.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
11-28-2016, 09:10 AM
She'd seemed eager to talk before, readily answering and elaborating on his questions, but now suddenly the mares expression closes off. Her eyes won't quite meet his as she reaches down to touch the small pendent, and a sheen of moisture glints in them when she turns her head, though she holds whatever flood of emotion she's experiencing at bay. "Oh." Is all the stallion musters in response to her whisper, awkward and wary. He's old for sure, but not blind. He may have asked her questions once, tried to see as much of the situation as she would allow, but now he shrinks from her reaction, just barely holding his own baggage stacked across his back and shoulders and unwilling to take even another straws worth of weight.
"Do you take requests?" He asks instead, watching the mares companion gently groom the knots from her mane, jealous of the soothing, repetitive motion. He bristles, ears pinning for a moment, wondering, remembering, and instantly pushing the thought away of the last time he felt such a touch. Tangere and Johnny share the occasional nose or shoulder brush with him, but even those are fleeting and reserved, either for fear of his prickly personality or in disgust of his general filthiness. Even now, having let the ocean clean the dirt and the blood and the mess from the lower half of his body, grime and refuse still cling to his top line, dirt and who-knows-what-else smeared and dried across his neck and face. His beard is a mess of tangled, frayed ends and his hooves are chipped and worn, his whole appearance one of decrepitude.
He doesn't care anymore, truly, but moments like these remind him of a different time and place, one where he'd die of embarrassment to be seen in such a state, and the quick flash of self consciousness is a rude and unwelcome accusation from his former self to his current self. He shakes the feeling away, dislodging a small cloud of dust with the movement. "How about a senior discount?"
"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Sohalia
"Do you take requests?" He asks instead, watching the mares companion gently groom the knots from her mane, jealous of the soothing, repetitive motion. He bristles, ears pinning for a moment, wondering, remembering, and instantly pushing the thought away of the last time he felt such a touch. Tangere and Johnny share the occasional nose or shoulder brush with him, but even those are fleeting and reserved, either for fear of his prickly personality or in disgust of his general filthiness. Even now, having let the ocean clean the dirt and the blood and the mess from the lower half of his body, grime and refuse still cling to his top line, dirt and who-knows-what-else smeared and dried across his neck and face. His beard is a mess of tangled, frayed ends and his hooves are chipped and worn, his whole appearance one of decrepitude.
He doesn't care anymore, truly, but moments like these remind him of a different time and place, one where he'd die of embarrassment to be seen in such a state, and the quick flash of self consciousness is a rude and unwelcome accusation from his former self to his current self. He shakes the feeling away, dislodging a small cloud of dust with the movement. "How about a senior discount?"
"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Sohalia
![[Image: 56c616e54affc]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56c616e54affc)
