While the last hand was being played, Shirvan had finally had an opportunity to snatch the scroll with the rules of the game for himself and studied it for awhile with a knitted brow.
As the silver-haired one put the scroll away a smirk appeared on his lips and he seated himself, pulling the chair closer to the table.
"Deal me in, then," he noted, finding that statement strangely appropriate. Once he had his hand and actually looked at it, a broad grin revealed itself on his face -- quickly replaced with a more neutral expression, however, as he glanced around.
The Training Ground
Shirvan grinned, baring white teeth at the woman sitting so prominently on his chest. His silver hair looked a bit tousled from their struggle, giving him a wild look; his eyes were still on her as she so teased him, only briefly side-tracking when the godling noticed some movement in a window from the corner of his eye, a form vaguely familiar watching them from above. Right now, he found he didn't care very much about who might be watching them, be it his dear sister or mighty Contragh.
He said nothing as the light of the sun from above briefly reflected in his eyes, the gold within shining at Nieve for a moment as he pulled himself upward; blade at his throat be damned, a scratch could not dissuade him as he rose, nimble hands reaching for Nieve's waist.
Before Dasque's Chamber
Twice it knocked against the door to Dasque's own chamber, firm and in quick succession.
On the other side, Shirvan pulled his hand back, a pensive look on his handsome face as the future God of Pride waited for his twin to respond.
He, too, had looked forward to this day for some time and was glad to finally be away from their creator -- unlike his sister, however, this gladness was not born of an intrinsic loathing of Baz'Auran, for he too had once basked in and reflected his glory, but from betrayal; a test the golden-eyed godling had come to see as a slight to his person.