.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
I AM WHATEVER I AM, ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE ME NOW Her offer of help causes him to suavely wobble his eyebrows, unable to help the innuendo from slipping off his tongue. "Nah, but there's something between the legs you could help me with." Flirting with herdmembers is a very, very bad idea - doing it whilst drunk is a very very very bad idea. Something about the fermented apples, though, prevents it from seeming like a bad idea at all. Isopia's face swims before his eyes, but he quashes it firmly - now is not the time to think of her. To his delight, she laughs at his awful tree-puns, and responds with one of her own that causes him to unleash a loud, hearty guffaw. "I thought it was a fir-ly good joke, myself." The mare then proceeds to mount a fallen tree and Volterra stares quizzically at her, tilting his head to scrutinise her as though she's some odd forest creature. She looks marvelous, and the Sultan makes no attempt to hide his roaming gaze. That is one of the perks of a crown - he can oggle the herd's mares as much as he wants, and they're unlikely to say anything about it because who doesn't want to be admired by a king? He continues to stare dreamily at her for a while before taking a step forwards, fuelled by the Dutch courage in his system. "If you want some wood underneath you, I can help you out." Again with the flirtatious look, the subtle bulking of his hard muscles to prove his size and strength to her as he advances further, hungry, predatory. Quite where this has come from he doesn't know, but he does have a habit of channeling his less-wanted emotions into lust - and heartbreak is one of the strongest emotions he can think of. She then requests apples, and the leviathan's face lights up. "It just so happens that I left some lying around here." He wanders away into the forest for a moment and returns with several of them bunched beneath his chin, which he drops towards Nephele. He's careful to resist the allure of them himself - at the moment he's politely tipsy but still able to control himself, albeit with inhibitions lowered. He doesn't want to risk ending up like the blubbering, dick-swinging lummox that emptied his balls across poor Roskuld's rump. |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
