.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
Larue
Her candied, pale chest puffs out in indignation as the mare claims, “I don't think you’ll understand.” Her bright, aquamarine eyes narrow slightly—she might be young, but she was not stupid. “I’d understand,” she petulantly muttered to herself, furry ears laying back slightly as her gaze darts away from the darkly violet woman.
But the filly is rewarded with some answers, as Cortana gives her a name and tells how long she’s been drinking blood. “Since you were a filly?” her eyes widen, petulance forgotten, as she she incredulously parrots the vampress’s explanation, “Really?!” She had been lemony since her birth, but her food had been… well, normal stuff. Like milk, grass (she kept trying it at mother’s insistence that it would eventually taste good; the filly wasn’t convinced, yet).
Her avid interests shifts, ever mercurial for being a foal, intently watching the woman’s face as she takes a lick of her withers. Eager anticipation paints her features, waiting for the surprise and pucker—but this woman likes it! Of course she does, obviously her tongue is different than anyone else who had licked her tartly sweet skin. “You like it?” her ears perk forward, surprised and intrigued. “Most others don’t,” she says by explanation of her question.
“Well, dad is made of candy, too. But he tastes sweet, not like me,” a micheviois grin pairs with her brief answer to Cortana’s question, “Dad says it’s ‘cause of magic—hey! maybe that’s why you eat-uh-drink blood,” her head cocks slightly as she belatedly connected the dots. “What do you think?” her lemon-freckled face cocked to the side as she waited for the woman to answer, any and all fear of the woman forgotten as they loitered beside the strange waters’ edge.
But the filly is rewarded with some answers, as Cortana gives her a name and tells how long she’s been drinking blood. “Since you were a filly?” her eyes widen, petulance forgotten, as she she incredulously parrots the vampress’s explanation, “Really?!” She had been lemony since her birth, but her food had been… well, normal stuff. Like milk, grass (she kept trying it at mother’s insistence that it would eventually taste good; the filly wasn’t convinced, yet).
Her avid interests shifts, ever mercurial for being a foal, intently watching the woman’s face as she takes a lick of her withers. Eager anticipation paints her features, waiting for the surprise and pucker—but this woman likes it! Of course she does, obviously her tongue is different than anyone else who had licked her tartly sweet skin. “You like it?” her ears perk forward, surprised and intrigued. “Most others don’t,” she says by explanation of her question.
“Well, dad is made of candy, too. But he tastes sweet, not like me,” a micheviois grin pairs with her brief answer to Cortana’s question, “Dad says it’s ‘cause of magic—hey! maybe that’s why you eat-uh-drink blood,” her head cocks slightly as she belatedly connected the dots. “What do you think?” her lemon-freckled face cocked to the side as she waited for the woman to answer, any and all fear of the woman forgotten as they loitered beside the strange waters’ edge.
@Cortana
Please tag in all posts.
