Gaucho know Sun God. You raise a metaphorical brow as the stallion begins to roll towards you. If you were standing you would take a step back, try to get away from the awkward near-kissing position the two of you are currently in. As it is, if you wanted, you could stare deeply into his eyes like a lover would, trying to learn of his heart and soul, his past present and future. Good thing you're not into that sort of thing. Man or woman, doesn't matter. Because if you're staring into their eyes, they're staring into your eyes and you're quite certain you don't need anybody knowing your history, your story to come, your deepest dreams and ambitions, or anything else in that category. You're guite happy by your lonesome, grumbly self.

Still, you've grown rather fond of your inebriated friend since he interrupted your little tree-leaning exercise. As if reminding you of the genial truce that has come to exist between the two of you, your burns pulse gently, still protesting the attack you brought upon yourself. “Sun God's daughter?” you mumble with curiosity as he mentions it, awkwardly shoveling towards you, and when he finally gets to the point you burst out laughing. She hot. Burning in flames or pin her up against a tree hot doesn't matter to you. The ideal of this comically overgrown caveman finding something attractive is perfectly hilarious to you and he seems to find it just as funny, laughing along with you.

Gaucho. Shame you won't remember that tomorrow. However, as he's finishing speaking, it's not Gaucho you're looking at. Something behind you has caught your eye. A darkness, a black fog rolling in. You've seen this before. In the swamp. Grunting, suddenly very aware of your mortality and the fact that you're laying on the ground, you begin to flail to get up. If you thrash into Gaucho on the way up, it's certainly not on purpose, but hopefully he'll understand. “Get up, Sun Man,” you toss out sometime during your way up. “We've got company, and it's not your God.”

Backing up to give the man room to rise, you toss your head towards the creeping fog in case he missed it before. “Oxy,” you add, almost as an afterthought, but your mind is suddenly no-longer with Gaucho. You've got to gather the horses left under your charge. And so as soon as you're certain the overly-drugged beast has risen to his feet and is headed somewhere other than into the shadows, you begin to move, to gather what remains of your straggling herd and find them somewhere else to go. The Lesbians will have to figure out where you went on their own.


OOC| This was the best, let's do it again some time!

Oxy