ENGINEERS CREATE THAT WHICH HAS NEVER BEEN

Ulrik had never paid much attention to how he smelled or looked. Often, his already blackened hide would bear shimmering marks of oil and soot, and the rust from metal caused his masculine scent to be tinged with the pungent tartness of oil and metal. The large engineer was used to such smells, and he found comfort in the the scent of his machinery. Still, he bore the appearance of his homeland. He was dark, large and muscular, though he lacked the weight and bulk of many of his brothers. Though here his size seemed to be an anomaly.

Bronze orbs narrowed in scrutiny as the sickly grey mare seemed to recoil at his presence, and he raised a brow. His cloven hooves came to a dusty stop, and he lashed his leonine tail around his fetlocks, bronze hairs catching the light. Proudly, he raised his bearded chin, the two, twisted horns upon his brow stretching toward the skies. Flatly, though honestly, he commented that she looked like shit. Emerald, sunken eyes and an obsidian horn were the only features not tarnished by starvation.

She returned his honesty with insult, and he let out a harsh, though amused laugh. The sound rumbled and echoed in his lungs deeply. She too was at least honest to her own emotions and not a timid prat like some of the mares he had met. A large, mechanical wolf came up to Ulrik's side, front, iron paws parallel to the stallion's cloven hooves. The red eyes stared emptily a head, the machine void of soul.

Ulrik felt righteous anger welling in his chest when she asked if their kind was allowed to eat here. Their kind? As in the glorious unicorns? Those blessed with the weapon upon their brow? Those ancient, wise and powerful? Who dared to starve pure! "It is our birthright, being born with this weapon upon our brow, to dine where and when we wish. We are burdened with glorious purpose. We are ancient. We are wise, and our blood runs in the very earth we stand upon and in the stars in the sky." His normally emotionless tone rose to one of passion and fervor.

His bronze eyes burned with passion and fury, and his leonine tail swished angrily at his hocks. "Eat," he said. "Your horn gives you your freedom. It is power that can never be taken from you." Ulrik's moment of passion settled back to his usual, mad self. He glanced down at his machine, taking it apart in his mind and thinking of ways to remake it even better than before.