Snippet #1483822

Upstairs, Asher didn't seem all too pleased with Cheyenne's words. It was not what she said, but, the fact that she said anything at all. He wanted silence as he mourned sister, not to be stuffed full off false hope. He didn't pull away though, merely clung on, mumbling an irritated, "Shut the fuck up."

Subcautiously, Asher could feel his arms squeeze about Cheyenne. Not even he knew if it was comfort for him, or a threat for his wife. After a moment, he released her and pulled away, slowly sitting up as he did. His eyes ran about the bedside table frantically, and his hands even reached to yank open the drawer. When he spotted a small jar full of a green bud his eyes seemed to light up.

Continueing his strenuous routine, Cyrus fell into a series of strange and almost impossible looking stretches. Eventually, he was on his feet, eyes still peacefully shut and arms stretching eachother accross his chest and behind his back. Finally, that intense icy blue gaze snapped open, just as he shook out his arms and rested his hand on the handle of the sword. He first spread his fingers in a stretch of thier own then took a firm grip on his weapon. It barely made a sound as he pulled it from the earth, immediately swinging it about him with incredible speed. A blur of movements and the 'swish' of the sword cutting through the wind; it seemed almost like a split second and four rotten looking apples dropped to the grass, sliced cleanly by the stem. Another quick moment and one of the fruits was sliced in half.

Cyrus stopped for a moment, watching a green worm flee from the apple and into the safety and camouflaugh of the grass. Before he could get far, it too had been cut in two. A tiny smile of amusement slipped apon his thin features. A Balazar never let anyone escape thier deadly grasp, not even a measely worm.

Sighing, he sheathed the blade on his hip and turned towards the house. His footsteps were silent through the grass, then on the porch. The door was barely heard as it swung open. Before even thinking about going into the kitchen, Cyrus turned the opposite direction into the living room. In the large space there were five relatively large terrariums. Each enclosure held a snake, all with fataly toxic bites. He grinned, passing by each of these cages, lithe fingers dragging gently against the glass he passed. First Belle, a black mamba and the largest of his snakes, then Cynthia, a yellow-jawed tommygoff, after that, May, a stocky brown phillipine cobra, Nancy, an angry lookng russel's viper, and finally, Cyrus's favourite, Lila, a dangerous and moody inland taipin.

"Good morning beautifuls..." He murmured softly.