| Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Glo |
The fawn was the first to approach, coming forwards on long, spindly legs while its companion remained out in the waves, either disinterested or simply taking his time. The Thief would never understand the appeal some saw in the ocean. It reeked of salt, of brine, and Roland had never been able to get the bitter taste out of his mouth, nor the smell from his hide. He had no affection for the sea, even as peaceful as it was under the cover of night, a blanket of navy blue cast over the sky, starlight rippling across sea foam and water. The waves lapped at his hooves, every once in a while sweeping up the length to his hocks, cool and refreshing against his skin; but the Thief felt no urge to step in further, to be reminded of the last time he had stood against the brunt force of waves with the bite of winter sinking into his wet hide, Lena propped against him under a gray sky.
He awarded the deer-like creature with a kind look, both curious and reserved, for he was not familiar with the species. There was an excited glint returned in the fawn's gaze, free of judgement or scorn. Roland found himself wishing its golden companion could be more like that: open, congenial, rather than eager to be at odds. It seemed to have taken a great deal of interest in him, a question mark outlined in the quirk of its posture, but Roland's attention was focused upon the approaching silhouette, sketched out in moonlight as he drew out of the waves in a wake of silence to join them on the shoreline. The Thief's name was murmured in a brusque voice; Roland nodded his head in way of greeting, departing from the usual hello, how are you?'s that were often exchanged between those who were not comfortably familiar or friendly with each other. He opted for silence instead. Thranduil had never seemed all that partial to him, in fact it almost seemed like he might resent him, though Roland was at a loss as to how that might have come about. Perhaps he was a sore loser?
Regardless of what reservations Thranduil had about him, the Thief wasn't about to make things unpleasant; or at the very least, if any unpleasantness was to come from their conversation, it would not be of his doing. It seemed his best laid plans were already going to waste. Once the golden stallion had drawn to a halt- strategically placed within range- he shook out his coat, releasing an ill timed spray of seawater. Roland pinned his ears, taking a step back before he could be caught in the barrage. It earned Thranduil a hard, sharp look, unfettered by the pleasant veneer he'd been hoping to uphold. He was not afraid of being at odds with his fellow Thief, especially when he had tried so hard to be agreeable, companionable even, and had only been met with disrespect. Relieved for the distraction, his attention turned to the fawn as Thranduil named it, gaze softening as Roland acknowledged it with a vague nod of his head, though his expression was still tight lipped.
Disapproval was evident in his gaze as he returned a guarded look to his co-worker, drawn out of his thoughts by the weighted question. If anything Roland suspected about the stallion was correct, he guessed that Thranduil was just as impartial to trivial conversation as he himself. And so, if he were not mistaken, there might have been an underhanded note of a challenge within the seemingly harmless tone of his voice. Perhaps it was because the Thief was constantly on guard around Thranduil, bracing himself for the next biting remark, for more hot air to leak out of his mouth. Frustration bubbled up in his chest, hot and ugly, at the judgement the stallion had passed upon him without even knowing him.
Roland had only ever used his skills to aid his family and protect their lands. After the incident with his father some years ago, he had denounced the practice entirely, tried to wash his hands of it, and yet it had insisted on enduring within him. Like a disease, an addiction he could not be rid of, at one moment having thought he had bested it, until in the next it reared its avaricious head, ever the devil on his shoulder. He had resisted, distracted himself in helping his leaders as an emissary, conducted negotiations, a silent solder at their backs. He was content. Even before leaving his birth home, he had never been heartless and cruel, had never stolen for the simple sake of stealing. He had been an interrogator, a receptacle of information, at one time an ally to the enemy side as much as he'd been the knife in their backs when the time had come. It did not seem his methods were satisfactory to Thranduil, but could they not coexist together, each with their own strengths and weaknesses?
It sent an itch of agitation down his spine, but rather than letting the frustrations within him come to a boil, he quelled them, smothered his anger beneath an aura of ease and calm. To be underestimated was a blessing he had always welcomed, despite the irritations it often walked hand in hand with. He had learned to prefer it, to accept it. After all, how invaluable it was to be seen as harmless, incapable- to feed off the misconceptions of his enemies until they grew complacent.
"The Hidden Falls have been keeping me busy. But you should already be aware of that," he responded tersely, even though he spoke with a weary smile at the corner of his lips. His gaze slid away from Thranduil's face, watching the moon as it hung in a bed of stars, bright, calming, serene. "Do you have any plans I should know about? You are allowed your secrets, but I would rather us collaborate than keep things from each other," he continued. Any hint of a warning in his tone of voice was nonexistent, but if the golden stallion had any sense, he would take notice of the intent within his words.
Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.
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Image Credit
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