Re: Wainright Manor: Hunter R & Damian W
It wasn't a lizard's stare. Damian wasn't a lizard. The coldness in wide-waxed glacial flour was entirely human. After all, reptiles were not aware their gaze was interpreted as flat, but people were different. Which wasn't to say that Damian wielded the expression with explicit intent, as he did not. It was another trait inherited, doubled by compounding Algol and Wainright blood. But, he was also not attempting to gaze lovingly or kindly upon anyone. That awareness was a thread in Byzantine tapestry, but it was something.
That flash of confusion in Hunter's own eyes complicated things—his understanding, for one—, but the man decided he did not care to pick it apart. Just as he did not care enough to comment on the widely spread, incorrect notion that the word 'igloo' meant a house of snow. 'Igluvijaq' would have been better. Damian was not fond of the way English (and the Western world in general) leached its vocabulary from other languages and had the audacity to twist tongues ancient into simple, stilted concepts, denying their roots. But, as I was saying, he didn't care. He eyed Hunter's smile with a mixture of disdain and interest.
The uncertainty in tiger's eye brown, a glint on chatoyancy, appeared to Damian to be common. Hunter did not seem to feel sure of a great many things. His cousin blinked back from behind the veil of his smoke. "Giving." Family gave.
It was the assemblage of dogs as soldiers to sentinel the other man that informed Damian that his question had been flat-footed. He read their demeanor expertly, and he just shrugged. It did not happen often. Perhaps it was more of the giving for family, but he did not pursue the topic. He looked away, uncaring, his arms folded over his chest in a posture of defensiveness. "Fine. I didn't want to know anyway." There was petulance to his tone, childishness. He walked over to where the smallest dog was attempting to access a cupboard and he opened it helpfully.