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05-26-2017, 09:55 PM
EVEcuriosity killed the cat
Weaver doesn’t say anything to Eve, leaving her in a silence that she is grateful for as she takes in her surroundings. The silence is broken relatively quickly, however, by the approach of two other figures – a stallion and a deer-like creature that she assumes is a companion to him, like Raven to Weaver or Zafir to Astarot. He greets Weaver as a corporal, clearing up any questions Eve might have had about her position, then turns his gaze to her. He asks who she is, and Weaver answers for her; she dips her head in a semblance of a nod as he introduces himself as Rikyn and the deer-like creature as Duir. He’d introduced himself as Lord, and Lord is a noble title, so Eve assumes that he’s probably someone important. “A pleasure to meet both of you,” She replies, a bit unsure of what to say regardless of the pleasant smile that remains plastered across her lips.
Her eyes trail across his frame quickly but meticulously; the intensity of her gaze could probably be taken in a number of ways, but Eve’s curiosity is practically scientific. She regards Rikyn much the same way that a biology student stares down a specimen they are in the middle of dissecting, precise and sharp as a carving knife. He is a blend of crisp gold and dark, mottled brown that she almost mistakes for black in her first glimpses of his coat; there is a sharp precision to his gleaming, golden markings that feels almost artificial by comparison to the untamed, earthy tones of the rest of him. He’s a bit shaggy, probably because it’s autumn, or whatever this land’s version of autumn is, and she finds herself thinking that she’ll probably envy his thicker coat sooner or later, although she can’t say the same of his beard. Seemingly satisfied with her observations, she eyes Duir. His coloration matches Rikyn, save the vines dangling from his great antlers, but the gold that crisscrosses his frame resembles strikes of lightning. Despite the brilliant glint of his golden markings, she finds her gaze attracted to the pretty, bright green of his eyes – it reminds her of spring in the wildwood. She can’t shake the image of the Horned God from her mind when she looks at him, though she imagines that it’s probably just the antlers.
Weaver’s teasing quip provokes a small giggle from the mare, though she adds, “I don’t think we’ve been here very long at all, no...but I’m not sure I’d notice if we had.” She doesn’t think that she’d mind to spend a very long time exploring every nook and cranny of this new place, so she’s not sure that she’d notice if they had been waiting for very long. That being said, Eve isn’t really sure what constitutes long – linear time is going to take some getting used to. She still hasn’t really processed that she is mortal now, capable of aging and dying, and she’s certainly not focused on processing it now.
Her eyes trail across his frame quickly but meticulously; the intensity of her gaze could probably be taken in a number of ways, but Eve’s curiosity is practically scientific. She regards Rikyn much the same way that a biology student stares down a specimen they are in the middle of dissecting, precise and sharp as a carving knife. He is a blend of crisp gold and dark, mottled brown that she almost mistakes for black in her first glimpses of his coat; there is a sharp precision to his gleaming, golden markings that feels almost artificial by comparison to the untamed, earthy tones of the rest of him. He’s a bit shaggy, probably because it’s autumn, or whatever this land’s version of autumn is, and she finds herself thinking that she’ll probably envy his thicker coat sooner or later, although she can’t say the same of his beard. Seemingly satisfied with her observations, she eyes Duir. His coloration matches Rikyn, save the vines dangling from his great antlers, but the gold that crisscrosses his frame resembles strikes of lightning. Despite the brilliant glint of his golden markings, she finds her gaze attracted to the pretty, bright green of his eyes – it reminds her of spring in the wildwood. She can’t shake the image of the Horned God from her mind when she looks at him, though she imagines that it’s probably just the antlers.
Weaver’s teasing quip provokes a small giggle from the mare, though she adds, “I don’t think we’ve been here very long at all, no...but I’m not sure I’d notice if we had.” She doesn’t think that she’d mind to spend a very long time exploring every nook and cranny of this new place, so she’s not sure that she’d notice if they had been waiting for very long. That being said, Eve isn’t really sure what constitutes long – linear time is going to take some getting used to. She still hasn’t really processed that she is mortal now, capable of aging and dying, and she’s certainly not focused on processing it now.
but satisfaction brought it back
@Weaver @Rikyn <3
-Please tag Eve! - No permission is required to do anything to Eve short of permanently maiming/killing her
