10-27-2015, 02:46 PM
Zojja has taken after her mother more than she cares to admit - something that goes beyond colors and abilities and physique. In Zojja, Porrim has left a deep-seated interest in observing everything there is to see - when she's not busying herself with her own tasks, Zojja is almost always watching someone else. It is, after all, exactly what she'd been up to when Brynmor had scrambled up from his snowy bed. She'd pity him - maybe - for being unable to do the same, if only she knew him better. The habit has, if nothing else, taught her this much: that startling someone clearly off in their own world may invite hooves, or teeth (or in a worst-case scenario, unexpected traits). So Brynmor snorts and lurches unsteadily away from her - of course he does, who wouldn't? - and though she offers no apology for disturbing him, Zojja tenses expectantly for the briefest instant. Those pale eyes may be a ruse, after all.
Except he doesn't do much more, save for asking after her name, and the dun mare cocks her head thoughtfully. "Zojja," she replies. Her tone is unrepentant, but she has grown, in some ways, in that she no longer offers her name the way she had as a child: haughtily, with the assumption that everyone ought to know full well who she is. "I'm Zojja." She's not surprised that he passed over her question - mildly disappointed, perhaps - but then, it had been a bit of a gamble approaching him in the first place. Zojja will take what she can get, provided that he stops making faces that suggest she's about to eat him alive.
The pale green stallion approaches at an almost leisurely pace, and as such, Zojja is so preoccupied with Brynmor and his increasing alarm that, initially, she manages to overlook him. Sort of. A drifting glance in Lupei's direction certainly earns him a double-take, standing out against the snow as he does, and Zojja whuffs softly at his question, a sound caught halfway between amusement and scandalisation. "Lovers' quarrel?" she repeats, one dark-tipped ear swiveling back. "Never seen him before in my life. I don't even know his name," she adds, pointedly, turning back to Brynmor as she says it - the longer she watches him, the more convinced she becomes that he cannot, in fact, see her staring. The gray stallion has returned to being caught up in his memories, and whether or not he's noticed her prodding is beyond her. She'll learn his name eventually. Maybe.
"So in essence," she continues, turning back to Lupei, "you've not interrupted anything." Her gaze tracks over the striking pattern of his coat. Interesting. She wonders, offhandedly, if she could duplicate it perfectly, but now is really not the time. "In the interest of us all being familiar, though: I'm Zojja. He's..." She hesitates. "Someone. And you are...?"
Except he doesn't do much more, save for asking after her name, and the dun mare cocks her head thoughtfully. "Zojja," she replies. Her tone is unrepentant, but she has grown, in some ways, in that she no longer offers her name the way she had as a child: haughtily, with the assumption that everyone ought to know full well who she is. "I'm Zojja." She's not surprised that he passed over her question - mildly disappointed, perhaps - but then, it had been a bit of a gamble approaching him in the first place. Zojja will take what she can get, provided that he stops making faces that suggest she's about to eat him alive.
The pale green stallion approaches at an almost leisurely pace, and as such, Zojja is so preoccupied with Brynmor and his increasing alarm that, initially, she manages to overlook him. Sort of. A drifting glance in Lupei's direction certainly earns him a double-take, standing out against the snow as he does, and Zojja whuffs softly at his question, a sound caught halfway between amusement and scandalisation. "Lovers' quarrel?" she repeats, one dark-tipped ear swiveling back. "Never seen him before in my life. I don't even know his name," she adds, pointedly, turning back to Brynmor as she says it - the longer she watches him, the more convinced she becomes that he cannot, in fact, see her staring. The gray stallion has returned to being caught up in his memories, and whether or not he's noticed her prodding is beyond her. She'll learn his name eventually. Maybe.
"So in essence," she continues, turning back to Lupei, "you've not interrupted anything." Her gaze tracks over the striking pattern of his coat. Interesting. She wonders, offhandedly, if she could duplicate it perfectly, but now is really not the time. "In the interest of us all being familiar, though: I'm Zojja. He's..." She hesitates. "Someone. And you are...?"