eyes narrow upon the face of another // unusual, other. there is nothing to meet the norm where it concerns the aura of this individual && while this transgression is sickening ( how has no seal been activated? ), its participant is… fascinating.
silence as one studies another // peripheral view on the state of
his art, whether any have been touched or otherwise defiled.
unnerving. unsettling. other.
‘tis unusual for sasori to face a foe he’s no knowledge of, but this feels as though it’s such. they stand as though fearing naught or little, speak likewise, gesture as though he were a cat tempting a mouse to bare fangs. the faint tang of ozone in the air sets copper hair on end.
there’s probably little chance of this pest ridding sasori of itself. hmph.
amber hues a cut across some ten feet between them. lashes low over syllables twining through hiss && purr alike - fingers twitch, yet nothing follows. not yet, in any case.
most likely the answer will be evasive, annoying. that’s fine -
it’s not the words he’s after, merely the way they are delivered.
This world, in particular, was always so wondrously interesting; the rules were so different from any of the others that the trickster merely had to dance circles around them to gain any semblance of understanding -- mostly so that he could dance more informed and better pointed circles on the corpse of said rules. Even from the sparse six words doled out, even now, he gained a better understanding -- though he still had to wonder; just how were these puppets to spring to life and accost him?
( Doubtless he’d find out were he to keep pressing. But then... That seemed as though it might represent a particularly painful route. One in which there was like to be venom; he smelled its all-too-familiar burn on the air. )
“Well now. That certainly is the question, is it not?” The test, a test! Would the boy ( at least he looked like a boy ) become testy over this aggravating lack of answers, or would he instead test his intruder further with questions? Oooh, and there were like to be more possibilities, more variables than Loki’s knowing eye could catch, though they would be called only once caught. ( And to think, he’d been questioned why he deigned to induce such grief on the occasional stranger. )
Why, because they were puzzles, of course. Why else would he bother, should it not have been amusing to him in some fashion? ( Really, the Aesir liked to make themselves look as though they had overcooked pasta for brains; disgusting, completely useless, utterly thoughtless mess. ) But puzzles, as most should know, were hardly fun when they weren’t complicated. The pieces shouldn’t be slapped down carelessly for just anyone, oh no; they needed to be guided with care to where Loki himself decided they should go, whether they entirely made sense that way or not. One had to admit, a distorted image was infinitely more thought-provoking than a simple painting of a cat.
“You also question whether or not I’ve disturbed any of your creations, no doubt. They all do.” Oh, how his smirk twisted down into his most infamous slyness! Hands, popped up to where they could be seen, ignited into flames engulfing every crevasse, every surface -- yet the flames hardly seemed to lick his flesh despite how comfortably it perched upon it. For as brightly as it burned, it burned from nothing -- or so he would have it seem, in any case. “Then again, I should think that it would be blatantly obvious if I had.”
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
