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Beauty may be skin deep But cruelty runs clear to the bone. It is with the attitude of a spoiled little girl that the peahen disrupts the vain man's peace. Blasting through the delicate curtains in a storm of feathers and hair, the mare does not stop until she has met the building's far wall. Her nose brushes against its weathered surface as she turns to face the unicorn, her rump following suit -- this is a cramped place. Orange eyes narrow as they glare at him through thick green tendrils, but the bird is too stubborn to toss them away. The acid in her belly is boiling like a tea kettle, and her anger with the snide Indian woman is its source of heat. As proud as she is, the warrior does not realize that she reacted just as poorly to the paint as she did her. If she isn't a God-worshipper than I don't know who is. According to Bellona, it had been the influence of the God (which she so royally pissed off with previously mentioned attitude) that had prevented her from launching at the insolent wench. Even now the warrior still yearned to teach that presumptuous hag a thing or two with her hooves. But the preening dove lying before the riled vixen is not the one who had angered her. As much as his vanity disgusts her, she will not succumb to the desires of her flesh; it is not his blood that she will spill today. Instead of digging into his pristine coat with her teeth, she stabs at him with her tongue. "Who the hell are you?" And what the hell are you doing? A contemptuous snort expels itself from her gleaming form. He is brushing his hair. With is horn. Such a waste. If I had ever been presented with such a weapon, I would not use it for such a petty thing as grooming. It would look better with the blood of another on it, and not my own hair. The maiden tosses her head at the mentioning of her colorful locks, but she is instantly annoyed at doing so. Although many women fawn over beauty, the peahen is not enslaved to this stereotype. If anything the warrior wishes to be rid of her hair, but she lacks the tools to remove it. A fire burns inside her orbs as a cruel thought pierces her mind. "Have you ever wanted to sheer your hair, boy?" "Talk talk talk." {So late, so bad, I'm sorry! D: @[Fraub] }  |
Thank you Vossity <3
Please tag me each post!
Permission granted for physical harassment!
