I was born sickbut I love it
The trickster’s history has rarely showed up to bite him in the ass (there have been the select few of times, but none of them serious or noteworthy). The ones who do remember him from the days of Valley-fighting, Desert-entrapping, and innocent-murdering are either dead or hiding. None of them come out to fight his skinny body, despite all the revenge-worthy things he has done. He rarely looks back on those days as a personal reflection (although the look of surprise and enjoyment on the pink queen’s face is something he visits frequently, as well as the trait-battling day and the following sweaty night spent with the golden-eyed warrior) and never really thinks much of those times.
The sound of a stallion’s voice causes the trickster’s bruised eyes to open and his angular head to swing around. The gold eyes embedded within the stallion’s face are a loud echo to a time the jokester struggles to remember. His stomach gives a low growl (a passionate mixture between hunger and anger); although eating meat has been getting easier on his digestive system, it has been a long time since he last indulged in his bloody desires, and the elk isn’t quite agreeing with him just yet. He eases his tricks into his own mind, forcing away the beginnings of stomach pains (he’ll keep that trick dancing in his mind until the pain wears off and he feels better later; for now there are much more immediate matters).
His skinny silver bay body twists to turn, meeting the colorful stallion head on. The trickster licks his lips (stopping the blood from dripping down his chin, but leaving a dark stain against his mouth) and shakes his mane out in a casual manner. He’s never been one to care about kingdom borders or what they might do with him if he crossed them (he didn’t care about them when he was a yearling prancing into the Valley, he didn’t care about them when he was paraded into the Deserts like a trophy, he doesn’t care about them as he sucks the meat and blood from a kill made on Tundra land) and it is very obviously portrayed in his casual, relaxed body language and the way he smiles slowly, teeth stained a grim shade of dark pink.
He tips his sharp head to the side, bruised eyes mildly curious. “Well shit I thought everyone who knew me was either dead or dying.” He chuckles then, a slippery sort of sound mingled with gory amusement. “Who’re you?”
LOKII
