The old stallion sits restive on the ground, belly pressed indulgently to the warm slabs of stone surrounding the hot springs, his swollen hocks and knees folded neatly beneath him and hidden behind a splay of auburn hair spread out like an alarming puddle of red over the dark slate. He rubs his nose against one knobby joint, sniffling in the thick humidity. Beside him, his young companion stretches and rolls his limbless body, warming himself from every angle like a ninety nine cent hotdog in a truck stop gas station. For several minutes the two simply exist in this state of perfect warmth, two hedonists caught in a moment of peace, and then the old black opens one emerald eye, staring down at the python with a hint of amusement in his too-sharp gaze. "So you don't like turkeys, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question, both parties already knowing the answer and knowing the point of the question is not to learn, but to tease. The stallion grins impishly and the snake rolls his head away from the elder, wishing he had arms or pupils or anything with which to give the old man a taste of his own churlish behavior. The stallion grins even wider for the surge of temper and embarrassment leaking through their bond, reaching out to nose at the python with karmic glee. As much trouble as the young companion has given him since hatching, with his periodic episodes of itchiness leading up to the unsettling process of shedding his own skin and his newfound obsession with constantly popping boners and compelling the old stallion to assuage their urges with whatever poor bastard happens to be around at the time - not that any of his latest conquests could be described as unpleasant, after the fact - he relishes this opportunity to give the little serpent a taste of his own medicine.

"Oh c'monnn," He drawls, "Is it the raptor feet? The beady eyes?" He gestures with one front leg, unfolding and dragging the outstretched hoof across the smooth stone with a drawn out schhh, then jerkily cocking his head this way and that, eyes and ears held stiff and unmoving. It's not a bad rendition of turkey behavior, but certainly not as good as it suddenly becomes then. With a shimmer of light his anatomy morphs from four legged to two, from bearded to, well, less bearded, and the threadbare patchwork of his ebony hide swirls into layers of cream and coffee colored feathers. The snake recoils instantly, too startled to even hiss, though his mouth hangs open and threatening.

The stallion snorts, though it comes out more as a chirrup, since turkeys don't have the fleshy nostrils to produce an equivalent sound. He doesn't feel any different, but when he drags himself upright and stares down at what should be chipped, unhealthy hooves it's talon ended raptor feet he sees instead.



"Talk."
OOC // Using :: [ Magic: Light | Illusion that seems to transform Albrecht into a turkey ]

The old stallion turkey freezes, so absorbed in beleaguering his companion that the mares approach and proximity actually escaped his notice until the moment she opened her mouth. He swings around, four equine legs translating to two turkey legs and two turkey wings through the magic of the illusion, his tri-toed feet clack clacking against the smooth stone surrounding the hot springs with a much heavier tread than makes sense for the size of his current appearance.

He stares into those mismatched eyes, his turkey head swiveling, craning upwards to meet her gaze while his actual head and neck tower above her diminutive height. “It is.” He agrees, systematically moving each part of himself in a slow process of determining what controls what on this new body. As far as he can tell, his regular head, neck, and tail coincide with the illusions head, neck, and tail, but the wings are bound to his front legs, and the turkey legs to his hind. He shakes himself, ruffling the turkeys feathers and waggling both of their beards before clearing his throat.

“Noodle boy thinks turkeys are terrifying.” He tells the mare in a conspiratorial half-whisper that’s more than loud enough for the subject of the comment to hear and understand him. “I’m not so sure I see his reasoning. I mean, these things are all ass.” He grins, though the expression doesn’t translate well to his lipless, turkey beak and stretches himself out like a cat just waking from an extraordinary nap, pushing his buttocks up into the air and lowering everything else. His real tail sweeps side to side behind him, fanning out the turkeys massive display with more than a few salacious wobbles aimed in the mares direction.

“What do you think?” He winks back at her, his beady turkey eyes stagger blinking in a woefully unattractive fashion. Meanwhile the ‘Noodle boy’ stops his almost-hissing and startled, defensive posturing, swayed somewhat by the stallions rowdy humor, but more so by his ridiculous display. Not unsurprisingly, he finds it difficult to fear the illusion while it turkey-twerks around them.



"Talk."
OOC // @Beloved

The old black continues to smile through his lipless, turkey charade, even rumbling a low roll of laughter as the pythons innate fear subsides and allows him to enjoy the spectacle of his prodigiously petulant bonded carrying on in such a ridiculous manner. The snake uncoils himself, rising up on his limbless body like a sprouting stalk to watch the turkey-stallion and the ivory colored mare flounce around one another like two competing performers awaiting his judgment.

One wobbles, another prances, and the last one sways along to the beat of their hooves drumming the stone underfoot, a light hearted and relatively peaceful collaboration until the mare stops her tip toeing, the perfect white of her muzzle reaching out to poke at the stallions illusion.

Perhaps it’s that barest of touch, or perhaps the illusion has simply run its course, but at that very moment the spell is broken, suddenly dissipating with a shhsss of energy released, leaving not an impressive fan of poultry design beneath the mares quizzical lips, but the sallow ass end of the stallion himself. He freezes, front legs still splayed out in front of him, turning his head to stare up at the mare and the unflattering positions they now find themselves in. His lips twist into a wicked grin, only fractions of a second passing before his tail sweeps upwards, aiming to drag the tangled locks of its tip across the mares shoulder and over her withers. He squeals in a high soprano, a harsh sound that rings and carries across the open spaces of the Basin.

Leaning back, he tries to press himself into whatever part of the mare is still close enough to touch. “Oh Beloved-“ He gasps, feigning shock and appall, his face a caricature of reaction and turned to his companion in conspiratorial glee. "I never knew you were so forward." He croons, the high notes of surprise in his voice replaced by a throaty rasp.



"Talk."
OOC // @Beloved One track mind, these two. xD

The old stallion’s devious grin only intensifies as the mare shudders with realization, squealing a high pitched complaint as she startles away from his true and much less impressive display of derriere. She laughs, but the sound is more unsettling than comical, at first hesitant and with an awkward cadence, then swelling and quickly exceeding the perimeters of a normal, appropriate reaction. Still crouched, his pencil neck curving to watch her more closely, the stallion’s expression begins to falter, one ear flicking backward as her laughter continues and his apprehension builds.

Already set on edge, he reflexively shifts away from the mare’s reaching jaws when they brush past his swollen hocks, exhaling a thin trickle of laughter, weak and insincere, a paltry offer to mollify whatever offense is hidden behind her cackle, but she presses farther, coming shoulder to shoulder with him and speaking, dipping the bleached rose of her velvet muzzle into the curtain of auburn suspended from his neck and throatlatch.

He swallows, gathering the force of his magic around himself like a like a hammer held poised above an anvil, ready and waiting for the blacksmith’s command to strike, to mold a material raw and wild into something of utility, of art. “I stand corrected.” He rumbles, quiet, his attention never wavering from the intensity of her eyes. What started out as a simple jest, an antic let to run just a little too far, is now a standoff, all the lightness of his earlier mirth evaporated by the heat of tension between them.

Nearby, his companion coils tight, wedging himself beneath the lip of a stone slab and twisting his limbless body into a knot of muscle and scales, his pear shaped head hidden at its center. The mare stands between snake and stallion, and suddenly her colorless hide feels like an uncrossable distance. The young python feels alone, despite their close proximity, and frets. What if the old stallion is harmed? He’s unable to offer aide, to even call for help. Trepidation churns in his stomach, a wave a nausea quivering toward his throat.


"Talk."
OOC // @Beloved

The woman’s moods are like branches beneath a hurricane wind, whipping this way and that with sudden and overwhelming force, leaving the old stallion confused and disoriented by the whirlwind around him. One moment she's smiling, laughing, the next she rounds on him with an intention so openly hostile that he bristles in anticipation of an attack. Illogically, she bends her head to nose him instead, nuzzling with a tenderness he wouldn’t have guessed she possessed, though it quickly dissipates, her velvet lips parting and pressing her teeth too harshly against his skin, pinching, biting without restraint.

He stands immobile still, though his skin twitches and his muscles tauten beneath her gnawing, waiting to see if the pendulum of her emotions might swing once more away from ferocity and violence, and to his enormous relief, it does. She pauses, then storms away from him with another squeal, the sharp sound ricocheting off his back turned ears and shuddering through his tensed form. Grateful to face only the onslaught of her voice now, he can't help but sigh.

What the fuck is this bitch? He wonders, and when she speaks his head falls sideways, cocked in disbelief, unable to fathom that the previous display was meant to be something of romance. Her mocking accusation draws a flicker of anger across his features, all due offense taken on behalf of his manly endowments, but though sharp words prick at the inner tissues of his mouth, eager to leap to self-righteous freedom in the air between them, he sets his jaw, too wary of the white woman’s unpredictability to risk inciting another bout of flirtation.

He steps backward, keeping sight of the disconcerting soldier as long as possible before sweeping his head downward, gently grabbing his companion by the middle and hopping over the small lip where stone meets turf around the boundary of the hot springs, his weathered hooves finding comfort and traction in the soft soil of the Basin's valley. The python hanging in his mild grasp squirms, twisting and coiling until it is he that has the stallion by the face and not the other way around, where the black releases his grip, allowing the snake to drag himself over one brow and to the base of his horns, the tiny heartbeat in the back of his mind only then beginning to slow.

The grizzled face turns back mid-stride, eyes guarded as he declares, "You're insane."


"Talk."
OOC // @Beloved