Albrecht

Tallsun brings a rare and luscious heat to the Aurora Basin that shines down in golden beams of perfection and easily soaks into the unkempt, threadbare hide of the ancient looking stallion sprawled below. He sighs his pleasure, eyes closed to the unyielding brightness of the sun, and settles himself more comfortably in the shallow depression of barren earth cut across the center of the valley. Others might call this band of cleared and leveled ground a 'road,' but he sees its greater potential as an ideal basking spot - all others be damned.

“This is a morning well spent,” he croons, lazily flicking the tufted end of his tail up and over the hollow of his neck where it curves to meet the sudden outcropping of his shoulder blade, trailing its greasy, splintered ends over the small python loosely coiled there. “Which means that someone will be along shortly to ruin it, I'm sure. Helovians have this incredible knack for appearing where they’re not wanted.”

The python, for his part, seems wholly unconcerned by his bonded’s prophesying. Too young to grasp the use of language yet and not of any species known for its physical expressions of emotion, he simply chuckles a silent, serpent laugh and presses his own happiness into the mind of the other as if to say, enjoy it while it lasts then, a sentiment the stallion can fully agree with. Tail dropping to lay lifeless as the rest of their two dozing bodies, he spares a moment of mental approval for the young companion, wondering if perhaps they aren't so ill suited as he'd thought, before quieting his mind of coherent thought and drifting pleasantly between sleep and wake.


OOC // Open to anyone. Maybe @Ru'in ? ;)

Albrecht

“I fucking told you.” He huffs unpleasantly not-so-under his breath, eying the other stallion as he approaches. The two could nearly be father and son, with matching black coats and backswept horns, but the younger lacks any of the elders hereditary ruff, a sure sign of their genetic differences. When his mouth opens he seems to roar rather than speak, an accent the elder isn’t familiar with alternately clipping and emphasizing certain syllables, voice full and deep. The elders ears pin flat in the onslaught of noise. “I’m old, boy, not deaf.” He sneers, wondering if the boy ever speaks at a normal decibel or if his hearing is so damaged by his own voice that he no longer hears himself. The python laughs a silent laugh, accustomed to his bondeds ire and fully aware that this latest fit of nastiness is only beginning, if such an endless span of bad temper can be said to begin or end at all.

“And since you asked," he continues, “I think that this herd is a joke. We have sneaks that don’t sneak, warriors that don’t patrol or practice. If not for the healers and Weaver, the other herds would think we’ve disbanded altogether. Our Lady and most of our unranked members are absent but for the call of meetings and yet the Lord of the Basin wants us to believe in our strength, wants us to invite others to come see our dearly abandoned - " A slight hesitation breaks the flow of his sentence before he relents to the term, “home.” It's been months since he first passed between the iron Sentinels and though he dislikes the cold, the inhabitants, and at least one of the leaders here, he continues to haunt the glacial valley. It may not feel like 'home' to him, but its probably beneficial that it doesn't. Only most of the residents here want him dead after all.

He pauses then, momentarily taken aback by the youths final question. One ear flicks forward. He'd thought that no one noticed his good behavior. Deimos certainly makes no mention of it. The others face gives no indication to his feelings, but to ask at all is a momentous step farther than anyone else has bothered taking. The elders temper softens, likely imperceptibly, but if the other cares to look closely he might see one less wrinkle around his perpetually furrowed brows.

"Oh I'm fantastic!" He trills sarcastically, "I nearly froze to death this Frostfall, I had the piss beaten out of me by some black and gold son of a bitch, I've had my balls pin-cushioned by brambles, and somehow among the sea of inadequate rank holders around here I'm still the most egregious fault to this herds infrastructure in our Lord and Saviors mind.” He's well aware that the Lord of the Basin voiced several concerns during their most recent herd meeting, but the portion pertaining to him specifically is all that stands out in the mind of the elder, a simple warning shot amplified to nuclear fallout by his personal bias and sensitivities. "But more importantly how have you been darling?"


OOC // @Mortuus Nox and @Deimos for honorable mention. xD

Albrecht

The stallions ears relax and even swing partially away from the back of his maneless skull, his anger suddenly dropping from boil to simmer. The ebony healer seems unaffected by his venomous words, the rancor in them falling impotent against his impassively iron gaze. The elder wonders briefly if he's slow in the head, to have simply missed the litany of hostility in his tirade, but when he opens his mouth to recommence his roaring - and the old stallion is not convinced that he doesn't have some kind of hearing damage to think that he's actually talking at a normal volume right now - his answers are clear and concise, even concurring on several points. The old stallions opinion of him rises slightly, though not enough to silence his griping or soften his features completely.

"I did not see the Reaper galloping to my defense." He rumbles, half under his breath. "Nor did I see him rush to my aid when I returned, beaten and bleeding." The skin of his left shoulder twitches self-consciously, still hairless and puckered where the Songbird managed to close the grisly opening of his wound. The spastic movement disturbs his young companion and causes him to shift farther down his bondeds spine, folding his limbless, narrow body over the ridge of the stallions withers without fully waking from his doze, still predominantly focused on soaking up the warmth of the day - an admirable endeavor from his bondeds perspective, but then the healer jerks his attention back to the conversation, cutting off any praise he might have communicated.

"You know the asshole?" He blurts before the whole of the others response is absorbed. He'd certainly seemed to think he was somebody, but being a relative of the Reaper would certainly make sense, being such a peach of a boy and all. He snorts contemptuously. "Figures." And then asks, since neither had bothered to exchange contact information before separating, "What is his name?"

The black stallions calmness and quiet demeanor seems incongruent with his burly frame and booming voice, but dwelling on it, the elder wouldn't have guessed him a healer on first meeting either. He has the body of a warrior, strength and discipline evident in the way that he stands square on his hooves and stares unflinching into the eyes of his company. There's nothing inviting or warm about his presence, but his words continue to be measured and amiable, suggesting and then even offering his help. One tentative ear flicks forward at the elders poll.

"That would be... helpful." He murmurs, tone lightening as the fire of his irritable personality dwindles. "The Weaver has been helpful as well. He made this, He admits, leaving out the part where he stormed into the crafters cave demanding that he do so and nosing the wrap of sweat and dirt streaked cotton around the base of his neck, rustling the small amulet on its golden chain inside. "Though I think it could do with a wash." Nostrils wrinkling, he gives an amused grin. What better man-talk than gross smells and lack of hygiene?


OOC // @Mortuus Nox

"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'