As he came closer to her, heated by the electricity of his tension, his stony eyes picked up something unusual in her face, a sense of disbelief. His scowl deepened as he halted. Drops of sweat beaded on his coat, glimmering dully in the grim lighting. Why did she look at him that way? Was she surprised because of the burn scarring his face?

The disbelief vanished from her eyes, and a gentile smile warmed her silver lips, as if seeing him was one of the best things that had happened to her today.

She must have had a really fucking bad day then, Ricochet decides, because who would want to see him? Not his daughter, not the girl who he had lost his virginity to, not the black pegasus… and he pondered the possibility of her just being stupid. Couldn’t she see the stiffness in his jaw, the tension in his muscles, the layers and layers and layers of rage and passion and fury in his eyes, that had become the reason for his living? But still she smiled at him, grinning at him, and he was almost unnerved by it- except his testicles had dropped a long time ago, and it would take more than a pegasus are pretty as pegasi could be smiling to turn him away.

Her delicate, well-sculpted ears flick to him, and her voice is small and soft, more becoming of a dove than a mare. Bird-bones, bird-brain, bird-voice. Look at me, learning something new every day. Ricochet mused drily to himself, but he didn’t bother opening his mouth. Whenever he did that, he had a tendency to end up with a minor catastrophe on his hooves, seeing as he still blurted out whatever the fuck first came to his mind

Guns dropped onto his haunches, slumping by Ricochet’s hooves. The buttermilk stallion snorted, lifting a hoof to prod at the dog as the pegasus mare apologizes to him, even going so far as to call him ‘sir’. Despite his more persistent nudges, the collie stays down, panting heavily.

Stupid dog.

“This thing?” Ricochet grunted, teal eyes flicking up to her again. “He ain’t any good old dog. He’s either getting in the way or running off.” Better to complain to this mare and start some conversation going than tell her that just a week by Guns had caught a pegasus by the wing and chewed her up a good bit. Even the Incendiary knew that telling this girl that would probably scare her off- and he wouldn’t mind a conversation, even if it was with a pegasus. Better a skyrat than hornhead (not really, but still.)

The mare lowered her head politely, smiling that same fucking smile.

Why was she so god-damn cheerful? They were standing on the heart of Helovia surrounded by scarred land and blistering heat in the middle of Tallsun, the air was full of ashes, and no doubt if Ricochet just accidently summoned his magic that whole place would ignite into red dancing flames. “Stay down Guns,” the stallion growled bad-temperedly, narrowing his teal eyes at the pegasus. “Careful, he’s not too friendly. 'Might bite your muzzle off by accident.” Although at the moment, Guns looked anything but aggressive, sprawled as he was, tail wagging slowly back and forth over the dust. Stupid dog.

She offers up her name, a name with two parts to it. For a moment the Incendiary wonders if saying his name is a bad idea. No, she was a mare, a pegasus, who smiled and smiled and kept fucking smiling- she probably couldn’t hurt a flea, let alone him.

“Ricochet the Incendiary. This is Guns.” The buttermilk boy says gruffly, ears slanting backwards momentarily before twitching forward again. “What brings you round to these hellish parts Alina?”