lion etiquettes — julian. & aria.
Dec 30, 2019 13:57:21 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Dec 30, 2019 13:57:21 GMT -5
He was drunk on passion fruit champagne and the wealth that glistened around him.
Everywhere he looked, someone bristled with power and glory. Someone that Julian wanted to win over, to recruit to his crusade, to make them devote themselves to the prince of the Le Rouxes. But, he bided his time, let them pore over their precious victors first, take in how much they’d changed since the Games, stroke their glistening manes of hair and shake their calloused hands. He’d always prided himself on being a clever-eyed lion, not as distant and hungry for knowledge as Isaiah’s kin and not as unabashed as his own kin either but just as wise, just as charismatic.
The golden prince,
the lion that stalks his prey first
before devouring it to bones.
Time dwindled on and the ball gradually lost its swell of excitement. This was what he’d been waiting for, the entire night. Liquid courage in his veins, Julian smoothed out the frock coat he wore and caressed the lace collar that was wrapped beautifully around his throat. Be that prince you want to be, he reminded himself as he brushed away a strand of hair that'd loosened to his forehead.
But, someone halted his steps, someone gold-eyed and bronze-haired. Someone far too young to be here.
“Aria,” he eyed her incredulously, striding over to his cousin. “Don’t say Ridley invited you.” A sigh rang in his words. He looked around for journalists, for prying eyes, for anyone that could make this a scandal, and when he found none, he hissed: “out, now.” Gingerly, Julian grasped her by the wrist and started for the exit.
“If you have been drinking, I swear I am going to tell Uncle Isaiah to ground you for months!”
Everywhere he looked, someone bristled with power and glory. Someone that Julian wanted to win over, to recruit to his crusade, to make them devote themselves to the prince of the Le Rouxes. But, he bided his time, let them pore over their precious victors first, take in how much they’d changed since the Games, stroke their glistening manes of hair and shake their calloused hands. He’d always prided himself on being a clever-eyed lion, not as distant and hungry for knowledge as Isaiah’s kin and not as unabashed as his own kin either but just as wise, just as charismatic.
The golden prince,
the lion that stalks his prey first
before devouring it to bones.
Time dwindled on and the ball gradually lost its swell of excitement. This was what he’d been waiting for, the entire night. Liquid courage in his veins, Julian smoothed out the frock coat he wore and caressed the lace collar that was wrapped beautifully around his throat. Be that prince you want to be, he reminded himself as he brushed away a strand of hair that'd loosened to his forehead.
But, someone halted his steps, someone gold-eyed and bronze-haired. Someone far too young to be here.
“Aria,” he eyed her incredulously, striding over to his cousin. “Don’t say Ridley invited you.” A sigh rang in his words. He looked around for journalists, for prying eyes, for anyone that could make this a scandal, and when he found none, he hissed: “out, now.” Gingerly, Julian grasped her by the wrist and started for the exit.
“If you have been drinking, I swear I am going to tell Uncle Isaiah to ground you for months!”
