| MONSTERS
we hide our intents in the dark.
The milky white mare begins to reply, rather kindly with a soft voice, yet it is overridden by the biting tone of the bitch who seems offended by his existence. Osiris smirks, the corners of his soft muzzle lifting to slightly reveal a row of pointed teeth, much like the dog she saw in him. Let her continue to think this way, for it could not be worse than what he had already been told.
"I am a mercenary, ma'am," he answers her question flatly, without any hint of noticing the evil laced within that pristine feminine voice. His own golden eyes seem to see hers, taunting her silently from behind a guarded mask. Only the horned ones were obviously flustered or uncomfortable in this situation, but Osiris was used to, well... drawing attention, to say the least. She's mean, Comadre whispers into their mind, flashing the bay a fiesty look on his normally tempered features. I do not like her. The hybrid gives the small dragon a glance of amusement, never having heard Comadre take so badly to another before. However, rudeness usually had its bounds with sanity; this mare seemed to be racist too far to even come up for a moment of air.
The wolf did feel increasingly bad about how uncomfortable the pallid mare appeared, even trying to goad her companion into halting her barrage of words. This one was not racist, then, or, if she was, a very good actress instead.
The soft sinking of hooves in sand capture his flickering attention, one ear shying away from the wench's tones as she continues to gawk, listening carefully to both with trained, divided attention shared with a dragon. Comadre's eyes seek out the chestnut form of their new company, leaving Osiris's eyes boring holes intently upon the bay mare splashed with gold leaf. A stallion, based on the general build, but not threatening, just curiously observing before coming closer, his blue eyes set on the peaceful pale beauty.
The mare's next question is met with a stoic face, his eyes still intent but calm. "Word-weaving," he says flatly, with no hint of jest and no obvious intent of expanding upon that.
The next comment she makes appears to be a jab at his self-esteem once more. Shocking, was it not? Osiris could sigh from the boredom she was creating with her typical, blind hatred for a soul who had done nothing but bid her a good day. Instead, he lets out a slight laugh. "Better a hound than a harpy," his golden eyes looking at her accusingly. "A good thing the likes of you will never hold one." His voice still calm, even gentlemanly in tone, but delivering his own insult to the mare who thought he would sit by and allow such offenses. Perhaps, years ago, Osiris would have simply allowed her mouth to run. However, the wolf had made friends, not matter how unlikely she may think it. With friends comes confidence in yourself - confidence which could not be shaken by a small bitch with a big mouth.
"Illynx," he repeats, quite calmly, after she asks his name. If she had intended to subdue him with her title, it had no obvious influence upon him. Corporal or not, Osiris was rather certain he could best her in a fight, if it came to such miserable circumstances. Comadre, however, makes a clear intent to give her a ghastly look before turning his head fitfully away from her, with a muttered phrase in the shared mind of his bonded. I do not want you to give her my name. Cheeky, Osiris thinks. "I am Osiris of the Grey," he says, clearly denoting that despite her unrivaled hatred for his being, someone had taken the dog home.
The chestnut stallion finally makes his way to stand beside the white mare bedecked with antlers, and the wolf gives him a short nod in greeting, not wishing to detract away from his words upon entering. Is there a problem, Illynx? The wolf does not make any notable change in expression, but it is not without effort as Comadre snidely retorts in their mind: I think your head being stuck up your ass is a problem. The dragon was not used to the wolf being so misunderstood and battered verbally, for their life had been blessed with kinder souls during their journey together. Unfortunately, he would have to learn sooner or later that Osiris's hesitations about himself were not unfounded.
"A pleasure, Arah," he says genuinely, giving her a nod of respect. He assumed by the way the third unicorn knew Illynx's name that he was also of the Basin. As the mare asks about the dragon once more, Comadre turns glimmering violet eyes toward her, a smile creeping back on his face. The small black coos gently, avoiding as much eye contact with Illynx as possible. If the dragon had feathers instead of scales, they would all be ruffled. "His name is Comadre."
If the hybrid should have been nervous in a trio of unicorns, he was not. His own backup was only a howl away.
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[O] she found herself chasing ghosts; [Arah]
