'She's not worth much time, is she? Kill her off now. It might be best for her own stupidity.' The white figure is getting high and he is noticing it. Green eyes seem to be locked on the fact that this mare, who has no idea what exactly she is facing, a little idiot who needs to run back home before the proven killer can touch her delicate skin as a disease feeds him evil, is smiling. She is only that stupid, and he is seeing it more and more. Curiousity is lost as she dances -again, like an idiot before a monster- in front of him. Disgusting fills him. How is he to have much time for this little mare, and even more, what has brought him to be so close to a living essence? Answers come when the black figure returns, and speaks to him in hurried tone. It slides across the mist, only his ears catching it. 'Come along, come along little murder man. She is not worth the effort to see her own bloodshed at your hand. Come along, come to my welcoming grasp. There is more to this direction. A troubled and confused thought passed through him as he keeps his eyes locked to the black figure. The white one takes no action to how the dappled stallion stares, except, like a moth is drawn to a light in the dark, it goes to the call. Shajake, with thoughts of murdering this annoying winged mare, stands ground in the mist. There is work still to be done here, best not to let the task at hand be thrown aside, as this one seems more favourable to him.
Though, as she throws her words in as he speaks, the plot he has in store only becomes closer and closer to what is awaited ahead. It might be the moment she attempts to touch his nose that sets him off, and sends the black figure flying towards him and the mare. Now is the moment a new gear, only covered in dust and shrouded in spider webs moves. The gear that moves is the one to start the process he used to kill the past. Others would move as this one began to move about, slowly but surely picking up speed, it works the rest. This isn't the time yet. She must do more to make him take the first step.
Yet it is still the fact that she almost touched him that sets him off.
In his own fury, he slings his elegant head towards her own, in attempts to hit her with it. He means to injury her, to give her what will be only the start of something if she doesn't hold her own. Tooking a monster is not something you should attempt to do. Now now, didn't your mother teach you not to talk to strangers? They might decide to kill you.
Having recieved a sigh from her, he smirks. 'How much longer, boy?! How much longer are you going to take her stupidity before snapping?' The voice of the white figure is breaking up within his mind before taking on the same sound Shajake has been awarded with after constant silence. He can only let the white one speak for him. A voice may still be active within him. Where is it now? Just search for it boy. Just having her tell him that a murderer is a villian is enough to make him annoyed by her. This here is the type of horse you come across that only makes more and more annoyed everytime they open their mouth. Time to let the white one speak through his own voice.
"Only the murderer is the highest class of villians. It stands alone." The words that come from his mouth are not his own, only the words of the white one. They pass between his lips having recieved no effort from the dappled stallion. Disease finds a way to take control of its victims one way or another, and though the words he say are truly words from Shajake's mind, he is only copying them from what his disease wants him to know. As of how this one treats him, this disease has greater signs than others.
Feeling touch upon his own body seems unreal, and as she says he must be dressed for the part he has recieved in a play she wrote herself, he finds himself already dressed. The mental pair ignores her, and leaves them. Alone, with this weirdo. What could be worse. Each touch she gives him, he reminds himself that later on he'll find a way to seek revenge out on her. She'll pay for this, oh yes. This isn't something you get off so freely with when you're her classication of idioticy.
The weather and its cold touch doesn't seem to bother him much more. Secretly he might just be enjoying himself, but gears are still moving, and ones pushed into dark corners long ago move again. A mind can rebuild itself, and that is what his has decided to do. Follow on with her pretend game, and he'll find himself something to do as acts of revenge. And suddenly she wants him to be a unicorn.
Disgust floods through his veins at the idea of being one of those racist, wanna-be murderers. If an equine like himself could kill and rampage about, it is simply easy to know that anyone can kill. He listens to her ask if he wants to help her take her 'prisioner' home. A laugh is put outwards as he thinks of stepping on the flower and ending her stupid game. Reality check please?
Maybe it is the fact that he is now sure that this one is just that dumb that keeps him from doing something like killing her. She smells like a herd, and at the expense of killing his only family in the past where there was no one to go after him, she could have an army after him if he fucks up. Finally, he sees the moment she figures out what is exactly going on right now. 'Well Shajake, she has caught onto you finally. The white figure gives him words he already knows. Now that he is at her full attention, he can take more serious action towards her. See what you were ignoring now, little lady? Ah yes, seems that you have just perfectly now.
Question so seemingly helpless is offered at him. He will not tell her the truth, that he is following something that a disease that has taken over almost all of the sanity of his mind has been pulling him about like a dog on a leash. He will not give her an answer, easy as that. Instead, if she expects something out of him, might as well answer the questions for him. Now is not the moment to stand about and have a fun little happy time. Now is her time to see he is not playing the game she wanted a bit ago, and that here, the dappled gray stallion whose green eyes belong somewhere in horror movies, a voice that came from a demon, could be the undying fate she never expected. Here was the moment she'd learn things aren't all happy-go-lucky when accomplished murderers treat you like a piece of prey.

"talk talk talk"