11-07-2018, 08:47 AM
The kelpie turns at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. It's a bird winged mare, her coat soft blue and white. Ivar traces the feminine curves of her figure with bold interest, but it is not until she mentions making an arrangement with @[Kromium] does he consider her as anything more than decoration - and perhaps a meal. Carwyn stakes a claim on his island, and the kelpie scowls, though it deepens at the idea of a stranger so willing to share with the metallic Tephran.
He has no time to interject - not that he would have, because he is too practiced in the art of waiting for more opportune moments - before the silvered lavender mare arrives. She stops too close to her green haired brother, and a rumbling growl emanates from the piebald kelpie. Though their conversation had ended with a fair amount of uncertainty, he had no intentions of releasing his claim on Karat. He can still see the mark he'd left on her shoulder, and wonders if perhaps he should not give her another as a deeper reminder to whom she belongs.
Brennen addresses Karat then, and Ivar's attention flicks to the others gathered, resting once again on the pegasus who had so readily claimed the island. She does smell of the sea and not Tephra, so he takes a step closer without really meaning too, drawn toward prey the same way it is drawn to him.
It is not until he feels the shift of the water that he looks back to Brennen. The bay stallion is disturbing Ivar's ocean and the kelpie is ready with a threat until he meets the magician's gaze. The kelpie has avoided the other man since his defeat in the Alliance (he is prideful, after all, and does not enjoy being reminded of his failures) and while he is still perturbed by the way Brennen toys with his his ocean, he is willing to wait to see what the other horse might have to say.
The political talk is uninteresting, but Ivar is placated for a few seconds by the memories of Nerinian queens. He has not yet had the pleasure of taking their current spotted queen, and he wonders if perhaps having a larger island might make his efforts at courting more palatable.
There's no harm in trying, anyway.
"If you're leaving," he says, having stepped through the surf until he is just near enough to the gathering to be heard, "Then Ischia is mine." Ivar has no reasoning for this, no stolen crown or rightful inheritance. He simply wants it, and so plans to take it. He does also want to run his muzzle down the so-close curve of @[Karat]'s barrel as a reminder of their chat, but he is not in the mood for a scuffle with her brother this morning - not when @[Brennen] is so near and unpredictable.
@[Carwyn] is equally tempting, but he is beginning to suspect kinship between the roan mare and the bay stallion. Ivar is a bold creature, but he is not foolish enough to attempt to seduce a woman in front of her family. Especially not when the woman also seems to want a crown and Brennen is not opposed to giving it to her.
"We might come to an agreement," He offers to the overo pegasus, though his idea of an agreement centers more around the idea of her growing round with his child and less with the politics that Brennen is so concerned with. Ivar's golden eyes flick to Karat, with whom he has already come to a rough sort of balance, and he makes no effort to hide the amusement that flickers across his pale face.
He has no time to interject - not that he would have, because he is too practiced in the art of waiting for more opportune moments - before the silvered lavender mare arrives. She stops too close to her green haired brother, and a rumbling growl emanates from the piebald kelpie. Though their conversation had ended with a fair amount of uncertainty, he had no intentions of releasing his claim on Karat. He can still see the mark he'd left on her shoulder, and wonders if perhaps he should not give her another as a deeper reminder to whom she belongs.
Brennen addresses Karat then, and Ivar's attention flicks to the others gathered, resting once again on the pegasus who had so readily claimed the island. She does smell of the sea and not Tephra, so he takes a step closer without really meaning too, drawn toward prey the same way it is drawn to him.
It is not until he feels the shift of the water that he looks back to Brennen. The bay stallion is disturbing Ivar's ocean and the kelpie is ready with a threat until he meets the magician's gaze. The kelpie has avoided the other man since his defeat in the Alliance (he is prideful, after all, and does not enjoy being reminded of his failures) and while he is still perturbed by the way Brennen toys with his his ocean, he is willing to wait to see what the other horse might have to say.
The political talk is uninteresting, but Ivar is placated for a few seconds by the memories of Nerinian queens. He has not yet had the pleasure of taking their current spotted queen, and he wonders if perhaps having a larger island might make his efforts at courting more palatable.
There's no harm in trying, anyway.
"If you're leaving," he says, having stepped through the surf until he is just near enough to the gathering to be heard, "Then Ischia is mine." Ivar has no reasoning for this, no stolen crown or rightful inheritance. He simply wants it, and so plans to take it. He does also want to run his muzzle down the so-close curve of @[Karat]'s barrel as a reminder of their chat, but he is not in the mood for a scuffle with her brother this morning - not when @[Brennen] is so near and unpredictable.
@[Carwyn] is equally tempting, but he is beginning to suspect kinship between the roan mare and the bay stallion. Ivar is a bold creature, but he is not foolish enough to attempt to seduce a woman in front of her family. Especially not when the woman also seems to want a crown and Brennen is not opposed to giving it to her.
"We might come to an agreement," He offers to the overo pegasus, though his idea of an agreement centers more around the idea of her growing round with his child and less with the politics that Brennen is so concerned with. Ivar's golden eyes flick to Karat, with whom he has already come to a rough sort of balance, and he makes no effort to hide the amusement that flickers across his pale face.