|
Shuler spots the stallion as he approaches, a phantom composed of snowflakes against a burnt red backdrop, an eerie glow cast around him by the sun that sets slowly at his back, radiant light leaking through the gaps in the leaves of the trees. The golden unicorn is, perhaps, slightly unprepared, and he eyes the equine and the golden dragon that flits about him with wary reservation, shifting his weight so that he did not have to bear any on his injured shoulder. Jackal, he speaks with a silver tongue befitting of his name and a leader’s position of authority, though his words are obviously blunt. It was fitting this King of Thieves would find Shuler and Crowley, and furthermore the meeting could work to their advantage by every definition of the word “opportunity”, but that was yet to be seen. Though it displeases the golden dun greatly that this Jackal would speak so flippantly of their supposed origin, he does not let the irritation show, nor does he kick himself like he would like to; next time he would not be so careless, a dead animal carcass would have masked their scent. But rather than linger in what has already past and gone, Shuler decided to take advantage of one of his many talents instead; improvisation. The unicorn stands in what appears to be irritated distress, discomfort and agitation conjured from his acting prowess, and he is already scheming in his head at how he will go about this particular charade.
Hopefully Crowley would play along.
"What is my business, you ask?”“I was well on my way to passing through your lovely woods until my dear friend here let me walk right off a ledge and into a rotted log.”
He does not look at Jackal now, but turns his blazing gaze on Crowley instead, his demeanor like that of an infuriated younger sibling who would like nothing better than to stomp his brother’s head. Shuler’s obsidian tail lashed in agitation at his flanks, and in a moment of emblazoned anger he snakes his horned head with lighting quickness toward his comrade with bared, pearlescent teeth, snapping at the black brindled shoulder of the much larger unicorn, grazing flesh as he does so. The movement throws his balance, and his own injured shoulder does not adequately hold his weight as he attempts to right himself, and he stumbles sideways in Crowley’s massive bulk as his leg buckles beneath the pressure, his much more refined and slender frame unlikely to cause the massive stallion to move at all. In a flurry of embarrassment and a string of curses the golden boy rights himself and attempts to scramble away from Crowley in obvious embarrassment, his pride – or what Jackal can see of it – chagrined by his own clumsiness.
“As I was saying- ” He coughs, clearing his throat, smoldering eyes still glaring furiously at Crowley with unreserved abhorrence, “We were traveling, south as it were, through the mountains. We had kept residence in the Basin, as you call it I presume, with, ah, Lady Psyche I believe? Quite a lovely host, though some of her soldiers leave much to be desired in the way of servitude, as they are rather sullen and boring, but no matter. I would have been content to stay there mind you, but someone thought it would be a brilliant idea to travel through the snow in the middle of a thaw.”
Shuler prattles on, his babble incessant and droning, all the while acting oblivious to any signs of Jackals scrutiny or suspicion. The golden stallion instead focuses the entirety of his attention with venomous rage on Crowley, ears flattened to his head. His outburst was meant to appear ludicrous and ridiculous, his personality vain and conceited with a level of intelligence far lower than what he was really capable of. Harmless, that is the affect the phantom desired. He wished for Jackal to see two ignorantly innocent, idiotic individuals who had bumbled their way to his doorstep in the midst of their constant bickering. In another rush of ire he attempts to lunge toward the brindled stallion yet again, further proof of his supposed stupidity, but to little avail. His leg once again buckles and he must flounder to keep himself from falling, and the golden dun winces as a shooting pain races up his shoulder and into the base of his neck.
“Damn you Crowley,” Shuler roars, “You insolent, impudent fool. If we’d just stayed put I wouldn’t be without a leg, and we wouldn’t be here.
[OOC: lolol]
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
