Lysander Docatto Valestri
Elbion College
- Messages
- 13
- Character Biography
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Nilamani
Lysander scoffed, a sharp exhale through his nose that conveyed all the disdain he didn’t bother putting into words. Still, he didn’t snap or scold—not yet. Instead, he leaned slightly to the side, plucked up a twig from the grass with exaggerated care, and poked Nilamani in the ribs with it.
A warning, not an attack.
“Personal space,” he muttered under his breath, golden eyes narrowing. “It’s not just a suggestion.”
Having someone that close—especially someone so sinuous, serpentine, and smug—was oddly unsettling. Not unpleasant, exactly, but it poked at some frayed edge of his nerves he wasn’t used to acknowledging.
He dropped the twig and sat back with a grunt, posture stiffening.
“Expulsion, my ass,” he said, tone thick with entitlement. “With the kind of pull my family has, I could probably murder someone and walk off with a slap on the wrist. A metaphorical one,” he added, just in case Nilamani got ideas.
“But getting caught eloping with a snake... woman... person—whatever you are? That’d have Father sharpening the inheritance shears. Then I’d probably have to murder him, or do something similarly unpleasant. Just to keep what’s rightfully mine.”
He gave one curt nod, as though the entire sequence—scandal, patricide, seamless succession—were the most logical progression in the world, then fell silent, golden eyes fixed on the distance while the garden’s hush pressed in around them.
Lysander scoffed, a sharp exhale through his nose that conveyed all the disdain he didn’t bother putting into words. Still, he didn’t snap or scold—not yet. Instead, he leaned slightly to the side, plucked up a twig from the grass with exaggerated care, and poked Nilamani in the ribs with it.
A warning, not an attack.
“Personal space,” he muttered under his breath, golden eyes narrowing. “It’s not just a suggestion.”
Having someone that close—especially someone so sinuous, serpentine, and smug—was oddly unsettling. Not unpleasant, exactly, but it poked at some frayed edge of his nerves he wasn’t used to acknowledging.
He dropped the twig and sat back with a grunt, posture stiffening.
“Expulsion, my ass,” he said, tone thick with entitlement. “With the kind of pull my family has, I could probably murder someone and walk off with a slap on the wrist. A metaphorical one,” he added, just in case Nilamani got ideas.
“But getting caught eloping with a snake... woman... person—whatever you are? That’d have Father sharpening the inheritance shears. Then I’d probably have to murder him, or do something similarly unpleasant. Just to keep what’s rightfully mine.”
He gave one curt nod, as though the entire sequence—scandal, patricide, seamless succession—were the most logical progression in the world, then fell silent, golden eyes fixed on the distance while the garden’s hush pressed in around them.
