bristol
the past tense of regret is indecision
wing appearance: red feathered, then to match the parrot, then to match kylin.
If Bristol can read any of the mare’s signals of wanting to be left along, she gives no sign at all of understanding them. She is too busy tracing the mare’s white spots with her eyes, as if she can read a novel written into the girl’s skin. It means she takes note of the sharp hips and prominent ribs, but they don’t really mean anything to her. She just assumes Kylin is skinny. Or not hungry. Or something. A chirrup overhead brings her attention to a parrot inching closer, and for a moment the bay girl is distracted, lifting her wings a couple inches from her sides and letting them change to patch the prominently green colors of the bird overhead.
But she wrinkles her nose in distaste over the green color, and it fades back to black, the natural color that matches her father’s. That’s when she realizes Kylin’s asked her a question, and she tilts her head, considering the answer. “I guess I do,” she murmurs, eyes not quite focused as she thinks. “My father lives here, so I do too. But I don’t know what I want to do with my life, what I want to achieve” her voices changes there, going drawling and serious, and it’s clear she’s mimicking oft-spoken words by her sire. “So here I am, exploring his precious islands instead. Hey, is there anything super cool on this one?”
She’s forgotten she’s thirsty. Now her eyes focus sharply on the other mare, waiting on a response to her question, and she remembers that this girl has wings too. Or something. She eyes the transparent appendages with interest and then her own wings shift again, to something quite alike to Kylin’s fins. Bristol waves them experimentally, considering their usefulness for flight. It seems a low possibility. But – maybe they serve another purpose?
But she wrinkles her nose in distaste over the green color, and it fades back to black, the natural color that matches her father’s. That’s when she realizes Kylin’s asked her a question, and she tilts her head, considering the answer. “I guess I do,” she murmurs, eyes not quite focused as she thinks. “My father lives here, so I do too. But I don’t know what I want to do with my life, what I want to achieve” her voices changes there, going drawling and serious, and it’s clear she’s mimicking oft-spoken words by her sire. “So here I am, exploring his precious islands instead. Hey, is there anything super cool on this one?”
She’s forgotten she’s thirsty. Now her eyes focus sharply on the other mare, waiting on a response to her question, and she remembers that this girl has wings too. Or something. She eyes the transparent appendages with interest and then her own wings shift again, to something quite alike to Kylin’s fins. Bristol waves them experimentally, considering their usefulness for flight. It seems a low possibility. But – maybe they serve another purpose?