Post by Yuiven on Jan 2, 2011 21:30:22 GMT -5
Being accused of defamation of character had been no less unappreciated by Wiglaf than Vaska's dislike at being lectured, especially when there wasn't any sufficient evidence provided to back up the ridiculous allegation. Even so, the damage was done. The barb had cut him deeply, poison from its sharp tips continuing to seep into his wounded ego. Ignorant brat! If he had bothered to pay attention in his special ed classes-- Heated thoughts tried to resurge like blood from an arrow wound, hot and dark, without him even meaning it to, and Wiglaf immediately applied a tourniquet on the aggressively irrational part of his mind to cut off the flow of anger, so he could hear what Vaska had to say.
Rich brown eyes widened; ears flipped forward, pointed straight up; mouth parted open; soft dark blue nostrils quivered as the Percheron breathed-- these shifts in his expression hinted to the monumental thought process whirring in his head as Wiglaf absorbed Vaska's confession into his sponge-like brain. What he was saying made too much sense. This wasn't the ravings of an insane child, rather this was the plain, simple truth from a little boy who was trying to comprehend the forceful uprising of hatred and bigotry which had suddenly inundated the Court of Hearts against two innocent Lowland canines.
Wiglaf felt an excitement well up inside him at the young bat's words. It wasn't just him then! Someone else had noticed the unnatural hostility too. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one who felt out of the loop, like trying to figure out what had everyone talking after missing the latest episode of the most popular audio drama in radio.
There was a lull in the conversation at this point, then Vaska asked the million gold question. Now Wiglaf was supposed to give an answer.
The spirit of the Ace sighed heavily and dropped his head slightly, raking a hand through his long silvery mane, pushing it back over his shoulder. He looked anywhere but at Vaska for a few seconds, and when he finally did make eye contact, he gazed sombrely into the red and yellow of the Solandrian's exceptionally large eyes for a long moment, knowing what he was about to say was likely going to put him right back in the line of fire.
Wiglaf opened his mouth to speak the discouraging words, "I don’t know," but, in that moment, precisely then, he was interrupted when there came a howl, of anguish mingled with fear, rage and desperation, deep, primal and haunting. The volume was deafening. It was an instinctive reaction to clamp your hands over your ears to block out the most dreadful sound ever heard; unfortunately you couldn't, because it echoed not only through the air, but every part of your entire being. It seemed to be carried on the gust of icy cold wind slamming into the hallway.
Lights erratically flickered on and off, paintings clattered against the walls, swinging from their fixtures. Objets d'art teetered on their pedestals, some crashing to the marble floor. Obviously, someone was trying to get their attention.
Rich brown eyes widened; ears flipped forward, pointed straight up; mouth parted open; soft dark blue nostrils quivered as the Percheron breathed-- these shifts in his expression hinted to the monumental thought process whirring in his head as Wiglaf absorbed Vaska's confession into his sponge-like brain. What he was saying made too much sense. This wasn't the ravings of an insane child, rather this was the plain, simple truth from a little boy who was trying to comprehend the forceful uprising of hatred and bigotry which had suddenly inundated the Court of Hearts against two innocent Lowland canines.
Wiglaf felt an excitement well up inside him at the young bat's words. It wasn't just him then! Someone else had noticed the unnatural hostility too. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one who felt out of the loop, like trying to figure out what had everyone talking after missing the latest episode of the most popular audio drama in radio.
There was a lull in the conversation at this point, then Vaska asked the million gold question. Now Wiglaf was supposed to give an answer.
The spirit of the Ace sighed heavily and dropped his head slightly, raking a hand through his long silvery mane, pushing it back over his shoulder. He looked anywhere but at Vaska for a few seconds, and when he finally did make eye contact, he gazed sombrely into the red and yellow of the Solandrian's exceptionally large eyes for a long moment, knowing what he was about to say was likely going to put him right back in the line of fire.
Wiglaf opened his mouth to speak the discouraging words, "I don’t know," but, in that moment, precisely then, he was interrupted when there came a howl, of anguish mingled with fear, rage and desperation, deep, primal and haunting. The volume was deafening. It was an instinctive reaction to clamp your hands over your ears to block out the most dreadful sound ever heard; unfortunately you couldn't, because it echoed not only through the air, but every part of your entire being. It seemed to be carried on the gust of icy cold wind slamming into the hallway.
Lights erratically flickered on and off, paintings clattered against the walls, swinging from their fixtures. Objets d'art teetered on their pedestals, some crashing to the marble floor. Obviously, someone was trying to get their attention.
