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04-27-2015, 12:04 AM
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Ulrik was not the least bit offended that she did not remember his name. Names were hugely unimportant but a necessity. A name was only a way to shorten a series of descriptors, which was useful, he supposed, but again, ambiguous. For instance, saying ‘large, black, hairy stallion with a bizarre bronze marking’ would give him away instantly to any who had seen or met him before, and that descriptor would most likely garner much more attention than just ‘Ulrik’. So he did not pay half a mind to her stumbling through what others called him, and he nodded once, deeply, when she said to call her Ros. Short. To the point. Easy. He approved. Out of curiosity and politeness he asked why she was here, and he raised a brow as she avoided his gaze, choosing to look anywhere else but at him. The stallion listened, gaze still unwavering as she explained that she was attracted to the north, and he understood the draw. He had grown up in the frigid north, surviving on the shittiest of tough tundra grasses and keeping from frostbite by bundling with painfully unintelligent warriors. They taught him what it meant to me useless and stepped on, thinking that he and his ideas were stupid. With a sentinel at his side, who would dare say his grandiose mind was stupid? “Something or someone?” he asked pointedly, wondering if she was returning for her mother or not. Ophelia did not seem like the best female to be caring for a child. She was transient, wild and down-right creepy at times, and he still was unsure what Torleik was thinking. Sure, the mare was attractive in a lithe, androgynous sort of way, but those eyes gave him the creeps. He was not superstitious, but something was not quite right in the genetics of that one. Ulrik smirked wryly at her accusation, an expression that did not touch his troubled, bronze eyes with an ounce of humor. He snorted in mild amusement, shaking his head and letting wild, black mane tumble over his thick, muscular crest. “Is this a common theme you have noticed?” he asked sharply, turning his body to angle hers slightly. “And define ‘you guys’. Stallions? Those from the Basin lands? Engineers? Fools?” he asked, laughing once, harshly. “I am here because I am undecided. I could return to my herd and my life while ignoring the collective ‘fuck you’ I was given for returning a body I did not kill, or I could return to keep tabs…” he trailed, narrowing his gaze. Keep tabs on Essetia? Leave her the fuck alone, Ulrik… “Or, I could go ensure that I am not an enemy though I set myself up as much,” he grumbled. “I take slight umbrage with that, however…” he growled, shaking his thick, lion’s tail around his hocks. “Why am I the ‘bad guy’ just because I am more skilled? Because I am strong, smart and powerful enough to complete tasks efficiently for my herd?” he asked honestly, frowning. “The deserving win in proportion to their hard work and efforts. The world doesn’t give two shits about feelings, so why should I?” He turned to her, wondering her thoughts. She was, he noticed, quite brutally honest. |
@[Roskuld]
(Please tag me in every post)
