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05-27-2015, 10:07 PM
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ULRIK the ENGINEER
The thanks she gave sounded perfunctory, and he couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing that it was spoken at all. He wouldn’t exactly call himself regal or hard, but he was stuck beneath crude layers of logic. Wild mane that hung in tangles and vibrant, mad eyes were not typical among royalty, and the rolling of his massive, muscular shoulders and lifted neck was not from pride. In a way, he was posturing, making himself seem bigger than his size, and that had a reason. Though he was rather tall and heavy for Helovia, he grew up having to demand to be heard with a group of much larger men. Often, that was only achieved by shoving his body into small spaces and getting close into another’s space. It was a tactic he used to intimidate, though he wouldn’t be able to tell you that in so many words. He was not actively thinking it when he moved, the actions having become second nature after so many years. He was a mechanic. A creature of metal. He was a survivor and watcher, someone who rarely spoke but observed from the shadows. Ulrik spoke very little of his past, finding that most did not give a damn, and he was not exactly invested in anyone else. Now, he had blood relatives in Helovia, and he was closer to them than even they knew. Still, he did not engage, preferring to watch from beneath the hydraulic legs of his sentinels to feel close to those his heart claimed he cared for. The life was distant, sad to some, perhaps, but he was content with the way things where. That was why Midas’ death disrupted him so. That stallion dying had shaken up his life, and he hated him for it – regardless of the fact the paint was dead. Maybe that was selfish, but the blind rage he felt that things had changed, without his permission, was uncontrollable. The fear he felt that his perch of anonymity was breached, crippling. Unfortunately, Essetia had been caught in that crossfire, but her presence had been reason to his madness and anger to his apathy. She had saved him from a foolish decision, and whether or not he would ever admit that, he was grateful. If Essetia found him half as interesting as he found her, then he would be complimented. Something about her was downright unnatural, abnormal, and that was not a bad thing. She was like evolution, something greater than what was before – almost like a whole new species. He barely noticed that she did not have a horn upon her brow because she challenged him at every step, met him word for word and used a keen intellect to back up her emotions as if they were as logical as his analyses. Strange, strange creature. And, she agreed to this question for question. Why? Nearly everyone had a motive, but for some reason, he got the feeling that she was swept away in the same storm he was, lost in seas of white and bronze. He stepped forward, and she still did not move. Interesting. She pawned his game off on him, and he smirked. He had a thousand questions to ask, and now he had to settle on just one. The stallion grunted in thought, jerking his head to the side to indicate that they should walk. They had lingered here long enough. “Are you from Helovia?” he asked – a simple, easy first question. @[Essetia] |
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