There was a rather large, uncertain part of Ira that contemplated why he had decided to come back to this infernal territory as his large (too large for his growing slightly disproportionately awkward body) paws carried him to the lake he knew as Hell. This was just a dramatization made by the insolent Princeling in question simply because he had a severe hatred of the feathered fiends that frequented the lake otherwise known as to those whom were normal: ducks. To Ira, they would forever be the ‘feathered fiends’ with no particular rhyme or reason for his inherent dislike of them. He thought they were obnoxious, boisterous and filthy creatures and no matter what anyone tried to tell him in opposition he stubbornly refused to listen, which to anyone who knew Ira would not have found that all that surprising. He refused to listen to mostly everything anyone told him anyway. To listen might be to admit that he was wrong and there was a strong sense of narcissism and pride that could not allow him to do such a thing.

A pause was given in his approach to the muddy and green bank of the lake, as his icy colored eyes scoured the territory general surprised while further contented that there were only a few ducks at the lake so far. Maybe it was too early for them, he reasoned, squinting up at the orange half present sun for it was still rising into the skyline. Whatever the case, Ira’s stiff posture eased some, though he didn’t dare let his guard entirely fall. There was no telling when a whole flock of the demon birds might gang up and decide to come to the lake. For now, however, Ira did not worry too much about it, instead peaceably settling upon his haunches to watch the sunrise, letting his thoughts wander on the rippling water mirroring the picture that had painted itself before him.

It was increasingly hard, try as Ira might, to ignore the loud and seemingly random outburst from the ducks, ruining his peaceful daydreaming though they had not held anything in particular or specific. It was abrupt the shattering of them, like glass exploding into a thousand small and sharp shards. Silver tipped hackles bristled in his annoyance, irises of ice followed the sharp inclination of his head, pupils narrowing in further irritation as he shot a searing look at the birds with the hopes of catching their feathers on fire with the intensity of his harsh gaze, only to wrinkle his nose in disgust as the scent of the other male drifted his way on the breeze. It was a scent that sometimes clung to Jinx, though Ira had never met his guardian’s Shaman though he had heard mention of him. Jinx’s Shaman or not, Ira couldn’t help that his ire then turned to the elderly, blood, mud, and grass covered male. For a moment, Ira couldn’t help but stare wondering if there was something wrong with him - and furthermore remained inherently puzzled at what Jinx thought was so great that she had spoken so highly of Lecter in Ira’s presence.

Ira was not impressed.

Brazenly, the insolent Princeling rose and made his way towards the other who had the neck of a duck clasped securely in his jaws. Ira suppressed a shudder of further disgust fairly certain that ducks probably tasted filthy, too, though he did not know because he refused to eat them. The other male’s gaze was cold upon him as the insolent Princeling drew nearer, but Ira did not care. “You are the Shaman Jinx speaks of?” Ira demanded breaking his silence, speaking over the protesting squabbling of the heathens.

Ira snorted with disdain when Lecter took a protective stance over the duck, as if he assumed Ira actually gave two rat shits tails about the deceased feathered fiend. Of course, he wasn’t extremely open about his dislike for the birds, not that Lecter knew him well enough to know something as personal as that anyway. If things had been reversed Ira could not have said that he wouldn’t have been protective over his kill as well, but as it were things were not reversed. “I’m not going to steal your stupid duck,” Ira mumbled under his breath complete with a roll of his eyes in an teenager-esque manner. It seemed mutual - their inherent coldness towards one another - but in truth Ira didn’t care if the Shaman didn’t find him impressive. As far as the Princeling was concerned he had nothing to prove to him. Besides, the Shaman was old and wouldn’t be around for much longer probably. It wasn’t as if either of them was truly a competition for the other. In a way, Ira did love Jinx, though the finer details of that highly coveted truth were undefined.

At Lecter’s words the boy merely smirked. That was not at all how he had came to be in Jinx’s care, and for some reason the Shaman’s lack of knowledge (regardless of if it were intentional or not) pleased Ira. There was a small part of Ira that wondered if the fact that he did not get along with, or really make any attempts at getting along with Lecter would anger Jinx. He cared, of course, but as far as he saw it there was nothing that said either of them had to get along with one another. They were from distinctly different parts of Jinx’s life and that was fine with Ira. “Only because she wanted me,” The child allowed Lecter’s misgivings to the origins of how Ira came into Jinx’s life, despite how horribly wrong it was. A few days from his six month mark he was growing and quickly, having already grown to be as tall as Jinx - and somehow he was still growing.

“Her Gods wanted me too.” He added as a sneering afterthought, fully aware that Lecter and Jinx shared Gods. That part was not a lie for Jinx herself had spoken of them the night she had taken him under her wing.

Ira watched with disdain, not caring enough to even attempt to hide it as Lecter plucked feathers from the duck’s breast and spit them towards him. They were not sitting close enough for the feathers to initially touch him, but the wind picked up and the downy feathers began drifting towards his paws. Despite Ira’s urge to cringe away from them in reaction he stood taunt and still, instead, not wanting to show weakness in front of Lecter, and not wanting to look stupid because of feathers. He had a small collection of them in the den he shared with Jinx (except they weren’t duck feathers - as far as he was aware at any rate). Lecter’s reaction to Ira’s words had not been what the Princeling had expected and so, instead, he just continued to stare at Lecter, attempting and failing once more, to understand what Jinx saw in him (little did he know they were secret mates - or going to be). “I was here first.” Ira said in refusal to Lecter’s attempts to shoo him away. In truth, Ira wasn’t sure that it was particularly true but he didn’t care at that moment. “Besides, I don’t have to listen to you.” The only creature he actually listened too remained Jinx and her alone, it didn’t matter what Lecter was to his guardian, neither did rank or age because Ira in the frankest way possible, didn’t care. He only cared about himself (and Jinx but mostly himself) and it was simpler that way.

Ira watched in disgust, though his expression had became that and stayed that through Lecter’s feather spewing ordeal, shaking his head once wondering what it was that Jinx found so great about him - because Ira did not see it. The show continued then as Lecter ate the duck but then proceeded to piss all over the remains as if Ira had any intentions of (a eating duck, or b) eating after Lecter, and Ira rolled his eyes. “I told you Old man I wasn’t going to eat your stupid fucking duck.” What was so hard to understand about the fact that Ira viewed ducks as disgusting creatures…which in Ira’s mind put them somewhere just below Lecter. Ira watched as Lecter began to move back towards the Creek having no intentions of stopping or following the shaman. Rather, he felt the odd need to bathe though he was sure it was just an itchy reaction to the feathers having been spewed in his direction and the stink that Lecter put off.

With a dismissive flick of his tail Ira turned and walked away from the stop he had encountered Lecter, wanting to put as much distance between the shaman and himself as possible, despite that it had appeared as if Lecter were returning to the Creek.