Ulrik watched as the two idiot-crossed lovers caught sight of him staring, but he was not phased. Seeing the glory of a unicorn blighted with the taint of a pegasus was like squishing a spider. You know that when you lift your hoof, you will see all the nasty, squishy guts, but you just cannot turn your head away. The romance was like a dead, squished spider. Gross and going nowhere. Ulrik flat ignored her display of defense, the turn of her head so that he could see his horn.
He had two spires from his brow and perhaps a few hundred pounds of muscle spread evenly on cloven hooves with a tail for a ballast at his back. Ulrik was not afraid of some dumb broad. "You know if you keep staring at me with those big eyes they may pop out..." he rumbled deeply. The words were rather disturbing to hear. Leave it to Ulrik to take a phrase normally left to children to keep them from being ugly and apply it in a normal situation in a way that left you wondering... would he really try and poke out her eyeballs?
Did he possess a way to just make them run away from her head? Oh... the possibilities were endless and none of them were particularly good.
A harsh, scathing laugh escaped Ulrik's throat when the tiny, winged stallion so immaturely told him to stay away from them. Where were they? In the foaling meadow? Was Ulrik threatening to over hear the whispered secrets of childish whimsy? Oh this was rather entertaining. He had definitely chosen the right channel. "Hhmm.... no." Ulrik grinned in response. "You see, I am a welcome guest to this herd, but you are only a prisoner."
What once may have been a good mood changed in a split second to raging, cold anger and bared teeth with flattened, charcoal ears. "So if you want to tell me what to do again, you demoted and captured little shit, I can assure you that I can hide your body well enough that even the gods themselves would have to hunt and find you...." he growled. The White King happened to approach then, but Ulrik was not afraid of his reactions or responses. He did not try to hide his actions or words.
Instead, Mauja called him as a friend, and the charcoal stallion furrowed his brows slightly. Were they friends? If so, Mauja was his first friend, and that was... not a bad concept. "Were I you, I would return a proper greeting to your lord," he warned the pair, bronze eyes flashing with the promise of pain.
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[O] just a broken heart that is bleeding love || Azzaron, Mauja, open
