06-13-2020, 08:08 PM
She was not quite what you would call refined
Popinjay has no use for other people's authority, and so she ignores his as though it is no more than the rain dripping in sleek lines down his leathery wings. She approaches him with her usual lack of regard - for personal space, for caution - dances round for a better view of him - giant, white-eyed, winged and horned.
And quite mad, she is sure, based on his reply.
Her grin widens, flashing white teeth, hoping for something interesting to come after the proclamation of his fury, but he only asks her where they are. Hasn't he ever seen a river before? Or has he gone so crazy he forgot what it looks like?
"This is the river. It's my river, and you are trespassing." The young mare draws herself up to her full height - which is not very much - and manages what she thinks is an imperious expression, something between angry and bored, one impish ear flicking back. The muscles of her haunches bunch and coil as she rocks back onto them, nimble feet ready to spring in any direction
"And why shouldn't it strip you clean, what have you done to deserve my magic? You're lucky I let you keep your wings." She claims the ransacking of his gifts so easily, as if it were even remotely within her power to do. It is the Fairies and Beqanna herself that make those rules, of course, but he - too new or too deranged - seems to have no way of knowing it. Poppy snorts softly into the fading storm, returning his demanding stare with the reappearance of her mischievous grin. From the place where her dark eyes pierce the grey clouds that rush overhead in perfect mimic of the swollen river, she pulls down a crackling ball of lightning that sizzles and hisses and fills the air with its thin, pulsing light. The smell of electricity fills the air.
"Maybe you should try yelling at it some more, that seemed to be working."
She is a poor actor and there is already bubbling laughter hinting at the back of her words.
And quite mad, she is sure, based on his reply.
Her grin widens, flashing white teeth, hoping for something interesting to come after the proclamation of his fury, but he only asks her where they are. Hasn't he ever seen a river before? Or has he gone so crazy he forgot what it looks like?
"This is the river. It's my river, and you are trespassing." The young mare draws herself up to her full height - which is not very much - and manages what she thinks is an imperious expression, something between angry and bored, one impish ear flicking back. The muscles of her haunches bunch and coil as she rocks back onto them, nimble feet ready to spring in any direction
"And why shouldn't it strip you clean, what have you done to deserve my magic? You're lucky I let you keep your wings." She claims the ransacking of his gifts so easily, as if it were even remotely within her power to do. It is the Fairies and Beqanna herself that make those rules, of course, but he - too new or too deranged - seems to have no way of knowing it. Poppy snorts softly into the fading storm, returning his demanding stare with the reappearance of her mischievous grin. From the place where her dark eyes pierce the grey clouds that rush overhead in perfect mimic of the swollen river, she pulls down a crackling ball of lightning that sizzles and hisses and fills the air with its thin, pulsing light. The smell of electricity fills the air.
"Maybe you should try yelling at it some more, that seemed to be working."
She is a poor actor and there is already bubbling laughter hinting at the back of her words.
@[morrowind]
