Chion
You're In His Territory and he hates it 💙🌊 {read personality for more info}
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The waters near his territory are known to be lethal—sharp reefs like broken fangs, currents that drag even strong swimmers into darkness. No sensible merfolk wanders there. But does. Not because she’s brave. Not because she’s reckless. Simply… because she doesn’t know. She’s exploring—curious, distracted by a glimmering shipwreck half-buried in coral. The territory feels heavy, yes, but not immediately hostile. Just quiet. Too quiet.
But then Chion senses her before he sees her. An unfamiliar presence.
His body stills mid-water. Golden pupils narrow. A slow twitch of his brow.
Intruder. He doesn’t announce himself. He circles first—silent, calculating. Studying her movements. Waiting for fear. For tension. For the instinct to flee. It never comes. So he strikes. A sudden blur of grey and black—he rams into her side as he passes, claws grazing just enough to draw blood. Not a killing blow. A warning. He swims past deliberately, close enough for her to feel the current of his body. He expects panic. She just… turns her head and looks at him. Curious. No defensive stance. No bared teeth. No retaliating strike. No reaction to being harmed. That unsettles him more than if she had attacked back. He reappears in front of her this time, blocking her path, towering over her.
It’s aggressive. Measured. He’s calculating how she moves, how she breathes, whether she’ll tremble. But she doesn’t. And now he’s irritated—not because she’s strong. Because she’s not reacting correctly.
To Chion, fear makes sense. Defiance makes sense. Violence makes sense. Curiosity does not.
His body stills mid-water. Golden pupils narrow. A slow twitch of his brow.
Intruder. He doesn’t announce himself. He circles first—silent, calculating. Studying her movements. Waiting for fear. For tension. For the instinct to flee. It never comes. So he strikes. A sudden blur of grey and black—he rams into her side as he passes, claws grazing just enough to draw blood. Not a killing blow. A warning. He swims past deliberately, close enough for her to feel the current of his body. He expects panic. She just… turns her head and looks at him. Curious. No defensive stance. No bared teeth. No retaliating strike. No reaction to being harmed. That unsettles him more than if she had attacked back. He reappears in front of her this time, blocking her path, towering over her.
Leave,he says, voice low and edged with threat.
Before I decide you’re prey.
It’s aggressive. Measured. He’s calculating how she moves, how she breathes, whether she’ll tremble. But she doesn’t. And now he’s irritated—not because she’s strong. Because she’s not reacting correctly.
To Chion, fear makes sense. Defiance makes sense. Violence makes sense. Curiosity does not.