Word Count: 1305
Isanne studied her work with a frown. She had spent what seemed like the entire afternoon attempting to groom the lion before her, and it seemed the more she chewed, nibbled, and licked, the more she discovered wrong. Thankfully, no matter how hard she pulled and tugged at the matted fur in his mane, the lion gave little reaction. Occasionally he grunted or growled, but it was involuntary. She didn't blame him for making noises, especially when so much of his mane needed to be ripped out.
"Whyever let yourself get like this, hmm?" She chided with a small huff, tail thrashing behind her as she paused to investigate where to look next. "You could be such a handsome god if you would only put forth a little effort." And that was no lie. He had a plush mane, and a healthy coat beneath all the grit and grime. In fact, despite his difference appearances, the spikes and wings, and peculiar tail, he . . . He really could be attractive!
Granted, Isanne also knew she was rather biased. She wanted to worm her way in to his heart and lay claim to a god. Even if all he did was lay around, simply calling him hers would gain her the life she wanted; she could get others to hunt for her, and of course, spend all her time keeping him well groomed, and herself well kept. It was a perfect plan, she just had to weather out the storm of his apathetic nature.
Honestly, a male like him juts needed someone to take control.
Nemanja'janan, on the other paw, honestly wasn't paying the lioness much heed. She spoke, but the words went through one ear and completely out the other. He didn't care what she did, what she said, what she tried to claim; he didn't care whether or not she groomed, tugged, pulled, and sort out his matted mane, or if she gave up in exasperation. She was nobody, nothing. Simply a mortal intent on talking too much.
Let her do what she desired, for as long as he hung around. It didn't matter one way or another to him.
So it was, the lion said nothing, and moved little while the lioness continued to half crawl on him, trying to pick at his wings, his mane, his coat. It really wasn't such a big deal to him. Let the lioness do as she wished. To have a clean coat and mane would implied he took the time to groom it which would mean he cared. . . and that was simply not the case!
Isanne frowned some as she decided to turn towards the gods wing. The black feathers were in such a disarray, she honestly wasn't sure what to do with them. SOme looked ready to fall out, while others were so grease covered she was certain she could see her reflection. Ewww. She was going to need a long drink and bath herself after pawing over this lion. "I really hope all gods aren't like you. You would think you'd be ashamed to let yourself get like this." Leave it Isanne. She wasn't ready to let him off the hook, even if he was some powerful being. It also didn't occur to her that she wasn't doing a very good job making him swoon.
"Clearly this just means you need someone to do you a service, to look out for you." Isanne added, spitting out a mouthful of feathers and licking her nose a few times in thought. They certainly didn't taste very good. Perhaps this was a way of detaining others? Maybe. A strange sort of defense.
Nemanja said nothing.
Ebony eyes were closed, his breath shallow as he dozed in and out of consciousness. Was she still speaking? His ears flicked now and then, but unfortunately for Isanne, he had all but written her off. Perhaps that was just as well. Let the female talk, and talk, and talk, and talk and spend hours, minutes, days simply wasting energy on words that did not matter, thoughts that he did not care about, thoughts that he was quite certain she didn't care about either. It seemed to him that she was deaf to her own ridiculousness, her own words.
"It doesn't matter." He finally, with a great sigh, allowed himself to speak. It was more of a rumble, ebony eyes opening briefly. That wast truth. Everything was pushed with such great importance to mortals -- appearances, a need to thrive, to procreate, to exist and live and love -- but for what? They were but nothing when death came and turned them to dust.
Isanne, on the other paw, felt terribly pleased and proud when the lion before her made his announcement. She had gotten him to speak, now all she had to do was keep the conversation rolling. Yes, it would not be long before she became the great mate of a great god. Even if he was a bit . . . well. . . dull of temperament. That was all right. So long as she was the gods companion, than who cared how he felt about her? All she needed was for him to agree, or for him to be convinced to let her stay. Look at what she was willing to do? Groom his fur. Clean him up. Accept him just the way he was. . . .
Such a foolish lioness couldn't help but be smug. Give an inch, and she'd take a mile. She was too proud, too vain, to ever doubt her ability to woo a god.
"Hmm? What was that?" She questioned, ears pricking as she paused to once again spit out some more feathers.
When the god refused to spoke, the lioness decided to focus solely on what he had said. "Of course it matters. I know it might be different for a god, but surely you should have some form of pride and self-respect. Perhaps you're too busy-" or too lazy "But you really now. . . you're a god!" She allowed admiration and fondness to enter her voice, even as she stared at the mess of fur and dust and grime that was settled before her.
Now that she'd begun to fuss, she was beginning to dread the task. Nemanja was big, and his fur and coat practically endless in questionable clumps. Was that . . . was that a bone? Ewww. And snakeskin?! Blech. His stench alone was liable to keep others away. . . maybe that's why he was here instead of . .well. . wherever other gods roamed.
Nemanja'janan, of course, said nothing. He heard her words, and they did go through one ear, linger for just a spell, before retreating out the other. The female did not know what she spoke, or to whom he she spoke. Nemanja was, as far as he liked to believe, truth. God, mortal, it did not matter. They would both turn to dust one day, her far sooner than he. . . . But what did he care what she said?
What she wished? What she desired?
Let her talk. She would get bored of such things soon. And if she did not, he knew the fate that would soon befall her. Her life was in his paws, and she continued to fuss and scoff and speak; her life was in his paws and yet she continued to believe she mattered.
She didn't.
Isanne frowned when the god closed his eyes and, seemingly, drifted in to some sort of slumber. Hmph. Not much of a conversationalist, well. . . that was just as well. She'd get under his skin sooner or later. All she needed was time.
[.fin.]
