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Hello!, cries a blackbird dipped it gold. He raises his eyes to a sun-drenched sky, watching as a shadow descends toward him on heavy wings that seem to dazzle in the pristine stage of blue sky. He sees who it is that meets him—a black mare whose legs have been gilded in sunlight, whose mane cascades around her shoulders, windswept and spangled. His eyes keep trained on her face and the rubies there, instead of sweeping over her form with abandon as he is wont to do with any womanflesh that presents itself to him; he keeps his eyes polite and friendly, the greys glinting in the daylight as he meets her gaze. He knows, from the smell of sunbaked earth that clings to her coat, that she is of this herd—he wonders if he has seen her form before this moment, even if they were never before acquainted with each other before. *"Are you waiting for someone?"* She does not come off as stupid, not just yet; perhaps that is to come later, after he has decided to fuck her. “Yes,” he says simply, and his lips bend into a handsome, pleasant smile around the warm orb of his voice. “Perhaps it’s you I’m waiting for.” His head tilts; it is a jaunty, playful thing he does, teasing her this way. He is bored and furious with her privilege, her a b i l i t y to come and go from his treasured isle as she pleases; he tries to bury his immediate hatred with these silly things he allows to spew from his mouth. He wonders, briefly, if this is how it shall be to live in a herd. “Sun’s greetings to you both!” Again, someone hails them from the skies; and again it is a filly who regales them with her presence. This one is small, a mouse of a thing with ponderously huge wings attached to her ratty back. He cocks a carved brow as he peers down at her, and the greetings she offers to them. Sultana she calls herself. He wonders how she rose to such a lofty position in this herd—and why she is Sultana, and not her, as he originally witnessed. He supposed there has been much that has happened here in his time away from the bulk of herd happenings; he could not bring himself to dive into the policies and idiocies of a society. He holds his breath, now; he grits his teeth to take the plunge. “I am Reginald, my Sultana,” he says smoothly, dipping his head to her in a gesture that brings him mortal agony, “and I would like to thank you for allowing my sister refuge while her hoof healed and the cold lingered in the land.” He dips his head again--oh, but how he hates these things that he must do, how he must kiss her scrawny little ass in such a fashion. It is infuriating. It is necessary. “It…has always seemed it was never the right time for me to do this,” he confesses, eyes of grey peering down at the queenly mare, his prey, “I have fallen in love with this place, with the desert and her heat, and I’ve longed to offer myself as part of the herd…” He stands square before her, his tail curling languidly behind him, while eagles within his mind’s eye watch as the world bends in an eerie shadow within his thoughts. “I would like to become a warrior of this herd, Sultana,” he finally states, wondering if she would be so obliged to accept his offer for brotherhood. "talk talk talk" R E G I N A L D Walk the razor's edge Cut into the madness Question all you trust |
@Ranjiri
@Megaera
--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!
--All force is allowed to be used against this character!
