.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
Albrecht Peppermint-Pygmy flounces out of his cavern with all the taken offense and general disapproval the black could ever hope to elicit from him, but the way he sits with his haunches on the ground, staring up at the older stallion gives an impression of tired resignation more so than outright refusal, at least to the latter’s biased and slowly failing eyes. "Well,” He’s oddly intrigued by the smaller stallion’s pose and carefully inches his own hind legs under himself until they can just about touch the heels of his front hooves. "I’m not in the practice of asking nicely-” Air rushes out of his lungs with a small grunt as he drops his rump to the ground, front legs still propping his forequarters upright in a mimicry of Johnny-Come-Softy. "So where does that leave us?” The question truly is meant for the Weaver, but as the black stares down at his own awkward position – one of those yoga-esque poses that the young find completely natural and that vex the elderly to no end - it takes on a new and horrifying meaning. He’s not sure he can get back up now - and obviously it’s entirely the Weaver’s fault. Embarrassment burns red beneath his skin, invisible through the black pigment of hide and hair but real enough to kindle the fire of his vulgar temper. "I thought you were supposed to be all sugar and spice and everything nice." Who knew you could put enough venom into a rhyme to make it sound threatening? "What kind of nice guy leaves an old man to freeze in the snow?" It's a wild accusation, but no less vehement for the irrationality of it. The Curmudgeon |
@Johnny
![[Image: 56c616e54affc]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56c616e54affc)
