Golden Glade Half way on a slow move

This guy was sure of himself, maybe just as cocky about his own self-worth as Abaddon was about his. Usually like-minded folk butted heads quite often, not agreeing upon much due to both desiring to be right and not giving way to  the other. Such things were often a nuisance, and yes, it was to the blood prince as well - but more often than not, it was entertaining. To see who would break first under the tension weighing in the air between battling fighters without lifting a single paw. 

To which statement? He raised a brow, coaxing the stripped man to go further into detail - a part of him assumed the answer was both, according to his past experiences with both Tzila and Nyra. History had the habit of repeating itself and by the look in this guy's eye and how he carried himself, not to mention the tone of his voice; both was a safe assumption to make.

As the other leaned, Abaddon began to strut. His tail casually lightly curled at the tip but never rising higher than his hips as he glides across the ground with the elegance of a doe. Is that your attempt to find what to say to convince me? No stone or log would stop his path as the lithe-foot man slithered over each obstacle gracefully. All the while keeping an eye on the dog-faced one. I don't take orders very well. he started, a shockingly honest answer. Frankly, he didn't take being on the lowest rung very well. Not that it mattered to him where he sat on the hierarchy, just that no one has ever earned his respect for him to "act his rank".

And they are awfully boring. Tossing his head back dramatically and adding a lilt to his tone, he was selling his despair with everything he could muster.