Dragniast’s head tilted gently sideways, his look being something of sympathy.. or perhaps sorrow. Said expression birthed itself into existence shortly after chrystella began pleading for Zac to calm himself. Though most wouldn’t notice our vampires elegant features curve towards melancholic dismay, for only the smallest hints found their path upon that picturesque face.
He lowered his hand, taking several steps forward as to close the gap between them. He appeared to once again be unconcerned by the world near him, Zac’s growls holding no purpose by their unnecessary existence. Zac should discern that this wasn’t in seeing something lesser from him, for he cared just as little over Chrystellas anxiety.
*Tap… Tap… Tap…*
He felt no rush, slow steps creating well-paced rhythm. The very air near Dragniast trembled in submission, moisture and extreme temperatures moving away from him. 72 degrees was the constant state of perfect humidity near-him, there would be no hints as to how said feat is achieved.
Once being whithin five feet of the pair he spoke through eloquence again.
“Shall we be off beautiful?”
Dragniast complimented Chrystella so simply, as if it should be common courtesy for her to receive said praise. He hadn’t even looked towards Zac, not out of rudeness but more-so from being pre-occupied with his current hunt. Pressure to leave hadn’t found refuge, but the purpose to do so was entirely present and occupying most outward expressions.
Once close the aura our werewolf had ‘smelled’ would change drastically. That power from which he felt only death wouldn’t shift at its core, but the way it is interpreted would most certainly be corrected.
No ‘stench’ could possibly exist near Dragniast, no foul presence lasting even for the briefest of days for our noblemen personified peace. When sensing him you would feel tranquility that could only be brought by death, rest given by another rising moon. Perhaps he didn't respond to Zac because he felt insulted by that heinous comment, nothing but the peaceful affirmation that all things die in their rightful season coming near. Description might better be served with comparison to serene winter nights, another season finding its refuge beneath soft flakes and warm moments near fires which inevitably fade when rest is needed. No outward hints expressed his offense, perhaps he would elaborate if asked?
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