Jewel Tones [Namgil? Ren? Other?]

[Comoros]

In the day, the caverns glowed red.

Como could not remember the last eclipse, and therefore could not recall whether it had been so, before. Where a miniature sun should have orbited the domed ceiling of the Throne Room, a bloody smudge hovered instead, bathing what parts of the court that were not lit by other means in an otherworldly glare. The strange light made it hard for his reptilian eyes to adjust. He blinked in the dimness, listening to the rumors from Imbolc with pained curiosity, wondering how much was true and how much was the embellishment of the rumor mill. Had the Sluagh come out? Como had heard them from time to time, rumbling in the deepest parts of the caves, unquiet. He avoided the entrances to the underdark, in fear of what lurked there…but if the rumors were true, perhaps it was not the dark kingdom he had to fear.

With a flick of his tail, the lycanthrope leapt from one tree’s branch to another’s trunk, gripping easily with his textured palms, face down. His natural camouflage worked well here, in an Unseelie atrium, where trees grew like towers in the magicked sunlight and the whole room gleamed green. Still, his skin had a kind of sparkle to it that could give him away, if someone had the kind of eyes to see. Como crawled slowly down the tree’s length – thirty, maybe forty feet to the floor – and swung down gracefully to crouch in the ferns. The nearby wall had a trickle of water which perpetually spilled down its length and into a kind of bowl in the floor, from there to course into unknown cracks and perhaps, eventually, the underdark. Comoros moved toward it quietly, cupped his hand against it to drink. The room was otherwise still as death. He sipped eagerly.

A faint sound behind him, no more than the rustle of a leaf against another, startled him out of his peace – his head whipped around, large black eyes scanning around him for a potential threat, his movements far more those of his mantel than a faerie.

“Who’s there?”

[/color] he demanded of the silence in a soft, childish voice, attempting to sound brave but managing only petulance. He did not like to be seen; his corruption was too great to be borne, for many fae, and he did not have the constitution to endure their judgment.
[/blockquote]

[Namgil]

It had been a long time since Namgil had last set foot on Unseelie territory. His last stint in Alanor had been spent as a member of the Seelie court. It had been centuries before that time when he had resided in the jaded caverns of the Darkling Throng. Namgil was pleased to see not much had changed; at least, according to his relatively foggy memory. Thousands of years of life had a way of skimming off all the little details in regards to the events in one’s life and Namgil had never been one to regard his surroundings in any particular degree. Thus, even though his venture into the bowels of the cave should have technically been an entirely new experience to him, Namgil allotted the glistening beauty of the place none of his attention. There was no point.

The entire purpose of his visit eluded him. He had slunk in during a lull in activity in an effort to avoid the public eye – particularly the eyes of one certain faerie. He would have avoided the caverns all together to save him the trouble of sleuthing around, but Namgil had to effectively prod the pieces of his game into motion. In order to do that he had to actively seek them out. Ren or Namiko would have been welcome pawns in his little hunt, but it seemed as if Namgil was going to have to settle with a rather….unique creature.

He practically melted from the shadows, his fluid strides bringing him silently into Como’s field of vision. At the same time it appeared as if he brought a piece of darkness with him. His Sidhe flesh danced with an invisible shadow of its own, a cold poison that wafted over his frame and lanced out into the surrounding air. Namgil’s dead, gray-rimmed eyes met Como’s similar optics and the Sidhe mimicked the lycanthropes movements with a quick, jerky tilt of his head.

A toothy smile encompassed his lips as he chuckled, ”Expecting a monster from the deep?” His voice was breathy and silky smooth. He righted his head and peered at the lycanthrope. In mere seconds, Como’s overall worth was calculated and stored. The fact that Namgil stayed in his presence more than a few moments was enough to indicate that the creature had been perceived as worthy of his time.

[Comoros]

He had been expecting a monster, but a Sidhe could be worse. Comoros had seen mangled faerie carted to and from the Hall of Mortality, where King Cel continued his mother’s grand tradition of cruelty. He knew what the Sidhe could do to others, when they felt so inclined. And so, as the dark fae approached, his “glow” more of a chokehold on the light and his beauty more sinister than alluring, the lycan cannot help but swallow a knot of fear. He flinched as Namgil copied him, pressing one hand against the rock wall, in case he needed to make a speedy exit. Como could make quick work out of sheets of glass, much less the sheer cavern’s side, and it seemed very unlikely that this character could follow him. His eyes narrowed, half concealed by sky-blue lids. “Can’t be too careful,” he answered, “Especially with shades running around.” he quipped, fearing his own rudeness. If he had known how “useful” Namgil had gauged him to be, he might have died of terror on the spot. Instead he took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm himself before he did any lasting damage with his ungentle tongue.

“You startled me,” he said, and though the words formed an accusation, his tone was apologetic – an explanation for his former sauciness. He drew himself up to standing, looking gangly in his torn shorts and naught besides, alien with his flattened nose and shock of electric blue hair. It was hard to tell where he was looking, typically, with how his pupils bled seamlessly into the surrounding black of his eyes, but one would have been truly ignorant not to know where his gaze was fixed, now. Namgil was smooth, and that demanded wariness. He leaned back against the wall, one hand still pressed firmly against it, adhering, and flicked his tail impatiently. “Are you looking for something, Prince?” The question was halfway through his lips when he regretted it, sure that it would provoke only prolonged contact, here, when he desired only solitude. It was just a matter of time before Namgil throttled him with word or magic…and Como wasn’t particularly in the mood for that, right now.

[Namgil]

The whispers came without warning. They bombarded him from all sides, enshrouding his mind and seeping tentacles into every crevice of his brain. Namgil’s attention was consumed and his expression blanked as every fiber of his body honed in on the assault. This internal war lasted mere seconds, the only outward indication of turmoil consisting of a slight twitch of his lips and a brief glazing of the eyes, almost as if Namgil were staring through Comoros instead of actually seeing him.

Namgil dismissed the foreign feeling without much thought. This wasn’t the first time he had experienced something like this. Thousands of years of life were prone to spawn instances such as these; Namgil had adapted to deal with them by simply not thinking of it. Mulling over the craziness would only cause it to expand, and Namgil had no room in his mind for foolish paranoia.

The lycanthrope’s tendency for flight was apparent, but Namgil was quite impressed by the fact that Como had yet to act on it. There was something about that fear that ignited a distinct carnal desire in Namgil. Had Como been a woman, Namgil would have very quickly lost interest – he cared not for women who cowed before a man. Fortunately, Como was not suited to Namgil’s tastes. A pity, really.

”I apologize.” His predatory smile shifted into a more inviting one, though the bite of his poison still hung heavy in the air. At the lycanthrope’s question, Namgil tilted his head, ”Nothing in particular.” That seemed to be his common answer now-a-days, ”Though I do believe I have found something that warrants my interest.” Whether Como was offended by being called ‘something’ rather than ‘someone’ was of little concern to Namgil. He took a moment to examine his fingernails, ”Your name?”