02-22-2017, 12:28 AM
The condemnation in her gaze ought to burn him but it only chafes him in the slightest.
He has been met by many a condemning eye and hers are not likely to be the last in his lifetime. It makes his lips lift in their familiar sneer that seems to become more and more permanent, lasting longer and longer than the last. He’s not sure if her disfavor stems more from his stark presence or the dampness of her wings and fur, and he gives no thought to how it might be a combination of both - he could be as frigid as the snow, as bothersome as the damp that he ignores the feel of on his own back.
“Not hardly,” he counters, every bit as contemptuous as she is.
She blathers on and he half listens as she hurls insults about having to look at the disastrous mess that he is. It plucks him up and out of his obscurity and scowl as he looks at her, incredulous even if it is feigned and pointedly so as he barks out more laughter and a short statement of his own self, “But I am a beautiful disaster am I not? You can hardly take your eyes off of me.” he scoffs, looks her over and away again, like she is one to talk.
He failed to delight in the plight of others; preferred his self-imposed hermitage from every aspect of life except the simple things like breathing and eating, and if only he could be as mindless as some of their kind, too simplistic to grasp those aspects of life such as love and the damnation that follows it. Like her, he thinks that weakness has no place in life and the weak deserve to fall beneath the strong. (But you are weak, his heart whispers to him.) He ignores it, trusts to his lying brain that tells him he is formidable and unconquerable, not this time - not ever again.
That too, is a familiar lie and even more so for the flash of green eyes and apricot skin that slips into his mind. He shuts his eyes against it - against her, for more than a moment until he realizes that she is still there, still full of snark and spit. Her rancor is appealing, even if he would never admit it aloud and certainly not to her face - it might swell to match her ego, a thing that seems more befitting of stallions than some mare that stands before him like his equal in most measures, but he begrudges her that much, like a frail ounce of unconventional respect as his eyes rest dark and humorless upon her own. “Like you?” he muses, equally flat and devoid until the furrow of her brow and her candid admittance of being alone piques his interest for reasons he cannot fathom. He should have walked away, but maybe he was frozen to the spot. After all, all that snow was terribly cold and good at keeping him mostly immobile…
“One should never make assumptions,” he mutters. “But I am no one and maybe that is why I am here because no one is expected to be here.” She has given him rare insight into her character, to be so bold and brash but also foolish enough to think herself completely alone in this place, this forest of perils and surprises that never ceases to amaze - no wait, to thwart their attempts at pure solitude (he assumes that she too, sought peace and space from all of them and everything like he did) from the smallest squirrel to the largest horse, none of them were never far from ever being entirely alone because there was always something knocking about the forest and going bump in the dark.
“So, you’ve been here before…”
There is almost a glimmer of curiosity in the dulled darkness of his eyes as they revert back to hers.
He has been met by many a condemning eye and hers are not likely to be the last in his lifetime. It makes his lips lift in their familiar sneer that seems to become more and more permanent, lasting longer and longer than the last. He’s not sure if her disfavor stems more from his stark presence or the dampness of her wings and fur, and he gives no thought to how it might be a combination of both - he could be as frigid as the snow, as bothersome as the damp that he ignores the feel of on his own back.
“Not hardly,” he counters, every bit as contemptuous as she is.
She blathers on and he half listens as she hurls insults about having to look at the disastrous mess that he is. It plucks him up and out of his obscurity and scowl as he looks at her, incredulous even if it is feigned and pointedly so as he barks out more laughter and a short statement of his own self, “But I am a beautiful disaster am I not? You can hardly take your eyes off of me.” he scoffs, looks her over and away again, like she is one to talk.
He failed to delight in the plight of others; preferred his self-imposed hermitage from every aspect of life except the simple things like breathing and eating, and if only he could be as mindless as some of their kind, too simplistic to grasp those aspects of life such as love and the damnation that follows it. Like her, he thinks that weakness has no place in life and the weak deserve to fall beneath the strong. (But you are weak, his heart whispers to him.) He ignores it, trusts to his lying brain that tells him he is formidable and unconquerable, not this time - not ever again.
That too, is a familiar lie and even more so for the flash of green eyes and apricot skin that slips into his mind. He shuts his eyes against it - against her, for more than a moment until he realizes that she is still there, still full of snark and spit. Her rancor is appealing, even if he would never admit it aloud and certainly not to her face - it might swell to match her ego, a thing that seems more befitting of stallions than some mare that stands before him like his equal in most measures, but he begrudges her that much, like a frail ounce of unconventional respect as his eyes rest dark and humorless upon her own. “Like you?” he muses, equally flat and devoid until the furrow of her brow and her candid admittance of being alone piques his interest for reasons he cannot fathom. He should have walked away, but maybe he was frozen to the spot. After all, all that snow was terribly cold and good at keeping him mostly immobile…
“One should never make assumptions,” he mutters. “But I am no one and maybe that is why I am here because no one is expected to be here.” She has given him rare insight into her character, to be so bold and brash but also foolish enough to think herself completely alone in this place, this forest of perils and surprises that never ceases to amaze - no wait, to thwart their attempts at pure solitude (he assumes that she too, sought peace and space from all of them and everything like he did) from the smallest squirrel to the largest horse, none of them were never far from ever being entirely alone because there was always something knocking about the forest and going bump in the dark.
“So, you’ve been here before…”
There is almost a glimmer of curiosity in the dulled darkness of his eyes as they revert back to hers.