[ Despite being with the carnival for two and a half years, Shen had never completely lost sight of his objective, which was simpler said than done - he wished to return to his China and reclaim his throne. Keeping that in mind often did make matters simpler for him, though, at least when it came to people. He was not one who made friends easily, too proud and too tempestuous to keep anyone with a modicum of self-worth around for long. His affections were hard to win and easily lost, and if it had happened that he did have a certain few in his favor that perished during the Vampire War...
The past was in the past, and he had to look forward. Among tragedy, there was always opportunity, and Shen was nothing if not ambitious. The current Nightrider's folly meant the position was more or less open in his mind; all he would have to do is make the Ringmaster see that as well. But while there was no doubt a part of him that hungered for power, another still wondered if it was wise to seek authority in a place where too good of a job could mean more years in service than he intended to offer. It still did not cross his mind that he could fail to accomplish whatever he set out to do.
His mind was working as his body went through its practiced motions. That he had an audience was doubtless in his mind; doing his exercises in public was a necessity in terms of space as well as his desire for attention. Drawing close to an hour of performing now, it was time to take a break. His mind would still be working but the flesh, alas, called for a few minutes of respite and perhaps a spot of tea.
Working through the finale was a show of twirling his bladed weapon from wing to wing, spinning as he went. Faster and faster around went Shen, narrowly missing his wingtips and his body with the keen edge. A whispered word and his tail-feathers threw sparks behind him as he cut the air in a deadly horizontal arc before him. Leaping into the air with a triumphant cry, he throws the crooked blade forward for his talons to catch and mercilessly plunges it into the earth.
Now perched atop it, he feigns graceful indifference as he surveys his surroundings, silently soaking in his spectators. He is panting, however; though he manages not to do so open-mouthed, the fae mark on his chest rises and falls tellingly with his labored breathing. It's a red-black sun over where his heart should be, winding dark flecks around his neck like an amulet.
Meeting Carly's eyes eventually, he arches his brow-shaped feathers expectantly. ]
birbs of a feather... might be awful together
The past was in the past, and he had to look forward. Among tragedy, there was always opportunity, and Shen was nothing if not ambitious. The current Nightrider's folly meant the position was more or less open in his mind; all he would have to do is make the Ringmaster see that as well. But while there was no doubt a part of him that hungered for power, another still wondered if it was wise to seek authority in a place where too good of a job could mean more years in service than he intended to offer. It still did not cross his mind that he could fail to accomplish whatever he set out to do.
His mind was working as his body went through its practiced motions. That he had an audience was doubtless in his mind; doing his exercises in public was a necessity in terms of space as well as his desire for attention. Drawing close to an hour of performing now, it was time to take a break. His mind would still be working but the flesh, alas, called for a few minutes of respite and perhaps a spot of tea.
Working through the finale was a show of twirling his bladed weapon from wing to wing, spinning as he went. Faster and faster around went Shen, narrowly missing his wingtips and his body with the keen edge. A whispered word and his tail-feathers threw sparks behind him as he cut the air in a deadly horizontal arc before him. Leaping into the air with a triumphant cry, he throws the crooked blade forward for his talons to catch and mercilessly plunges it into the earth.
Now perched atop it, he feigns graceful indifference as he surveys his surroundings, silently soaking in his spectators. He is panting, however; though he manages not to do so open-mouthed, the fae mark on his chest rises and falls tellingly with his labored breathing. It's a red-black sun over where his heart should be, winding dark flecks around his neck like an amulet.
Meeting Carly's eyes eventually, he arches his brow-shaped feathers expectantly. ]