.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
03-24-2017, 12:18 PM
Albrecht More sighing and eye rolling follows the slow dismantling of the main gathering, their larger whole breaking into smaller subgroups determined by job description. Throwing himself around to follow the newly named Theives, likely bumping into and pushing past those still lingering at the rear of the original meeting, the old stallion huffs and puffs his way toward the Secret Tent, trying not to think about the small portrait of multicolored foals galloping across its far, outer surface, his muzzle itching as if the paint is still smeared across his nostrils, drying and flaking from his skin. He passes beside the Asshat on his way in, choosing that particular moment to blow his nose, loudly and with more force than is absolutely necessary, though he does lower his head to avoid fully spraying the younger stallion – and anyone else unfortunate enough to be standing nearby – with expelled snot, saliva and whatever other brands of bodily fluid and worldly grime have accumulated in his airways. He sets himself up with a cattywampus stance and an inattentive expression, fully expecting the new sneak Heads to be as uninspiring and disinteresting as the past rank holders, but to his surprise – and for a second time this season, recalling Erebos’ recent His lower lip juts, almost disappointed by the lack of criticizable material here, though he’s sure to rub against the prominent scar at his left shoulder whenever those gilded eyes stray in his direction, particularly when a mention of behaving comes up. When the winged mare steps up to toss her two cents into the pot he merely smiles, quite consenting of such a figure keeping watch over his shoulder. Only a passing glance is spared for the other stallion in attendance, the old black recalling seeing him once at the Blood Falls, though they'd not interacted. "Alby talks." The Asshole |
![[Image: 56c616e54affc]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56c616e54affc)
