Thankfully this time the bomb is already down stairs and far from alluring locked chests it's not supposed to get into. It, of all creatures, doesn't seem to actually bother Lahabrea at all, be it near or far from his hoard or anything else, so it's allowed to do as it pleases. Which for the moment is staying burrowed in the longer feathers of his tail, asleep. What separated it from all other life on this forsaken world might simply be its origins - Lahabrea created it from naught but his own aether, and so in a strange sort of way, it was a part of him. It was almost sad that the little creature would be his final true creation, a legacy of grand wonder whittled down to a lone cherry bomb.
Although his hearing isn't as sharp as many turnskins, it's enough to hear the door, and then footsteps. Not a stranger, nobody who didn't know where they were going would stride from place to place without hesitation, and marginally he relaxes. There was always the possibility of someone unwelcome of course, but they'd get one nasty surprise for their efforts.
And as Elidibus comes down the stairs, albeit at a rather measured pace, he's watched through narrowed eyes. The cage hasn't been reopened, the outside lock still firmly in place, nothing's been destroyed yet, and there's a chisel in one hand. Not ... precisely the actions of a beast, but one can never be sure. "As much as ever."
Which is a complete lie, but his recollection of feral states is dim at best, and so far not an issue. Previously... previously he hadn't had the soothing outside source of magic, whether or not it came from a fledgling witch. But the steady resistance of any impulse he recognized as not naturally his certainly did him no favors. One hand rises to gesture; there's still other cushions about, outside the cage. "The bars should hold."
He sounds.. fairly normal, for all that's worth. The same dry rasp, even if it doesn't really match the undercurrent of emotion beneath it. His control for the time being, is iron.
But this time there's no immediate effort to curl in on himself or hide, he remains on his comfortable cushion without even his mask to obscure his features, the bold red and gold markings across his face almost but not quite a substitute. "What have you been doing?"
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Date: 2 Feb 2021 00:22 (UTC)Although his hearing isn't as sharp as many turnskins, it's enough to hear the door, and then footsteps. Not a stranger, nobody who didn't know where they were going would stride from place to place without hesitation, and marginally he relaxes. There was always the possibility of someone unwelcome of course, but they'd get one nasty surprise for their efforts.
And as Elidibus comes down the stairs, albeit at a rather measured pace, he's watched through narrowed eyes. The cage hasn't been reopened, the outside lock still firmly in place, nothing's been destroyed yet, and there's a chisel in one hand. Not ... precisely the actions of a beast, but one can never be sure. "As much as ever."
Which is a complete lie, but his recollection of feral states is dim at best, and so far not an issue. Previously... previously he hadn't had the soothing outside source of magic, whether or not it came from a fledgling witch. But the steady resistance of any impulse he recognized as not naturally his certainly did him no favors. One hand rises to gesture; there's still other cushions about, outside the cage. "The bars should hold."
He sounds.. fairly normal, for all that's worth. The same dry rasp, even if it doesn't really match the undercurrent of emotion beneath it. His control for the time being, is iron.
But this time there's no immediate effort to curl in on himself or hide, he remains on his comfortable cushion without even his mask to obscure his features, the bold red and gold markings across his face almost but not quite a substitute. "What have you been doing?"
Anything is a distraction.