[ The dance is one of parrying blows that would seriously maim, or kill, a lesser being. A testing of the waters to determine ability and the extent thereof, playing coy with one's own power to see how far the other can be pressed. Despite Set's confusion as to why, the hell, he felt the urge to introduce himself fist-first to an otherwise nondescript servant-looking fellow, he's beginning to feel the familiar surge of delight, of pleasure. It's fun to fall into a wordless conversation, pushing and pulling against an opponent he doesn't know the true power of.
He tanks another blow, blood from the bridge and nostrils of his nose already beginning to stop its flow. Oddly, it even appears to be turning into flakes and granules, fading against his skin like water that is being absorbed into thirsty, arid earth. His tongue flicks out across his upper lip, licking away a patch of damp blood before he slips onto his feet and begins to straighten up. Only slightly, as he remains softly hunched into a position akin to a cat that's about to start wiggling before a leap. ]
No idea. It is just that I saw you, and felt like it.
[ One hand touches the center of his bare chest, as if to gentle the flexing parts of his soul that strain toward this man; the dizzying sense of deja vu has happened to him twice before, in this place. Matthew Jamison was the first, and Eddie Munson, the second; he'd never met them before in his life, but felt drawn to them as if he had always known them. Something about the man before him speaks to a part of him, dark and syrupy-deep. It flexes like a muscle awakening after disuse, sore and pleasurable. ]
no subject
He tanks another blow, blood from the bridge and nostrils of his nose already beginning to stop its flow. Oddly, it even appears to be turning into flakes and granules, fading against his skin like water that is being absorbed into thirsty, arid earth. His tongue flicks out across his upper lip, licking away a patch of damp blood before he slips onto his feet and begins to straighten up. Only slightly, as he remains softly hunched into a position akin to a cat that's about to start wiggling before a leap. ]
No idea. It is just that I saw you, and felt like it.
[ One hand touches the center of his bare chest, as if to gentle the flexing parts of his soul that strain toward this man; the dizzying sense of deja vu has happened to him twice before, in this place. Matthew Jamison was the first, and Eddie Munson, the second; he'd never met them before in his life, but felt drawn to them as if he had always known them. Something about the man before him speaks to a part of him, dark and syrupy-deep. It flexes like a muscle awakening after disuse, sore and pleasurable. ]
Something tells me that you are fun to play with.