#o ve r fnse seven feet

[catastrophicur]

His height could easily pass seven feet, with ruddy features hardened into a sharpened gaze. Eyes like sunlight, the acidic gaze cuts through the little singer Jude had made himself reacquainted. A voice quakes the walls with every word, the smaller woman trembling. "Will you still say NOTHING!?" A hand shoots forward, an asps strike jerking Amelia forward in a fierce grip, and the walls bounce with her cry, entangled with underlying anger encapsulated with fear. (MEET BAHAMUT, JUDE!)

            Not a complete foreigner to luxury, Jude’s had an easy time of integrating himself into Amelia’s inherited home — though songbird’s company is only a part of why he’s stuck around. Vintage wines and cigars are the other reasons: it feels good to hide away from everything and just lounge, boots kicked off and recent steal smoking from where it lazes in hand aside his head. Jude’s trying, and failing, to blow plumes of cigar into shapes like seen in cartoons.  

            It’s really nice—— 

           " Will you still say NOTHING!? "

            Oh, what the fuck. 

            Was really nice. 

            Cigar promptly snuffed out and left to idle in nearby ashtray, Jude lurches up in response to Amelia’s cries. A dart of black and white - gold, he only slows to a prowl once he’s found the source of both voices. Bristling, ears pricked, Jude doesn’t hesitate at the sight of the gargantuan man — the atmosphere shimmers around him, and in a blink hound’s astride the two, a punishing, crushing grip on the wrist below giant’s assaulting mitt.  

            “ Hands off the lady, prick. We use our big boy words to reach a ~peaceful resolution~ in this household. “