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11-29-2013, 07:55 PM
Even given what he knew, Czernobog would never have called himself a 'catch', so perhaps it could be forgiven if he expressed some semblance of surprise. In his youth he'd been something of a loose cannon, perhaps too incisive for his own good, and though he'd dealt his hand with unapologetic skill he did not necessarily make many friends in the process. He had different cards now, and he would play them out.
The dark stallion turned toward the newcomer's voice, interestedly quirking a brow. This Ricochet sounded important (or at least as though he imagined himself important, from the perspective of an uninformed observer, and experience suggested that such was often enough). "My own kind?" Chuckling softly as though at a private joke, he tilted his head in as near of a shrug as he preferred to manage through his damnable stiffness.
O my brothers, how far afield have I flown?
He absently picked at a fly-bite on one knee.
"I'd rather be put to work than looked after, one way or another," Czernobog said, glancing again at the silent Artemis as he straightened up. She'd not mentioned a herd or anything beyond her own name. It was always possible that she lived in this forest, but she didn't smell like it, perhaps she'd had second thoughts about coming forward after getting a good look at him. He would not blame her, if so. "Never much cared for retirement." There was life yet in these old bones.
Next time - if there was a next time - he'd opt for a more reliable vessel for the long haul. There were many advantages to be had under the guise of frailty, but at what cost?
"With a name like 'incendiary', I imagine you have big plans for that family of yours, Ricochet?"
Czernobog
death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws
death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws
@[Ricochet]
@[Artemis]
