Volterra does not react well to misery.

For some reason, he struggles to transform it into anger. When he's truly, deeply upset, he can't seem to motivate himself to use it as a catalyst and thrust himself into a rage, a blessed inferno of fury that blocks out everything else and offers him blessed relief from the pain inside. No, when he's feeling like this, there's nowhere to hide. No escape from the crushing realisation that the love of his life doesn't even know who he is anymore, that their relationship meant more to him than it did to her, because there's no way in hell he would trade their precious memories for sweet oblivion. He feels like everything they built, everything they lived through, every stolen moment and subtle touch, was a lie.

He can't hide from his misery, but nor can he face it head-on just yet, not when the memory is still so fresh and he's still so fragile. So he chooses the only other alternative: distraction. If he keeps himself mentally and physically busy, then his mind cannot drift inexorably towards her, can't play their words over and over again like a record stuck on a loop until it leaves him teetering on the edge of madness. Dwelling isn't healthy, so the mammoth stallion chooses to think about anything else but the crushing memory that he now keeps locked away in an iron box, safe in the back of his mind.

The things that he knows will distract him best of all are alcohol, sex, and battle. The latter is probably not the best decision right now, because his mood is so volatile that he might accidentally murder his opponent during a friendly spar. That leaves the other two, and Volterra knows from experience how well they mix together. This time though, unlike the episode with Roskuld, he knows his limits. When he found the pile of innocent-looking apples, he overrode his natural greed and took only a few, just enough to make his worries fade away but not enough to turn him into the slavering, dick-swinging wreck that had violated the Spark's daughter in such a manner. No, he's just relaxed without losing control of his senses, happy without being stupid, and with inhibitions lowered without allowing him to make a fool of himself.

That is how come he can be found in the depths of the forest, devoid of his dragons (they know better than to be near him when he's in one of these moods), leaning one massive shoulder against a tree and unleashing a deep, earthquake-like groan. The alcohol has numbed most of the pain but there's still a slight throbbing of it in the back of his mind, a stark reminder that this relief is only temporary. He can't hide from his problems forever. "You see," he tells the tree conversationally, his colossal skull tilted towards it as though pouring out his secrets to his dearest friend. "This is why I could never do monogamy. This is why I could never do love." Or, at least, not again.

The monolithic warlord sighs, rests his shoulder even more heavily against his good friend the tree, and stares off into nothingness as he contemplates his life.

A voice makes him freeze as though carved from ice, his eyes widening almost comically and his powerful legs taking him a single sideways step away from the tree, as though to hide the fact he'd ever been talking to it in the first place. The forest swims slightly as he moves, reminding him that he's consumed a fair few fermented apples and that he should probably be careful in case he ends up in a crumpled, undignified heap on the ground. Bracing his legs so as to keep his balance, the titan tries his best to look perfectly sober and perfectly not talking to a tree.

The owner of the voice soon makes her way into the stallion's alcohol-fuzzed vision, and he finds himself looking at her appraisingly. It's Nephele, one of the herd's warriors, and whilst he'd always appreciated her as a fellow veteran of the battlefield, he's never noticed how....hot she is before. Those muscles, that patterned coat, those wings, those antlers, that ass. She's a mother of a pair of colts, but that doesn't matter to Volterra - he loves a good MILF every so often. He hadn't wanted company, not when he's in such a bad mood with the shattered remains of his heart jangling around inside his chasm of a chest, but he supposes company that looks like Nephele is far from objectionable.

He plasters a suave grin upon his face, easily masking the pain that rages within. "You'd be surprised. This particular tree is a very good confidante, although his replies can be a little wooden." He breaks into a great guffaw of laughter at his own joke, fuelled by the apples that ripple through his system. His next one comes into his mind and he's giggling so much he can hardly get his words out. "I'm thinking I should branch out and talk to other trees...they may help me get to the root of the problem." Another great cackle, and the leviathan is so crippled by his own razor wit that he finds himself leaning against his tree, almost doubled over under the weight of the laughter that ripples through him.

Ah, Volterra, mighty warlord and Sultan, making tree jokes whilst drunk off dodgy apples. The things Isopia does to me. These are the sober thoughts that try to fight their way into his head, only to be swiftly kicked aside. His focus returns to the mare, who is saying something about fish. The beast squints his drunken eyes, still giggling slightly at his tree jokes. "I don't know that one," he confesses.

Her offer of help causes him to suavely wobble his eyebrows, unable to help the innuendo from slipping off his tongue. "Nah, but there's something between the legs you could help me with." Flirting with herdmembers is a very, very bad idea - doing it whilst drunk is a very very very bad idea. Something about the fermented apples, though, prevents it from seeming like a bad idea at all. Isopia's face swims before his eyes, but he quashes it firmly - now is not the time to think of her.

To his delight, she laughs at his awful tree-puns, and responds with one of her own that causes him to unleash a loud, hearty guffaw. "I thought it was a fir-ly good joke, myself." The mare then proceeds to mount a fallen tree and Volterra stares quizzically at her, tilting his head to scrutinise her as though she's some odd forest creature. She looks marvelous, and the Sultan makes no attempt to hide his roaming gaze. That is one of the perks of a crown - he can oggle the herd's mares as much as he wants, and they're unlikely to say anything about it because who doesn't want to be admired by a king?

He continues to stare dreamily at her for a while before taking a step forwards, fuelled by the Dutch courage in his system. "If you want some wood underneath you, I can help you out." Again with the flirtatious look, the subtle bulking of his hard muscles to prove his size and strength to her as he advances further, hungry, predatory. Quite where this has come from he doesn't know, but he does have a habit of channeling his less-wanted emotions into lust - and heartbreak is one of the strongest emotions he can think of.

She then requests apples, and the leviathan's face lights up. "It just so happens that I left some lying around here." He wanders away into the forest for a moment and returns with several of them bunched beneath his chin, which he drops towards Nephele. He's careful to resist the allure of them himself - at the moment he's politely tipsy but still able to control himself, albeit with inhibitions lowered. He doesn't want to risk ending up like the blubbering, dick-swinging lummox that emptied his balls across poor Roskuld's rump.