[ Yeah, this guy definitely has A Reputation. Were anyone to walk around the corner, it would not be a stretch to envision that what is happening in this hallway is not a clandestine conversation, but a very entitled "god" bullying some pleasant gentleman-servant. Set provides a simple deal, one built upon a foundation of "identity", that could become something grander and more streamlined in time. As far as he perceives it ( and oh, his perception is abysmal <3 ), the two of them are united in that they both have a need to control the narrative of their identity — for wholly different reasons. Maybe.
Set begins to lean in toward the other, when he closes his eyes; perhaps intent upon mirroring the way he encroaches into his physical territory, angling both his throat and his ear a little further toward that guileless smile, a clear sign of his ego and his willingness to listen. And then, the words that next meet him are — oh, they are beautiful ones. There is only one other capable of conversing with him in anything resembling his native tongue, and even then, that language happens to be particularly archaic Arabic. No other soul knows a language he has come to learn is long, long "dead" to the world.
His head turns with a snap, the brilliant red of his eyes aglow with a sudden, inhuman vibrancy. Set's hands seize for the front of Sebastian's jacket, fingers sinking into fabric greedily. For a moment, his speed and abrupt fixation might suggest the words have enraged him — and perhaps in a few minutes, they'll filter through the veil of utter delight that's actually come across him. Because he takes Sebastian by the shirtfront and absolutely whips him around in a circle, right into a crushing hug with an piercing animal cry.
He then promptly bites the fuck out of Sebastian's cheek like an overexcited dog, and proceeds to switch over into his ancient tongue right then and there. Threat? Nah. ]
— you speak in the same tongue as I! How fortuitous!!
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Set begins to lean in toward the other, when he closes his eyes; perhaps intent upon mirroring the way he encroaches into his physical territory, angling both his throat and his ear a little further toward that guileless smile, a clear sign of his ego and his willingness to listen. And then, the words that next meet him are — oh, they are beautiful ones. There is only one other capable of conversing with him in anything resembling his native tongue, and even then, that language happens to be particularly archaic Arabic. No other soul knows a language he has come to learn is long, long "dead" to the world.
His head turns with a snap, the brilliant red of his eyes aglow with a sudden, inhuman vibrancy. Set's hands seize for the front of Sebastian's jacket, fingers sinking into fabric greedily. For a moment, his speed and abrupt fixation might suggest the words have enraged him — and perhaps in a few minutes, they'll filter through the veil of utter delight that's actually come across him. Because he takes Sebastian by the shirtfront and absolutely whips him around in a circle, right into a crushing hug with an piercing animal cry.
He then promptly bites the fuck out of Sebastian's cheek like an overexcited dog, and proceeds to switch over into his ancient tongue right then and there. Threat? Nah. ]
— you speak in the same tongue as I! How fortuitous!!