#// griss will behave.... as much as he can.....

[twistedisciple]

Busy, busy, and yet between the bouts of never ending movement was nevertheless an apportioned stillness. One moment’s reprieve carved from the thick of it all, in no small part due to the bloody events of the cauldron. Not for any worry, of course. 

“Here—for your wound,” Rafal tossed at Griss a roll of gauze in lieu of greeting. He frowned, as he always did, looking not one mote amiss. But what had been the words spoken to him by one mercifully absent Poe? Those that ever mysteriously came to mind in reflection over the night's spontaneity; its quick escalation and quicker drawn blood?

'And I hope you know that I am far from the only one who will not tolerate it, if he decides to escape that leash of yours and find some innocent to sink his fangs into.'

He blinked inscrutably. “You knew what was going to happen, pushing that boy.”

Calmly, he watched Griss, made no move to crane his head and examine his wound - wherever it was amidst all that animal blood. He knew it was there, and if there should be some secondary expectation of censure, the dragon didn’t offer that either.

A neat turn: “The trial is soon. Show up with that wound dressed. I won’t have it reopening, or you bleeding like a dog all over the floor.”

—a stop, frown to smirk.

“You are a knight, aren’t you?”

Griss caught the gift (no, not a gift - a command) in one hand and looked at it. The pain in his shoulder had subsided before it'd even had a chance to fester, thanks to the work of the one dressed ironically like Death, and so he didn't have any reason to complain or fight back. The wound was just a wound now, and one that still needed attention before infection set in. With a grousing groan or a thankful sigh - it was hard to tell - he plopped down on one of the chairs left over from the banquet and began peeling off the stiff, tattered, blood-soaked cloth from his arm.

"Yeah?" He glanced up at the dragon who stood over him like both supervisor and judge. The complacent smile that snaked slowly across his face cracked, but didn't quite break, the expression of businesslike neutrality.

"I just wanted to see how far he'd go, is all." And what kind of injury he'd leave him with, if any. Griss got what he wanted. Once-white cloth ripped free from his sleeve dropped to the ground by his feet, now giving a clear look at one clean gash in the middle of skin stained with blood and ink.

"Self-righteous kids like that think their intentions give 'em some moral high ground, but at the end of the day, they're down here covered in blood just like me." He turned away to examine the wound, prodding around it with clinical interest to see how well the reaper's spell had closed it up. Hidden from Lord Rafal's sight and the teasing smirk that had bled across his face, however, the irreverent look Griss had been wearing faded.

Was he a dog, or was he a knight?

"Anyway, I heard you loud 'n clear. Can't have anyone leaving stains on your cute little party decor, right?" When he looked up again, it was back twofold - a jeering grin and a glint of mischief in the eye. But by now, his lord should have known it was merely for show. He wouldn't pull the leash.

"Sounds like your witch of a co-host is still mad about that handprint. Hahaha!"

After all, he was a mangy hound being called a knight.

[ruinakete]

cannoli - how does your muse express love? how do they act when in love that differs from how they act around others normally?

PASTRY LOVE HEADCANONS ・ not accepting!

hrm hrm hrm ... under the assumption that love, at least for the first question, extends to its platonic and familial forms, then the simple answer would be the phrase from her inspiration tag, "love is pain. pain is punishment". the third part would simply repeat, "and punishment is love".

although I've discussed her view on romantic love in small headcanons, I do not think it would stray too far from her ideals surrounding familial and platonic love. after all, are all forms of love not customary for obligation? is there not something to be given and laid in your partner's hands no matter the bond?

while I highly disagree with the notion that Zephia had any actual love, whether romantic or any, for Sombron, as she debunks this thought when speaking to Griss in Chapter 23, the way she behaves towards him is what she would expect from her partner; obedient, eager to please, and attentive to all she says. since he was the one to find her, centuries ago, she is the one who owes him all she is. servitude is the only expression of love that she believes is genuine.

anyone can say they love you. anyone can perform grand feats of public love. anyone can open their coin pouch and buy a gift in your name. but only a few can, without hesitation, throw themselves at your feet to make you smile.

the only difference between romantic, familial, and platonic love is the degree of affection; and how much you would sacrifice and lose in their name. "love is pain. pain is punishment. and punishment is love." can you really love someone if you are not willing to cut out their heart at the happenstance of betrayal? what of infidelity? failure? pain and punishment will always have a place in Zephia's heart, and, as such, will be equally taught to those she loves.

if you do not commit to the part, then you will be punished. if you do not reciprocate, then you will be hurt. to be loved, and be able to love, is the consent to withstand the inevitable pain that follows any relationship. and because Zephia will only love someone she sees as worthy, first, then her approach calls for their servitude, not the other way around.

love is pain, but that pain is not a two-way street until you tilt the scales of the hierarchy and step out of line.