calculation.
When he wasn't calling him an ass, that is. That was twice now.
Miyu's gaze then lifted to bore intently, evaluating, into the Avimosum's - then at last he allowed his mouth to spread into his typically mischievous sort of grin, sunny even if with a hint of residual wariness, now solidly free of any slightly maniacal demon tint.
'Sure wish I could say the same, your Majesty,' he tossed back casually, and if there was any sign of a thrill rushing through him not only at their official acquaintance but also this, simply normal conversation plus the other's overall title, he didn't show it save for the subtlest tremble in his wings. 'But I guess it's finally good to know what you're called.'
(There most definitely was, almost far more than a sign, and it was peculiar indeed.)
The demon tilted his head cautiously to the side, smile thinning out into an absent frown, brain reeling hard. 'How long have you been ... king?' he asked finally, attentively. ' ... And. You're not actually focusing on An-- my sister, are you?'
Ultimately - the million dollar question.