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12-28-2012, 09:10 AM
"Oh, my mother was the same," the striped stallion said in reply, his brows furrowing slightly as if thinking back to a time long ago. "Although, I might have been a tad more brutal in my honesty than she.." Those words were spoken in more of a murmur to himself, and were almost lost at the sound of another crack of thunder. It ripped through the air, daring anyone to step up and challenge it. Perhaps standing under one of the only trees in the meadow wasn't so wise afterall, but... It wouldn't be a worry until it happened. Turning his eyes away from the dark skies and back to the blue roan standing annoyingly close to him, Crowley cocked a hind foot as he listened. Her insults were amusing, to say the least, and he welcomed the challenge of coming up with better ones, or simply throwing them back in her face as if he might enjoy whatever it was she was suggesting. He liked to think that he could, if only for the simple fact that he knew it would annoy her. Her next string of words had the brindle tilting his head back at the thought, and that sly grin that was becoming his trademark came pulling at his lips. "That would be lovely, my dear; how I do love the wind in my mane..." It was impossible to keep a straight face. Meeting the mare's azure eyes again, he regarded her with a look of amusement, as if waiting for her to snap at him, inquiring just why his eyes were upon her. A couple more moments of silence had passed before he drew in a breath, and he spoke again. "You know," he started up again, watching her carefully for the hint of a reaction, no matter how miniscule, "If I didn't know better, I might think that you're racist, thinking those wings make you better than everyone else." |
The Weaver's Workshop
HP: 45
