Albrecht

He lies huddled against the back wall of the cave, letting its smooth surface aid in supporting his weight. Each leg is carefully folded so that a section of copper fringe is spread beneath the weary joints, protecting them from the hard stone floor. His nose is tucked into the soft skin of an armpit for maximum heat retention. A well-practiced survivalist, he’s even laid the tuft of his tail over the smooth hide of his neck.

Thin clouds of steam rise like a privacy curtain at the entrance of the den. He’s chosen the one closest to the hot springs, of course, so even as outside temperatures fluctuate between freezing and slightly less freezing his small pocket of stone and dirt hangs in the range of tolerable lukewarm and allows him a peaceful nights rest for the first time in a very long while.

Stirring from this state of unexpected pleasantness the stallion’s dark face rises with both ears forward, a sigh of content quietly fluttering his nostrils. He's glad he followed the piebald here, even if she did drag him halfway across the world. The view had been enjoyable and the destination even more so.

Soft crunching outside signals someone passing by, hardened hooves breaking through the frost that coats everything by sunrise and takes nearly until evening to thaw. The black listens, unmoving for a span of time until a second someone marching past rouses him again. The light outside has grown substantially and he supposes grudgingly that this is as warm as the day plans to get.

He stretches carefully, extending each section of bone and muscle by small increments until he feels like one cohesive being capable of movement. The stiffness is slow to leave him, but the hours spent in comfort have done him a kindness and he exits the cave in noticeably better form than when he’d entered it.

The day is clear and bright, but a pallid Orangemoon sun does nothing to warm the world beneath it. Black ears slip into their customary pout, insisting that they’d never strayed. The stallion ogles the hot springs with open longing, but his stomach aches for sustenance and he knows it’ll be long hours before he abandons the waters loving embrace once he indulges.

The other unicorns must live off something decent, for all their pomp and primping. "I fully expect a banquet table covered in candied clover and wild alfalfa." He quips to no one. There’s no one to hear him, but he doesn't speak for the benefit of others anyway and totters off in the same direction as the two early-risers.


//

OOC: Just assume you can see him before he sees you. Old eyes and all that.

The Curmudgeon

Lena
I'm buried and covered peaceful under millions of stars

They rise with the dawn, when the first dabbling of morning song ruffled past their cavern. It floated on a sweet, dulcet whim, and Lena’s ears curved and tilted to hear the hallelujahs and salutations drifting amidst the Orangemoon grandeur – peeking from the aperture and gazing towards the horizon. At the rustle of birds and the hint of promise, at the taffeta-strewn sound of wings and the dazzling of sights, the two rose from their evening repose, stretching, yawning, and grinning despite the layer of cold surrounding their dimming fire. Perhaps today would be different, lively and ebullient, exuberant and kind. Maybe they wouldn’t see the wounds of yesterday’s spars, the hunt by predacious men, or the rime turn to treachery. It was like a covenant, oath bound and charitable, cherishing the wild halls of their perilous wake, of their gleaming palisade, of their ancient, stony castle – the fairy and fox poked their heads out of the catacombs and wandered into the midst and mist.
 
Their sojourns were of no particular consequence – they may have traversed up and down the rolling hills, the snow-capped peaks, for company, for nomadic bounties, for some illustrious enterprise; the day was theirs, beckoning and cajoling. They roamed along pebbled paths and stony walkways, carefully gliding across ice and glaciers, just as elegant, just as refined, just as determined and resolute with naught else in mind but the speckle of something great, something grand spinning out of reach. Lena was embedded with too much fey to not be delighted by the prospect of something unknown kindled across her mind, had absorbed too much curiosity in her time spent amongst runes, labyrinths, and enigmas, and so the two dove into the meticulous creation of inquiry and interest, eyeing the landscape and the shifting forms ahead.
 
She knew three very well – and as they grew closer, smiling and grinning, captivating and enriching, storming the sanctity with their own defiant radiance, a honeysuckle whim, amiable compassion – the seraph and her companion dipped their heads in greeting. “Good morning!” Her eyes swept over the frames and figures of Tangere, Rexanna and her growing, widening belly (and this even earned a wider smile; because there was more promise burrowed and buried here), and Mortuus Nox, coated in black but not layered by demons. To another, seemingly nearing their trail, she called out a brief salutation (she didn’t recognize the beast, but there were always bound to be those she didn’t know or recall). “Hello!”
 
Swinging her head back towards the growing group, her eyes narrowed at the tended grounds, yearning, itching, craving to be of some use to those already nestled with a plan. What was to be built here? How would it serve their empire? How would it christen and anoint even more strength in the brilliant, untamed, and savage sovereign? The gentle nuance of her gaze fell to Tangere, smile still beatific and all encompassing; glowing from the patchwork of fading stars and morning light. “Is there anyway I can help?”

Albrecht

A familiar voice reaches out across the cold of morning, drawing one ear forward and just the smallest hint of an upturn across the stallion’s mouth. He follows the sound (accompanied by the mental image of its owner’s namesake) to a small expanse of level ground littered with chips of stone and withered vines. Swagger-Ass is standing center stage among the rubble, her mouth full of something green yet wholly unenticing. He rumbles a small greeting for her in specific, thinking of several ways to better use that mouth, before turning to look over her group of associates.

Two mares of equal youth and beauty, though he can’t help but eye the flashier of the two a moment longer, and a stallion sporting horns of a similar make to his own stand nearby. A metallic sheen glints off the younger stallion’s left horn followed by a wink of emerald green. Albrecht looks appreciatively on the little piece of jewelry, wondering how one might come to possess such a pretty item, but the young stallion’s dead eyes and scar plaid coat give no hint of generosity.

He misses the majority of introductions in his distraction, but can see by the others apparent industriousness that whatever is going on here is not something he wishes to partake of.

"I don’t believe helping was a skill listed on my resume when first we met Tangere, and I assure you it hasn’t been added since.”

My, what good manners he’s exhibiting today. He hopes the little assembly appreciates his civility for the absolute gift that it is.

Eat a dick