A cocky smirk finds its way to my lips, watching the stallion's violet eyes search me, looking me over— determining if I was worthy. But of course I am, I'm always worthy and accepting of attention and adoration, admiration from everyone and anyone, craving it. I'm the heir of a throne that does not exist, the future king of an unseen territory, something I've dreamed up in my time alone; there is nothing for me to take hold of, no throne for me to settle into or kingdom for me to rule over with a stern hand, no gathered crowds adoring me from afar as I stride so gallantly past. No one will idolize my ingenious, or write down my great achievements to be passed on for generations, or erect any shining, looming statues of me that will be a centerpiece within a town. But this man before me is offering the appreciation I so readily need, with his eyes crawling over my brindled body, I know— the wicked grin does not rise to my skeletal features, remaining just below the surface as I let him drink in the curves of my grey figure.

"Like what you see?" It's a gentle hum, a sickeningly sweet question oozing with dark intentions; I know what I want, and I get what I want no matter what. I'm easing into the confidently flirty aura that I don when men take interest, when they eagerly snap up the bait (me) and begin to show intrigue in the way my body moves, in the way I walk and talk, gluing their eyes to the curves of my stout figure. And this unicorn has taken it, easy. He calls me dear, letting it complete a sentence filled with denial, smirk growing at the pet name name he gives, never before having been called dear; it's always baby, baby, baby boy, always baby. I'm never bothered by it, in fact I relish in the in the sound of it gleaming atop my head beside my golden crown, always adoring the term. But dear, well, it's certainly a change of pace. Bubblegum glitters as I approach, ears perked up and lashes batting as I near the purple tinted stallion, admiring his casual attitude in my presence as I get close.
"Oh, I certainly will."

He introduces himself as Rhodoc, inquiring for my name as well; it's my chance then, with the air still as the world holds its breath and waits for what rolls off of my tongue next, whether I give him Kid or something else, something far more appealing than Kid. "Well, you can call me yours—" (wow, nice job Kid, you get 'em tiger)"—or Rex. Your choice," I end with a coy smile and subtle wink as I stand closer now to the stallion, knowing now I've sealed the deal (unless he has a spur of the moment realization that maybe he isn't actually that gay).

"Talk."

kid

run my reputation.