Like a Thorn to the Holy Ones [any]

[Nymphetamine]

Like a thorn to the holy ones     A sharp spring breeze drifted a new scent towards his dark maw. The need shift his stance tingled through him, but he held still. The field was filled with mares, and a hot stallion or two showing off. He knew his ways probably were not all that normal- but what did he know, he was new here. The air held little tension and so he found himself here allowing fate, or whatever, to find him. The scent continued to grow, not feminine but masculine, the conversation to come could be quite entertaining. Well well well, what beast have I attracted? It is a lowly stallion threatened by little 'ol me?  A moment later a sandy fellow came forth from the tree line. Nymphetamine snapped his attention to the stag who approached. He gathered no aggression, no disdain in his demeanor, but did see the scars. Scars such as his, didn't come lightly, best to play safe. The last thing Nymphetamine wanted was a spat in the middle of the ladies-- oh the impression that would make, ha!  So to be safe, he held his ground firmly, but calmly never to be too trusting. He looked out through dark pools ears twitching forward as the stag spoke. A spark of smugness flittered throughout his eyes.   He wastes no time, now does he. What is the fuss all about? The blood stallion took a breath weighing his options. In a new home, were he had no allies, he could be too snobbish, judgmental. The quick tongue of his mother flared often, and he had to keep it in check, especially now. As he exhaled deep tones rang from him. Nymphetamine. I'm.....new. This area seemed as good a place as any to start gathering my wits about me. What about you, sir. A bit of laughter floated behind his eyes, he would toy with this one a bit. "Sir." He was not disrespectful, but he would toe the line, show he was not afraid to hold his own with someone his senior. He would not be happy in a place he couldn't speak his mind, he had to set himself up for that- a home, the right home. Nymphetamine watched for the reaction of the older sandy stag before him. Would he take the jest well or would he get agitated? The thrum of his heart quickened-- he loved a game of wits. The hope that the game would twist and turn before both parties accepted the other as a worthy opponent was half the fun.  Lets play old man Nymphetamine had no idea if he truly was old, He didn't seem to bear the usual marking of age, but in jest, he thought of him as such, to drive the mental game. Dark muzzle reached forward slowly, slightly Magnus's direction and he sniffed him,partially in jest, and partially to gather more from the small words he shared. He smelled a faint sweet scent, but it could be that of mares around them. He simply didn't know this place well enough to discern much from scent alone.  What are you about old man?       The Puppet Master: Nymphetamine They see him: Blood Bay Ghosts within: Alkah-teke x Arabian They Run From Him at: 16.2 He’s made it this far: 2 years   Remember him by: He will always be a bit of a wander, and if he does settle down to one place or with one fae it will be later in life. He is sly and outgoing, and cares very much about family and keeping his word. He doesn't remember much of his family, but knows the fact he made it here to,well he isn't quite sure where here is, because of the sacrifice his parents made. Nymphetamine is the some of a pirate, if you will. The kind of horse that wanders into luck and fortune and seems to know the minute mischief is in the air. His father wasn't one to settle down either- until he met his mother. A fierce tongued fae with a dark heart, she understood and maybe even loved his father's distant, detached ways. Nymphetamine was very much a mix of his parents, fierce tongued and independent with a lucky streak to pull him through during rough times--or maybe stir things up.         Cold was my soul Untold was the pain I faced when you left me A rose in the rain.... So I swore to the razor That never, enchained Would your dark nails of faith Be pushed through my veins again   Bared on your tomb I'm a prayer for your loneliness And would you ever soon Come above onto me? For once upon a time On the binds of your lowliness I could always find the slot for your sacred key   Six feet deep is the incision In my heart, that barless prison Discoulours all with tunnel vision   Sunsetter... Nymphetamine   HTML Copyright To Tay.