He can't help but grin at her indignant question, as though she is wondering why she is not the source of his ardour. He looks her up and down appraisingly in a way he never has before - had this been the first time he'd met her, then he would have indeed conceded that she is attractive. Rather smaller than he likes, but she looks sturdy enough, as though she could take his formidable weight and the force of his lust upon her broad hips. Her spark markings are unique but pleasant, and her spunky attitude is a definite turn-on.

Plus she's a God's daughter, and Volterra definitely has all of the horn for demigoddesses. One in particular, but he refuses to think of her right now.

But this is not the first time he's met her. She's seen his heart, his soul, his darkest hour. He can't bring himself to look at her like that, hot as she is, because that makes him think of Isopia and how betrayed she would be if he even considered it. That could ruin any chance of reconciliation between them, any last lingering hope. "I'm rather partial to juiciness, but, ah, I was hoping for something with no repercussions." A simple emptying of his balls, a perfunctory act of release with a woman he may never see again. No strings, definitely no children, no obligation for another session - just two beasts in the night scratching an itch. Roskuld wouldn't be that. There'd be consequences, and at the moment Volterra has no time for those.

After his binge of apples, it happens surprisingly quickly. His head becomes fuzzy, his vision just that bit brighter, and suddenly he feels so damn relaxed that it's like all the tension has been sapped from his muscles. An inane, dopey grin spreads slowly across his face, erasing his stern features like the easy flickering of a paintbrush. Gone are the harsh lines, the seemingly permanent frown, the arrogant angle of the brow and handsome arch of the cheekbones. In their place comes nothing but chilled, lazy stupidity, smiling like the village idiot and chuckling pointlessly. He's so relaxed that something begins to try and slip from its prison between his thighs, but his awkward position on his haunches means that it thankfully remains tucked away by virtue of angles and bends. Not that he cares even if it was to flop right on out and join the party - there's nothing to be ashamed of right now. Nothing matters, and there's no such things as consequences.

He giggles again and reaches for another apple, and his mule-like cackle numbs his ears to her question about if he's got any deep shit to share. He's not ignoring her, he just doesn't hear over the haze of how fucking awesome these apples are.

She tells him that her mother and sister live in the Throat, and he turns bleary, suggestive eyes towards her. "They hot?" he questions, apple juice dribbling down his chin, then breaks down into great peals of laughter as though he's just said the funniest thing ever. "M'kidding, m'kidding. Ya don't shit where ya sleep, can't go porking ya herdmates." Another cackle and a conspirational wink. Damn, he feels good. His words might be slurred, but it feels like nothing he could possibly say matters. His lips are loosened, like he could tell Roskuld his greatest secrets and not give a single fuck about it. He's never been drunk before, but by God it feels fantastic; it's like release, like freedom from all his hopes and worries. Inhibitions are gone, as are regrets, as are everything except the pulse of alcohol in his veins and the burning in his loins. He's still horny as fuck, the apples haven't numbed that, but he'll worry about how to sort that in a moment.

I’d visit more but the Pa’s a rat bastard. "Who's ya Pa?" He doesn't know which God - his knowledge on deities is negligent save for the Sun and his beloved Earth. She then warns him not to fuck her Ma, and the stallion grunts his agreement. "Like I said, not a fan of fuckin' me herdmembers. Unless they're super hot 'n can handle a big portion of man meat." Obscenely, he spreads his hind legs so he's sitting fully on his backside, displaying all the good stuff that lurks between his thighs for her viewing pleasure. In his ale-addled mind, he wonders if she's ever seen a dude's junk before, but if not, his will be one hell of an eye opener for her. He glances down at it, then looks back to her with a salacious wiggle of his eyebrows and an attempt at a sexy pout that would put a world of selfie-takers to shame.