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»› C A S S I U S ‹«
They emerge from the forests at all ends, from the sky even. All of them – he assumes – are here for the purpose of recruitment. The gray unicorn glances to each of the newcomers, shifting in his spot to accommodate for their presence – imaginary bubbles that span wide berths. And chafe, and rub against each other as they have drawn closer to the newcomer.
A nod is offered to Astarot and his dragon, offering a lame - nearly sympathetic - grin in response. Quickly followed by the harried presence of a stout creature from the heavens. Cassius became tense at first, darting his gaze upwards, holding his breath as his jaws clamped down. Relief taking hold of his mind for the briefest of moments, laughing and shaking his head as the little one finally landed and greeted the group.
“A saucepan? I wonder what sorts of dishes he might make with it,” he mused plainly into the open – to no one in particular. Pressing his lips into a sheepish smile, followed by the delight of all the songs and tales he might impress about a bear and his pan. Thoughts that bore into his eyes and cast them off briefly into the caverns of his mind. Providing a slight, nearly invisible twinkle against his gaze. “What kind of bear was it?” Random perhaps, but the stallion imagines black bears preferred to cook sweets over savories; and the grizzlies preferred their back bacon.
“Ahm… Cassius, of the Aurora Basin,” he offered to Pippigrin shortly after. Just as Lyanna makes her way from a distance.
It’s the strange stallion’s slur that breaks his fancied thoughts. Grunting as Cassius beheld the laughter and line of green bubbles residing on those lips. A small, however noticeable crease marks Cassius’ brow in a small frown. Lying juxtaposition from his stalwart grin. For safe measure he steps back from the offending sprays of bubbled, masticated – ‘who knows what’ - apparently it’s sourgrass.
But who knows? And stifles a half nervous, half amused laugh underneath his breath. The stallion attempts politeness, over the instinctive cringe of bodily fluids. Thankfully there is more to the traveler – a scholar, he proclaims.
What do you study? The stallion wishes to say. About to open his mouth, though his lips part momentarily before they close. Perhaps he was too forward in the beginning, his questions – probing too much too quickly. Now, given the audience that they host there is much to consider.
Cassius softens his gaze on Yves, nodding curtly with his response. “Yves the scholar,” he murmurs to himself. Passing his eyes from the stallion’s charming features and roguish grin to consider the others.
How would it go?
There once was a Pip –
– A grin to his toothy smile
The bear, be known to prowl
The woods with an edge
Unbeknowest to our friend,
The saucepan, no more
Making pies, and delicious sin –
- aye
For feral grins
And beastly howls
Beware the culprit
The fiend of Helovia’s gates
A bear of dastardly theft and arson awaits
The stallion felt silly, and shuffled a hoof against the dry earth. He would wait and see what the stallion wished to know. Having breached these walls only some months ago, all the prodding and offers proved overwhelming. With a quiet, calming breath he settled in his spot. And listened for the curious voices of their companions instead.
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