[ Periodically, old guests vanish and new ones arrive to the manor. For the most part, the roster of who has come and who has gone is not within his interest; he'd rather meet people in the heat of the moment, at their most intense and compelling, than examine an outsider's vision of who, why, why they are. So, even in the midst of the sickly-sweet atmosphere of wanton sensuality, the elusive heat that sometimes flutters in the back of his mind, and the urgency to run-taunt-tease, he feels the urge to fight just as strongly. The requirement within his soul, his divinity, to prove himself the most worthy prey ( to survive against powerful predators, be they strong or clever ).
The strange, dark atmosphere of the man(?) he comes across in the midst of his cleaning is far too unique to ignore. Amidst the mingling scent of polish and the rasp of a bristled brush, there is a seam of familiarity that Set wishes to pluck at. His stride, unhurried and brimming with coiled energy, slows as his sharp eyes fall upon the figure in black; the flick of white gloves, the smooth efficiency, the perfection and attentiveness. Something within his soul flexes, calling out to him in an old, black song. A sense of old knowledge, a familiarity that brews and ebbs easily. Just a hint, a fleeting taste meant to lure him in. ]
Ahh — [ He exhaled brightly, never one to wholly deny instinct. Barely was it out of his mouth before he was in motion, a blue of gold and red, lunging forth with one arm cocked back in preparation — not in malice, but in something far, far worse for Sebastian: delight. Wholly unconcerned whether his pouncing would be disruptive, he collides swiftly with the hella' butler — cracking a fist directly into the high of his back with a vigor that surprises even Set himself, as he emits a punchy little hunting cry. ]
You! You! It's you, again! Who the fxck are you!!
[ A storm of enthusiasm and claws follows his kidney punch, the sheer, confused joy in his voice betraying his eagerness to rip into the mystery-man-familiar-but-un to him, to sink into him and know what it is about him calling like siren song. ]
WILDCARD-Y
The strange, dark atmosphere of the man(?) he comes across in the midst of his cleaning is far too unique to ignore. Amidst the mingling scent of polish and the rasp of a bristled brush, there is a seam of familiarity that Set wishes to pluck at. His stride, unhurried and brimming with coiled energy, slows as his sharp eyes fall upon the figure in black; the flick of white gloves, the smooth efficiency, the perfection and attentiveness. Something within his soul flexes, calling out to him in an old, black song. A sense of old knowledge, a familiarity that brews and ebbs easily. Just a hint, a fleeting taste meant to lure him in. ]
Ahh — [ He exhaled brightly, never one to wholly deny instinct. Barely was it out of his mouth before he was in motion, a blue of gold and red, lunging forth with one arm cocked back in preparation — not in malice, but in something far, far worse for Sebastian: delight. Wholly unconcerned whether his pouncing would be disruptive, he collides swiftly with the hella' butler — cracking a fist directly into the high of his back with a vigor that surprises even Set himself, as he emits a punchy little hunting cry. ]
You! You! It's you, again! Who the fxck are you!!
[ A storm of enthusiasm and claws follows his kidney punch, the sheer, confused joy in his voice betraying his eagerness to rip into the mystery-man-familiar-but-un to him, to sink into him and know what it is about him calling like siren song. ]