The maiden is ignorant of her intrusive behaviour as her hooves touch down on the petal-strewn soil next to Kahlua. Orange eyes meet with blue ones, but only for a second. The hybrid can see tears in them, and her flanks twitch irritably at the prospect of something upsetting this woman. Sadness has made up the majority of the paint's emotions, and she feels as if reacting to that pain with her own fury is justified. The jewelled mare has no desire to join the painted lady in her sorrow, and although she lacks empathy, she still feels obliged to help her in some way.

There is no one here to blame for her misery, and confusion momentarily grips her. All that the peahen can see as she throws her stare across the cherry-rimmed camp is streamers and tents. She does not understand what saddens her companion so until a sudden, faint whir sounds at her feet. Long green tresses frame a cobalt crown as it lowers to investigate the noise. The grieving woman is poking her nose in some sort of basket and gently prodding at a heap of metal. She has no idea what to make of the contraption – or the transparent storage device – but instead of making any demands the bird takes a more delicate approach to attaining information.

"Was it important to you?"

Perhaps that is too harsh, but the warrior has little to no experience in providing comfort. This is a strange new feat for her, and she cannot say just what has possessed her to show this sort of kindness. It could be the fact that her losses have just begun to pile up: the mass murder of her family; a poorly made decision that resulted in the disappearance of her wolf; the two races that marked her as an incapable and inexperienced individual. Of course some of these occurrences make appear childish to most, but that is not so for the extravagant bird. Perfection and domination have both swiftly become her goals in this new world, and if she is already starting to fail, then how can she succeed?

Because I am a fighter. I am Qualneci-oquichtin, and even in death, we continue to live on.

In defiance of her previous refusal to maintain eye contact, the bird offers Kahlua a steady gaze. "Titlaocoyani." We are wont to sorrow. "But you cannot let it consume you, cocotzin. We are women, and we are strong. Do not let the destruction of something that means so much to you destroy you as well." A colorful wing departs from a stained flank to brush against a painted one. The gesture is meant to be sincere, and the chieftess tries to convey that with her softening gaze. Her only memory of the Sunshower drapes itself across her mind, moving her to speak again. To assure her that she is not alone.

"I do not know why others try to hurt you." Dark hooves shuffle awkwardly as she struggles to find the right words. The hybrid is not entirely sure why is she offering to help the doe, be it out of her distaste for the one who hurt her or out of true concern, but she feels that she must tell her so. "I will stand beside you, little dove. I will make her regret what she has done to you." Instead of rushing off to find the flaming beast, however, the beautiful warrior plants her pillars in the lush green grass. She has offered her service to this lady, and she will not desert her now. Not like how she left her people in their time of need.

Her gaze returns to the flapping tent, momentarily shell-shocked by the echoes of her brother’s cries and her sister’s screams. Never again, is her silent vow as the images slowly fade.

Dark thoughts are replaced by a dark form as a horned brute approaches, and the maiden's mood instantly shifts from tender to guarded. Throwing up a cobalt skull and sliding her wing back into place, the Curiosus regards the stranger in silence. As orange pools spill over his musculature, she can only think of one thing to say about him -- although she is smart enough not to say it aloud. He looks like a cocky bastard. A smirk twists her lips when she sees the excess amount of hair adorning his body. And a furry one. I wonder if his herd shears him for his wool?

Suddenly concerned with why the little dove is summoning such a beast, the warrior turns to look at her. She does not appear to be shaking in fear, but the uncertainty in her voice does not affirm the opposite. Just what are you doing here? It appears that she will have to wait to find out.


"Sed interdum rutrum urna, sed pellentesque sapien tempor in." Quisque iaculis dapibus fermentum.

{Edit -- OH dear, we posted at the same time! Edited to include Ulrik.}

The disgust on the shaggy beast's face is apparent, and the winged one just doesn't seem to care. The only approval that she seeked was that of the equine at her side. She has already declared the bird to be beautiful, and that affirmation alone is capable of deflecting any disapproving glares from the ram. If anything, his cruel behaviour justifies the maiden's own bitter mood. She has a right to be pissed off with him now, and she is not afraid of showing it.

The teal and green feathers at her wither flicker to and fro; a proud head is thrown up in the air, causing flaming eyes to roll. As much as the shaggy unicorn's actions intrigue her so, she does not want to make her interest in him apparent. The primitive woman grunts and switches her gaze to a flapping banner. The icy colored thing flaps in the wind, providing a suitable distraction for the warrior as the engineer goes about his tinkering.

After some time has passed and staring at that godforsaken flag has become tiresome, the Aztec turns her head to find that not one, but two little items have found a home in the paint's basket. She is impressed to see that the scorpion has resumed its cacophony of whirs and clicks. Her thoughts, however, say otherwise. Well would you look at that. The sheep can make toys, too! It seems that the shaggy creature's trade might be enough to win the Sunshower's affections, but it certainly is not enough for the peahen. Not that she cares to make friends with someone who blatantly ignores her like how he is doing right now.

The restless vixen turns a suspicious eye to the Queen, silently urging her to abandon their bitter company. As much as the bird yearns to turn the woman away from this place, she realizes that she is the unwelcome party here and that it is not her place to do so. Instead of causing trouble like she is so prone to do, the hybrid pulls her wings tightly against her sides to prepare for the inevitable: a long, boring conversation that she is none too welcome to. If this is my punishment for trying to be nice, so be it.

"Sed interdum rutrum urna, sed pellentesque sapien tempor in." Quisque iaculis dapibus fermentum.

Blazing orbs watch with disinterest as the monotone lady converses with the branded ram. They even go as far as to roll them in disbelief when the unicorn promises to visit. The jewelled creature may not known him well enough to make assumptions of his character, but it only seems fair to mark him as the liar that she takes him to be. Or if he does prove true to his word, then at least she can pin the horned brute as a man with an awful taste in picking enemies.

A delighted squeal erupts from the painted fae's mouth, and the Chieftess watches as the sheep duplicates her disgusted action. Ignoring the colorful woman is probably not the most intelligent move, but at least they do have similar tastes. Tinkling laughter and excited shrieks not being among them. A disbelieving snort escapes her own maw at this observation. She may have something in common with him, but that does not make him unworthy of her distaste. As if to prove these thoughts as true, the peahen paints a sneer across her lips. There. Her displeasure is still known.

What takes the icing off the cake, however, is not a justification of her bitter mood, but the bastard's reaction to receiving some form of affection from the overzealous mare. She observers his immediate discomfort with amusement, and even goes as far as to emit a single, cruel laugh. Her joy does not last, though, for the feeling is quickly replaced by her concern for the painted queen.Is she insane?

The warrior immediately takes up her militaristic stance once more, spreading her wings out in a colorful display meant to discourage the stag from advancing on them. She wets blue lips with a darting tongue, her heart hammering against her ribs in anticipation. A few moments pass, and when all the onyx does is utter his client's name feathered weapons lower in disappointment. There will be no battle today.

Shifting her gaze between the frozen man and the retreating lady, the peahen considers their awkward predicament with concern. Even after his blatant refusal to return her kind gesture, the paint still wishes to see him. The Engineer did give her a pretty little box, and fix her toy, but the bird still couldn't help but think that there was something wrong with their exchange. A blue head bobs as the rest of a brilliant body shakes the feeling off. Of course this feels wrong to you; he is a furry beast with a superiority complex; he is just as sour as you are. As much as the haughty bird hates to admit it, she really isn't one for pleasant interactions. Perhaps that is just how he is as well.

Turning to watch her black frame as she leaves, it takes all the maiden has not to join in her departure. Yet regardless of their blatant hatred for one another, the Aztec has come up with a request for the unicorn. A bold stare turns to face said unicorn. "You do not look like a man who just tinkers with toys. Have you ever constructed... weapons?" Her tone is crisp and trying not to betray her interest on the subject. She doesn't trust him, at least not as an ally, but as an asset... Perhaps it is possible to come to some sort of understanding. "Should I desire such a thing, would you not be the one I should hire?"


"Sed interdum rutrum urna, sed pellentesque sapien tempor in." Quisque iaculis dapibus fermentum.

{@[Ulrik]}

A green tail grazes against hocks in a flicker of movement. The peahen is annoyed with the ram's response, but in truth it is to herself that she expresses the feeling towards. Of course the engineer would ask for something in return. How did she not see this coming? She has nothing that she can give the tattooed man to entice him into her service, and she fans out her feathers as if to display this to him.

"I see you are not so generous to some as you are to others. Perhaps that is a smart thing to do when their is something to be gained. As you can see, I have nothing that I can give you in return for any weapon you may make me, but I should like to make a trade with you one day." Her words are clipped and tinged with enough venom to set her feathers on edge, but she smooths out the vibrant cape as her tone shifts to something lighter. It is not the brute's fault that she is so bereft of items, after all.

But it is your fault that I despise you so much. Why is that? A harsh glint pervades her stare as she studies him, and the bird turns away to hide it. Her distaste for him may be obvious, but she does not desire to lose this opportunity as well. A weapon will come in handy for some of the schemes that she has been preparing for. And as long as you can help me attain my goals, then I don't care about what price I must pay. Blue ears flicker in apprehension of the silent promise that has just been made, and for once the maiden is glad that she chose not to speak aloud. She is smart enough to know that you don't make such vows to just anyone.

Weary thoughts drift to the retreating paint's form at the mention of such a thing, and the hybrid remembers that not everyone here is worthy of her distrust. A brief goodbye falls from her lips -- "I hope we shall meet again some day" -- and lengthy pillars turn to make their departure. The bronze-footed man has earned nothing more from her than this, and the Aztec is confident that she has not gained another rival today. There is too much to be gained from her interaction with the ram to burn her bridges now.

Flaming eyes drift to the ground as she considers her relationship with the crafter, but she is finished with him for today. Working up to a trot so that she can return to Kahlua's side, the peahen ensures that she has a name to go by. "Bellona, in case you were wondering. My name's Bellona."

"Sed interdum rutrum urna, sed pellentesque sapien tempor in." Quisque iaculis dapibus fermentum.

{@[Ulrik] Bellona is out!}