"Your coins sing so loud an arrow could have got you in the dark..."

Reichenbach replied before turning, his baritone voice pleasant even if his words were not; "I should be so lucky." Yet as he turned his face was split into a buoyant grin, his eyes bright and jovial as he took in this new aspect of his wanderings. He looked Toulouse up and down unabashedly, silver eyes pausing at the bullwhip that lay abandoned upon the ground and then trailing back up to the pale faced serpent with interest. "No I'm not." He admitted with nonchalance, reclining his hind leg relaxedly and tilting his broad skull as he smiled, white teeth shining. "You're not either" he claimed, tossing a slip of hair from his face, "You're a desert boy - though I don't know which desert." Perhaps an ambitious declaration, but one Reichenbach was sure of. For starters - that maroon scarf, surely it wasn't just for show, and then there was the posture, the shape of him. And after that, Reich had never met anyone from the desert that didn't have an air of survival around them: this, Toulouse had in abundance. But all it did was make Reichenbach like him more - anyone from the desert was a friend of his.

"I'm Reichenbach," he stepped forward comfortably (if not a little brazenly, after all, the stallion was still a stranger), "What were you doing back there?" Reich paused, raised a brow and then added seriously "Spying on me?" he allowed the silence to stretch before throwing Toulouse a charming grin "I'm flattered." Another amiable laugh left his throat, almost as if it were a habit, and he examined the maroon scarf again. Such a good idea! While nobody in his homeland had worn scarves (or any decorations, for that matter) he appreciated the forward thinking and found himself fascinated. What desert had this elegant bodied man come from? His eyes were slightly unnerving, though Reich was attempting to avoid thinking about them, along with the glimpse of canines that he'd spotted when the other man spoke. This was so new and strange, a first meeting unlike the many others he had made on his way through - on his way here? He pushed the thought aside and smiled again at the pale skinned snake, treading closer again almost as if he were going to sling a friendly arm over Toulouse's slim shoulders.

Up close Toulouse looked alarmingly decadent, like a male model trussed up in desert-wear, his cheekbones sharp and elegant and his eyes (as alarming as they were) bright and distinctly intelligent. Reich chose to ignore how pretty he was, shoving down memories of a boy called Argent at the same time, and asked "So, you know my name. What is yours, and where did you get your bullwhip? I should like one myself."