He doesn't even know what to do with himself anymore without his ability. Without it, he's just.. Well just a sexy Irishman walking around in the woods at present. With a bloody headache that didn't seem to quit. Hell, it's been two seasons and still it throbs deep in his skull, though at least not nearly as bad as it had been at the beginning. Beginning of the end? Whatever you want to call it. This change over the world of Beqanna that took his power from him. And why? What had he done to deserve this, aside from have fun and spread fun and enjoyment with everyone he had met. With his special brand of awesomeness he had been able to get away. From himself, the world, anything. Something hurt? Take a swig. Bad day? Take a swig. Ugly broad? Take a swig. Bored? Take a bloody swig! Now what does he have? An aching head, and random bouts of cold sweats despite the heat of the summer sun.
Sure, he guesses things could be worse. There are probably others who are experiencing this change worse off than him, or even better perhaps. Perhaps he is a bit selfish, however, because he doesn't care. At least not right now. Being forced to quit his habits cold turkey had not been good for him. But it doesn't appear that he has much choice. So, he walks. He is at least grateful for the shade of the trees as he passes between them. He is equal parts irritated and relieved by the breeze that whispers through, sometimes chilling his skin and other times adding to the heat. Damn this.. He shouldn't have to feel this way. So unwell and uncomfortable. He doesn't think he's sick (although he can't remember ever being sick before, so he can't be sure), but it's more that there is a missing link within him. There is a yawning, aching pit that beckons him into its depths, but he is unable to answer the call. His head throbs again. His stomach churns. It's like he's hungry, but no food can fill him. He might be thirsty, but water could not sate him. For a moment, he clenches his eyes closed. A grunt threatens to pass his chapped pink lips, but he tries to stifle it. Chestnut ears pin to his neck as he lashes his hide with his tail in frustration.
Another moment passes and the pain subsides once more to a more tolerable level. Eyes of a bluish-green, turmoiled as the sea at the moment, reveal themselves again. Sunlight peeks in through the leaves and branches, illuminating his large frame. He is pure white everywhere but the very top of his red head and some streaks of red in his white mane and tail. He really is a handsome sight, tall and well muscled, but with a healthy dose of roundness. His bones are thick, his stature broad. He is the drafty type, though lighter in hair and not as much feathering accompanies his massive hooves. Presently, a light layer of sweat causes a sheen to his coat. Shiny in some areas, a bit darker in others like at the base of his neck where it is a bit heavier.
Taking a deep breath, the Irish stallion tries to soothe himself, and is all the more irritated with the shiver that racks him with his exhale. "Ack.." He groans on a whisper. There had to be a way to ease this agony. A way he can get his 'stuff' back. He isn't sure he can take this much longer. Another deep calming breath, and his ears perk at the scent that was brought on the breeze at that very moment. An odd one, but feminine. Aqua eyes scan through the forest around him, and it doesn't long for him to spot her. She is grazing, a palomino painted mare. No wait, that isn't right. She is yellow and white. Yellow like the sun, like.. Like some of the wildflowers he'd pretended not to notice had sprouted all over the meadow in the springtime.
Ah, a female. It'd been some time indeed since he'd last enjoyed the company of a mare, and as he approaches her (pace unharried and calm), he expects it is long overdue. Keeping his head at a lowered level, his lids at half-mast, he lets a deep whicker slide passed his lips in her direction, the sound reverberating through his chest. He waits until he is a little closer, gauging her response to his presence, sea-colored gaze unconsciously traveling the contours of her curves. And curvy she is, drafty like his own figure, but infinitely more feminine and a few inches shorter. There is something about her scent, though. Something about her that confuses him, setting him off just a bit. Something just not quite.. right.. But he is unable to identify what it is just yet. Even so, he doesn't deem it to be important just now as he comes to face her, his eyes finally finishing their slow perusal to find her mismatched gaze. He studies them for just a moment or two, before he speaks. His voice is deep, a bit rough with unuse, and he lets his words come slow and smooth. "Hallo there, lassie. How goes the battle?" He cocks a hind foot lazily, hips tilting a little like his head so that his forelock shifts over to one side of his vision. "Better than mine, ah hope?" The edges of his lips pull up into somewhat of a smile, a bit more like a sardonic grin but directed mostly inward.
Sure, he guesses things could be worse. There are probably others who are experiencing this change worse off than him, or even better perhaps. Perhaps he is a bit selfish, however, because he doesn't care. At least not right now. Being forced to quit his habits cold turkey had not been good for him. But it doesn't appear that he has much choice. So, he walks. He is at least grateful for the shade of the trees as he passes between them. He is equal parts irritated and relieved by the breeze that whispers through, sometimes chilling his skin and other times adding to the heat. Damn this.. He shouldn't have to feel this way. So unwell and uncomfortable. He doesn't think he's sick (although he can't remember ever being sick before, so he can't be sure), but it's more that there is a missing link within him. There is a yawning, aching pit that beckons him into its depths, but he is unable to answer the call. His head throbs again. His stomach churns. It's like he's hungry, but no food can fill him. He might be thirsty, but water could not sate him. For a moment, he clenches his eyes closed. A grunt threatens to pass his chapped pink lips, but he tries to stifle it. Chestnut ears pin to his neck as he lashes his hide with his tail in frustration.
Another moment passes and the pain subsides once more to a more tolerable level. Eyes of a bluish-green, turmoiled as the sea at the moment, reveal themselves again. Sunlight peeks in through the leaves and branches, illuminating his large frame. He is pure white everywhere but the very top of his red head and some streaks of red in his white mane and tail. He really is a handsome sight, tall and well muscled, but with a healthy dose of roundness. His bones are thick, his stature broad. He is the drafty type, though lighter in hair and not as much feathering accompanies his massive hooves. Presently, a light layer of sweat causes a sheen to his coat. Shiny in some areas, a bit darker in others like at the base of his neck where it is a bit heavier.
Taking a deep breath, the Irish stallion tries to soothe himself, and is all the more irritated with the shiver that racks him with his exhale. "Ack.." He groans on a whisper. There had to be a way to ease this agony. A way he can get his 'stuff' back. He isn't sure he can take this much longer. Another deep calming breath, and his ears perk at the scent that was brought on the breeze at that very moment. An odd one, but feminine. Aqua eyes scan through the forest around him, and it doesn't long for him to spot her. She is grazing, a palomino painted mare. No wait, that isn't right. She is yellow and white. Yellow like the sun, like.. Like some of the wildflowers he'd pretended not to notice had sprouted all over the meadow in the springtime.
Ah, a female. It'd been some time indeed since he'd last enjoyed the company of a mare, and as he approaches her (pace unharried and calm), he expects it is long overdue. Keeping his head at a lowered level, his lids at half-mast, he lets a deep whicker slide passed his lips in her direction, the sound reverberating through his chest. He waits until he is a little closer, gauging her response to his presence, sea-colored gaze unconsciously traveling the contours of her curves. And curvy she is, drafty like his own figure, but infinitely more feminine and a few inches shorter. There is something about her scent, though. Something about her that confuses him, setting him off just a bit. Something just not quite.. right.. But he is unable to identify what it is just yet. Even so, he doesn't deem it to be important just now as he comes to face her, his eyes finally finishing their slow perusal to find her mismatched gaze. He studies them for just a moment or two, before he speaks. His voice is deep, a bit rough with unuse, and he lets his words come slow and smooth. "Hallo there, lassie. How goes the battle?" He cocks a hind foot lazily, hips tilting a little like his head so that his forelock shifts over to one side of his vision. "Better than mine, ah hope?" The edges of his lips pull up into somewhat of a smile, a bit more like a sardonic grin but directed mostly inward.
