this isn't mischief
The mare’s curious eyes upon his skin almost call a smirk to tug at his lips, but he forces it down with sheer determination. Any sign of his true self (of that smirking grin, of that mischievous glint in his eyes, of that purring tone, of that streak of showiness) might reveal to the mare his true intentions. And his true intentions are things he doesn’t wish for the mare, or anyone, to find out about. Nonetheless, he knows he has done well in manipulating her eyes to see someone different when he spots that look in her gaze.
Her words cause the trickster to tip his head to the side slightly, as if he were purely intrigued by her words. “And what intentions might those be, miss?” His sweet, deep voice plays out into the lobe of her ear, tenderly singing into her mind.
Before he can get to know this mare better, another stallion approaches. The trickster can feel the suspicious glare of the other stallion before he speaks (it lingers on the gangly build the stallion sees – a build so different from what the mare sees), but he pays no mind toward it. Any indication that something is off about his appearance that the female might notice could reveal his true nature to her.
The conversation of trouble (oh, the irony of it all) causes the troublemaker himself to laugh, and his coffee brown eyes dance with amusement in the eyes of the mare. “Be that as it may, Magnus, I much prefer the realms of peace and stability to the ‘thrills’ of troublemaking and uncertainty.” The words burn on his tongue, but he chokes down the rising sense of sickness in his stomach (never once did he ever expect himself to say such words). He holds the stallion’s gaze with his own bruised one, head tipped slightly as if confused by his suspicion.
The mare asks the pair of them what they are doing in the field, but soon two others are approaching. One – the male – is quick to leap into his advertisement for the Falls. The other – the female – introduces herself simply and shows her obvious familiarity with the first stallion. Turning toward the pretty young chestnut, the trickster shakes his mane out as if to rid himself of the suddenly crowded company.
“Miss Keeva, I am here because I am searching for good company. You see, I have spotted a cozy little territory that I am looking to call home, but do not yet have any friends to call it home with.” He speaks ‘friends’ rather than ‘pretty little dolls’ and ‘company’ rather than ‘a slew of broodmares to pass on my genes’ because he is playing the character of a noble, gentle stallion and not his true self. “I would love to get to know you better, but I’m afraid I prefer one-on-one discussion rather than a large crowd.” He smiles toward the others at this, as if hoping there are no hard feelings in the wake of his words.
“If you would like to come with me, I would absolutely love that. Or if you would rather speak with these good fellows, feel free. I’m planning on making the Echo Trails my home, if you ever want to stop by.” He nods to the others, and then turns his attention back toward her briefly. Coffee brown eyes latch onto hers, almost pleading her to feel the fact that he “wants” to get to know her better than he has in the short time so far.
lokii
this is mayhem
