Albrecht

The first firefly passes by with little notice, as does the second, the third, and probably seven or eight following, but at some point the floating, flickering lights catch the old stallions attention and he lifts his head to watch them drift in blinking clouds of false lightning across the meadow. He chews as he watches, swallowing what must be the thousandth mouthful of grass today, his companions seemingly bottomless stomach broadcasting ’eat, eat, eat’ from where he dozes nearby, inexplicably untroubled by his own hunger pangs.

"If I didn't know better, and I don't," The stallion rumbles without turning his head from the display of lights. "I'd think you were trying to fatten me up." His companion remains silent, but the stallion can feel a new mixture of pride and disappointment seeping through their bond. The young snake is both proud of his cleverness and disappointed at having been caught, and though he knows his bonded has greater access to his inner workings than he would like, still being so young and not yet in full control of his emotions, he refuses to admit any guilt, neither confirming nor denying his bondeds accusation.

The old stallion chuckles low, under his breath. He's cheered enough by the pythons obvious concern for his wellbeing to temper his usual roughness, keeping the fact that he's suspected as much for a few weeks now to himself. He'll let the youth have his moment, but just this once, he warns himself, bristling at this rare slip into altruism, a slip into his former self. Pushing the thought away, a small moment of unspoken affection passes between them and in the silence a new voice draws the stallions attention. He blinks and squints his eyes, trying to make out a figure in the darkness of the meadow with nothing but intermittent flashes of lightning bug butts to assist his failing vision. Luckily for him, she speaks again, and the combination of sight and sound leads him to the source.

At first all he can see of her are wings, massive and pale, layers of feathers tucked together against her sides. He wonders briefly if it's the walking snowflake, Elsa, but as he wanders closer he can see that there's more color to this mares coat, a wash of silver and dapples where the Worlds Edge pegasus was pristine white. He follows the curves of her body with his eyes, both appreciative and measuring, then clears his throat by way of warning. "Romantic, isn't it?" He gestures widely with a sweep of his tail, meaning to include the whole of their surroundings.

His delivery is less than enchanting, the slight hint of habitual mockery never fully leaving his tone, but this is the Secret Grove after all, a place well known for amorous meet ups of all types, and so he softens the comment with a rueful grin. No need to hurt his chances, however low they may be. "Out here all alone?" He asks. 'Smooth,' his companion taunts at the back of his mind, earning a wave of mental annoyance for his humor.



OOC // I'm so sorry for the wait! I'm all moved and have internet set up at the new house now, so replies should be on time from now on. <3 @Sabia

Albrecht

The stallion cocks his bearded head at the mare. Her small, stuttering voice is a surprising rarity among the hordes of assertive, self-possessed, and overly confident of Helovia. Her right ear appears injured, tattered in some unknown confrontation, but the rest of her sturdy, compact body seems in good condition, smooth and clean overall, attractive even. He inches closer, turning both ears forward as the winged mare snorts in alarm, a flicker of yellow light shooting away from her anxious face. He grins again, this time less apologetic and more indulgent - of him or her is difficult to say.

"Well, not so alone." He teases, winking one emerald eye at the mare before asking, "Did you mean to be alone?" He knows the reputation of the grove, but perhaps the mare is new here, exploring for the very first time. He can't imagine someone so outwardly timid and apprehensive coming to the privacy of the meadow for its usual purpose - for his intended purpose - but maybe her demeanor is some kind of front or even a role playing device meant to attract a particular sort of partner.

He drifts closer still, tracing the gradient of soft cream to frosted ginger at her feathers tips with an increasingly sharpening gaze. "This place has a certain... reputation. Wouldn't want such a lovely creature as you to be... misled." Another lopsided grin, his nostrils flaring to draw in the warmth and closeness of her scent. "I could walk you home?" He offers, questions, eyes roaming the waves of honey colored mane falling down her shoulder and across the pale joint of her wings. Beautiful. "Or maybe you'd like to stay?"

In the back of his mind, the stallions companion silently spectates. He's never felt this wave of anticipation in the stallions mind before, this excitement. Normally everything about his bondeds barbed words and vulgar behaviors are spontaneous, not planned and joyously executed. This feeling of expectancy is new. The young python has no memory or previous experience to compare to and his bondeds intentions are frustratingly hidden from him, blurred behind a curtain of cognizant censure. 'What do?' He questions, but the stallion ignores him.

He supposes the serpent will learn exactly what do if things go well, but for now he need not witness the private fantasies of an old man, however enjoyable he'd likely find them.


OOC // @Sabia

Albrecht

She decides to stay and whether the emphasis on her pronunciation of, ‘you,’ is real or imagined is less important than the fact that he hears it and that he interprets it as an acceptance of his unspoken solicitation, an open invitation to his advances. When the mares muzzle sweeps across his neck, quick and feather light, he nickers low in his throat, leaning into the warmth of her touch.

“What’s your name?” He murmurs, sidling over to the mares left side so that the wash rack grooves and ridges of his ribcage might bump against her folded wing, or should she lift it, her smaller frame. His hips and withers stand nearly a foot taller than her own, though narrower and made more prominent by his gauntness, giving him the freedom to reach over her back with his head and neck as he side steps, upper lip puckering to brush at the tawny silk of her mane.

It's difficult to discern without knowing her - and impossible without first bothering to consider the possibility that she might not want his greasy old charms turned in her direction - whether the visible twitching and jerking of her skin and ears is an indication of discomfort, inexperience, or excitement. He can see that she's fairly young, fully grown already but not yet into her prime - a delicate age - and so he wagers that her restlessness is just a mixture of emotions manifesting in different ways, making her seem uncertain and changeable from the outside.

His reactions are straightforward in comparison, brazen even, considering the breadth of his assumptions. His body, his masculine physique, responds to her closeness, to his presumption of her willingness, and to the flood of anticipation his own remembered experiences bring on. He admits to himself - and to the stunned silence at the back of his mind, his young companion observing in wide eyed fascination from across the meadow - that it's been a while since his last sexual foray, but the time between has done nothing to diminish his carnal knowledge or appetites.


OOC // @Sabia

Albrecht

Everything seems to be going so well. The mares ears come up, her skin quivers where he breathes against and eventually touches her, and her breath catches audibly in her throat, coming out in an uneven stutter. She shares her name with him, Sabia, and he opens his mouth to willingly give her his, a rare gesture of commonality from him, but then suddenly - inexplicably - she’s pulling away, the whites of her eyes glistening in a crescent moon of fear around the aquamarine of her irises. The stallion pauses as she speaks again, his brows furrowing at her suggestion of leaving.

‘Not leave.’ His companion frets from the back of his mind, the young python loathe to miss out on this new feeling of excitement and unknown. The stallions ears plane out to either side in conflict. He knows what she's saying - 'no I do not want your dirty dong inside me thank you very much' in laymans terms - and what the right answer to this is, but he's not sure that the right thing to do is what he really wants to do. He's no gentleman anymore, no leader or role model, but his conscience squirms at the thought of rape, a violent crime that he once adamantly condemned others for and a considerably large step up from the petty annoyances of disrespect and dishonesty that he's grown accustomed to perpetrating since setting hoof in Helovia.

"Are you sure?" He prods her, stalling for time, though time to think or time to coerce he's not sure. 'Magic?' His companion shyly suggests, his earlier enthusiasm curbed somewhat by the feelings of anxiety and shame, something else entirely new to him, sloshing back and forth across their shared consciousness. 'Not hurt...' He justifies, conjuring an image of the various animals his bonded has charmed for him over the past few weeks. They all stare back at the stallion with trusting, dewy eyes, no fear or unhappiness in their remembered gaze right up to the moment that Stroms needle lined jaws latch on and drag them into an embrace of death. Still, the stallion hesitates.

'Old habits are hard to break,' he tells his companion, neither condoning nor condemning the pythons suggestion. Instead he quiets his thoughts, allowing the scent of the mare, ballooning in the air around him from her heightened emotion, to fill his lungs. He leans toward her again, taking up any space she may have created between their two bodies by sidestepping, and closes his conflicted eyes for the briefest of moments.

'Albrecht the King is dead,' he silently affirms. 'The world that he lived in is no more. The beliefs that he held are lain waste. Albrecht the Deposed is a criminal, a heathen, a monster.' He didn't choose the title or the hatred, but he refuses to live in shame and he will not waste his final years believing in something he's seen to be false with his own two eyes.

The warmth at his side disappears and he assumes that the mare is moving away, making her escape in his relative stillness. His emerald eyes open, the conflict in them resolved, or at least shoved away from his immediate thoughts, only cold determination shining outward. "You're right Labia." He intentionally misnames her, a self-serving smile trickling across his features as he arches his neck, gathering the energy and intention of his ability around him like a rising wave. "I do need you." His voice drops harshly as he focuses on shoving the metaphysical wave of magic over and across the mare, hoping to drown out any resistant free will she might harbor in those fearful eyes.

"Don't you want to stay and help me?" He questions rhetorically, so sure of his abilities now that he doesn't even wait for her reply before reaching over her folded wing to press his muzzle against her withers, to drag his worn teeth down the length of her spine. He steps backward, slipping along her side and flank, across the folded layers of her wing, and presses his bearded chin to the top of her pelvis, the auburn hair of his beard trailing across her rose grey hide like a final warning that she has no hope of heeding.



"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'

OOC // @Sabia Alby uses [ Magic: LightxSpark | Ability to stimulate pleasure centers of brain inducing attraction/affection. ] with permission from Mouse via PM. Mild power-play due to the above, but I'm willing to change anything you're uncomfortable with, just send me a PM.

Albrecht

There’s a flash of anger, an almost rejection, and then the tension bleeds out of the mares shuddering body as his magic forces its way in and takes hold of her emotional centers. Her words soften and she relents, acquiescent, though whatever inner turmoil she may be experiencing is invisible to the stallions prying eyes.

Truthfully, he doesn’t want to see it. He knows that there must be some part of her inner workings that remains untouchable and immune to his trickery, some small fragment that desperately struggles against him and will haunt her own confused and battered mind later on, but he doesn’t want to see it, and so he doesn’t look that far. When she finally answers him he filters out the hesitation in her voice, hearing only the rasp of her breath and the false affirmative of her words, selectively deaf. The mares eyes close, hooves planted firmly in place, and he moves forward behind her.

- - -

There are flashes of disgust, moments where he wonders if her reactions aren’t just a little bit subdued and the reality of the crime he’s committing seeps into his consciousness, but the hum of his blood and the heady brew of his own wants, his selfish needs is strong enough to hide behind and keep the rest at bay.

- - -

When he slips from her back, sated and spent, there’s no malice in the gaze that lingers on her dampened flanks, on the tangled locks of her mane. He’s never been a cruel lover, he hasn’t harmed her physically, but whatever satisfaction she might have shown in the moment is an obvious wound to her now, with the hold of his magic loosening and the horror beneath it beginning to show in her wide eyed stare. His ears flatten, as close to an admission of guilt as she’s likely to ever receive, and he snakes his neck forward in a quick grab, coming away with one soft, brown tipped feather between his teeth.

He's not even sure why he takes it, but the small token of their time together stays clamped between his lips as he turns and lopes across the meadow without a word. His only desire now is to collect his companion and find somewhere quiet to think, or perhaps specifically not to think.


"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'