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03-29-2016, 09:56 PM
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Harpy’s eyes spy the ivory-shouldered brute first, and the redemption is quick, hesitant. Brother, Ka’Ora alerts her master, soaring on the mild salted breeze. The glimmer of scales alerts her to the presence of dragons in the air, and she does not know whether or not to stay afloat, or if she is to return to her master’s side. She is not sure if she is to be afraid of the dragon creature. Reginald notices as well; the pearlescent glint, the unfamiliar gleam of gold. Another one? he wonders, and as the basilisk crests the hill he knows that his bonded was correct in her identification. It is the grand twin, Abraham, his grand body laced as it always is for battle, conquest. Reginald notes how little that body seems to dwarf the Grey-Eye’d; they are so very nearly equals after long last. He thinks to himself, a wry thought. Abraham reports for my patrols more promptly than I do. He snorts as he descends from the knoll, sea-sand melting underneath his bulk as he goes to greet his brother (who does not smell of recent sex, this time around.) “Abraham,” he greets with the hoarseness of a serpent’s call, coming upon his wombmate so that he can see those mismatched eyes with greater definition, “and what brings you to the sea on this fine winter’s day?” He would not have asked normally—he would not have cared—and he still does not truly care, not really. But he his happy. It oozes from him, buoying his mood, the spring in his step; he wonders if the girls will be kept a secret from him as well, debates on sharing the news. He is interrupted, of course, before he makes the decision. It is a woman who does so. He looks upon the approaching mare (oh yes, she does smell of so much of a mare) and is instantly offended; there is something stretching across her face, a white, ugly blemish that forever ruins whatever beauty she might have on the front side. Unfortunate shrew. It’s a pity, for his quick eyes determine the fine solidness of her form, the careful line of her body, the even, acceptable grey tones of her hide. Oh-- and there he detects a dorsal stripe, a solid black line running perfectly down the middle of a wholesome backside. He has found himself taken with such a marking, ever since that night with Shida; that perfect landing strip, an arrow that beckons and directions. Here, here! Here is where you lay, this is where you go. I’ve been looking for you, she suddenly says to—Reginald, And you were nowhere to be found. His brows rise. “Here I am,” he says smoothly, racking his brains and deciding; he has never before seen this mare in his life: her identity eludes him. His head cocks ever so slightly, appraising her, regarding the way her eyes dance to Abraham. Had the brute told her stories of their brotherhood? Is she Abraham’s whore? “Is this yours?” He asks his brother evenly, regarding the harlot with the ugly face, the acceptable hindquarters. It’s okay that it’s difficult to look her in the eye; Abraham hasn’t don’t badly for himself. Reginald gives a slight nod, approving. A fine snatch, she is. [Reginald's Face] "talk talk talk" R E G I N A L D Walk the razor's edge Cut into the madness Question all you trust |
@Abraham
--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!
--All force is allowed to be used against this character!
