_{Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy} Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

His offer is taken seriously—and yet it is not the swollen Sultana who responds, but the black-pelted, muscle clad Einarr who answers the Basilisk’s call to arms. Reginald remembers seeing this stallion before, and yet his significance had been diminished then, another warrior in the Grey-Eye’d’s mind; he had not known that this one has risen to the black-and-blue bitch’s place, as Gladiator. Well, then. It seems so much more fitting, then, for Reginald to report to someone with real, solid balls swinging fiercely down below, a true warrior’s badge and tassle.

He listens to the Gladiator speak, and there in a familiar inward cringe at his poor use of the common tongue, bringing images of Gaucho to mind. He wonders if those two stallions are related, and where they might breed these large, cock-strong war beast fuckers who have weak tongues for speech. His eyes trail slightly behind him, to where Merlin stands—a woman waiting to bloom. He wonders if that blood is worth it to covet. For if this Einarr is anything like the Wildfire, he will be a formidable foe indeed.

"Father, is he challenging you to something?"

Silence would’ve been best.

“No, Merlin,” he whispers to her instead, for he is a good, gracious father, “He will only be testing me.” His eyes then trail to Shida, having made it here with all her curves and folds—and he winks at her dark and sultry in response to her quips, sending her a cutting smirk full of all sorts of things he would do to her, in business or pleasure.

“Fine, then,” comes the Grey-Eye’d response to Einarr’s challenge. His appraisal of the beast is quick, and as the meeting ends, Reginald finds his place in a clearing not so far from the gathering place, a good spot for the fight. He rolls his grand shoulders in preparation for the fight; his fangs remained sheathed. His cloak of scales will remain hidden for now. He will fight as a man and not as a monster, for it is a man who is slave to these foolish proceedings, while a monster reigns supreme.

He waits for his superior to take position. His eyes are hard enough, focused for battle. He is ready to be tested. 

"talk talk talk"