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+---- Thread: [open] show and tell (/showthread.php?tid=30095)
Winter was just on the horizon -- he could feel it in his bones. That alluring chill, gnawing at his extremities as he soared overhead on outstretched ebony wings. Still, his muscles ached from the exertion of flying into Beqanna just the night before. But it was a wonderful sort of ache. The type of pain that drives one to push themselves harder, farther.
There was still much work to be done.
So it was that the brute found himself circling through the drab, grey-drenched skies with the weak light of a late autumn afternoon reflecting off of his midnight pelt, illuminating the many scars crisscrossing his form. Like a vulture, he circled, hunting for another, for any signs of life. He had questions. He wanted answers.
Like a lazy serpent growing sluggish in the cold, the river churned far beneath him as it wove in between the trees and fields, beckoning him in closer with its silvered sheen. Ears flicking backward and nostrils flaring as he scented at the air, the stallion finally began his long descent -- a precarious dive which saw the tangled tendrils of his mane and tail whipping behind him like a warlord's banner until finally he touched down in the midst of a sparse thicket with the crackle of dry leaves underhoof marking his landing.
Gazing out from between the trunks of those trees, golden eyes aflame with purpose, the stud surveyed the riverbank before him with all the cool calculation of a seasoned hunter. And so he waited -- merely watching and listening as he spied for any signs of a worthy "prey."
It’s not surprising to find the little unicorn with her buttermilk back submerged beneath the murky rushing water. She’s not sure when she had become this river creature, there were none like it in the jungle she had once loved, but she is drawn here time and time again. Like a moth to a flame, she comes to the riverbank time and time again. Does it have to do with questionable memories that she holds regarding those troubled and dark men she had a habit of running into? Or did she simply just enjoy being clean, the feeling of the stream pushing against her body, the delicious chill that follows when the air hit her damp coat? She had decided to winter in the Pampas this year after her rather tense reunion with her lost half-brother but unfortunately the small streams that wind through the wildflowers weren't deep enough to fully bathe in, so she had made the trip today with the intention of returning shortly. It had been an easy decision to ride out winter there. One reason was the milder season but mostly she fully intended on trying to push past whatever barriers Obscene had thrown up at her. She would wear him down, one way or another.
Her tarnished gaze had caught the dark figure in the sky but she doesn’t pay it much heed when it disappears beneath the copse of nearby woodland. Winged horses were a dime a dozen in Beqanna, it would take much more than a pegasus to make her look twice. She sighs softly, closing her eyes as she lowers herself a little further and is careful to not let her hooves get suctioned into the soft mud below. Autumn was nearing its end and the water was colder than she liked without the brilliant sun to warm it, so eventually she removes herself, shivering slightly as the cool air caresses her wet skin.
There is a feeling of being watched as she shakes droplets from her flowered mane, snapping her vined tail against her haunches and sending a few wilted passion flowers flying in the process. Her golden eyes narrow as she searches the woodlands, thoughtful and contemplative for a moment. Finally she calls out, glancing up at the gray skies above before taking a few steps in the direction she had seen the figure drop down into. “It’s not nice to spy on a bathing lady.” She calls out, a smirk on dark velvety lips as she waits to see if she had indeed caught a peeping tom.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Of course, the sight of the little unicorn bathing within the river caught his eye... and promptly kept it. A gentleman would have announced himself. A cad would have stepped out and joined her. But as for the scarred brute? He merely kept silent and still, watching like an ebon phantom from amidst the trees while the femme soaked to her heart's content. Patience was a virtue, after all. He could wait.
When finally the encroaching chill of the upcoming season drove the petite mare from the river's murky depths, those golden eyes followed her every move. The way the light played off of her drenched pelt. The sodden flowers tossed from her hair when she shook herself. He drank in the sight of her horn. The dappling along her arching neck. The way her velveteen lips quirked when she finally called out to him as though he was but a naughty colt peeping on her from the bushes.
Exhaling on a huff of air, the stallion lightly tossed his head before stepping out of the cover of the trees and directly into the unicorn's line of sight. "I'm many things," he called back in reply, his deep baritone rumbling forth from the expanse of his scarred, midnight chest. "But nice isn't necessarily one of them."
Ears flicking forward and nostrils flaring yet again, he scented at the breeze, picking out that telltale feminine perfume from amongst whispers of mud, damp grass, and decaying leaves from the copse at his back. She smelled like others, unlike the mare he had met the night before. Good. Perhaps he could use that.
"But while I have you here," he posed, powerful wings flexing lightly in time to the utterance. "Perhaps we might play a game? At least until you're dry." Those words were left to hang between them, to toy within that distance he seemed perfectly content to leave intact. He had no need to advance upon the mare.
Yet.
"A game of questions," the midnight pegasus further clarified after that pregnant pause, his tone decidedly nonchalant for all that his molten gaze remained firmly fixated upon the damp female standing by the riverbank. "You get to ask me a question and I have to answer truthfully. And vice versa. A question for a question. Well? What do you say?" A smile seemed to ghost across the edge of his lips when he further invited on a rumble of dark thunder: "I'll even let you go first."
Oh dear. It looks like she has found yet another spider to add to her little collection. She really should invest in some larger jars, Beqanna seemed infested with them. The buckskin mare tilts her horned head as she considers the stallion breaking from the trees, the cloudy blackness of her spiral looking darker then normal with little sunlight to shine through it. Gold meets gold and she smiles at him even as he claims he is far from a nice thing in his rumbling voice. She’s heard that before too.
She shakes herself again to dispel whatever stubborn droplets remain, sending a cascade of perfume in his direction from the jungle flowers weaved between her dark tresses as he speaks of a game. She thinks to correct him, that he was already in a game long before he had stepped free of the trees, but instead she says nothing and remains politely quiet between the pause. The picture of naive innocence. A game of questions, he offers. A faint smile crosses his dark lips and her own deepens as her golden eyes flash with recognition. Yes, a spider indeed.
There are several ways she could play this and she shifts through her options as her tail flicks lazily against her hocks. Choices, choices. Finally she settles on the one that fits her current mood. “And if I have no questions?” She asks as if uninterested, bringing her muzzle to her chest and removing a wet leaf plastered there. The Amazonian was well aware that by asking anything at all has placed her pawn on his board and that’s exactly where she wants to be.
It will be interesting to see just what kind of bite this stranger has, if he has any bite at all.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Well, at least one thing could be said of the little unicorn: she was far from boring. Good. The clever ones always made things a little more interesting. And as she asked that first question, innocuous though it was, he could already hear the gears begin to turn, the chess pieces slowly chink into place. Eyelids lowering to see his golden orbs half-hooded, he observed the petite buckskin in that wane light of late afternoon, studying her countenance. The set of her head. The way she peeled that wayward leaf from her slick skin.
Silence was his only response for a time, the seconds ticking onward while the breeze played between them. When finally he spoke again, it was merely to point out in his dark baritone: "Which is a question in and of itself. But surely you realize that." Ears flicking forward, the brute arched his neck and lurched his larger frame into motion, setting himself on an unhurried promenade which would see him circling about the femme, granting her and that sharp horn of hers a wide berth all the while. "But I suppose," he sighed over the sound of his tarnished hooves sinking into the damp earth, his own tone taking on a bored sort of cadence while he spoke, "in answer to your question. I will just have to try harder to whet your curiosity." Flicking his tangled cascade of a tail against his hocks as though in punctuation to such words, the stallion shot the little mare a glance out of the corner of his eye before he finally completed his first rotation and moved to pause before her once more.
"Which brings me to my turn," he declared on a soft rumble, each word tainted by the undeniable self-assuredness of a male clearly accustomed to getting his way. Cocking an ear in her direction in time to the faintest tilting of his large skull, he posed without further prelude: "In what territory do you live?"
There was no heat to the question. No burning undertones of a seductive air. He was simply matter-of-fact. Cool. Almost business-like in the presentation of a question that would be considered quite personal to some. And then it was just a matter of waiting, to see if his newfound playmate would take the bait and answer his prying inquiry, to see if she would even care to continue their little game. Or would she simply walk away?
Murky grey light from the overcast sky turns the forest into a body of many deep shadows. It is not the kind of day he would have expected her to choose for her bathing, but the cloying perfume that finds his dark nostrils is inimitable. A pleased rumble accompanies his exhaled breath which fogs in the strange cold within the trees. He is gone before it dissipates, lost to the shadows far more easily than he once was.
The river cuts its way through the forest, a dull ribbon beneath the heavy sky. He stops downwind at the sound of her voice, grey eyes flicking from the familiar curves of her tawny frame to the massive winged stallion pacing around her further up the river bank. Disappointing, but a curious situation, seeing Bardot handle herself with someone other than him. In the past Tunnel was rarely motivated to crash such a party, his interest would have depended on whatever impulses struck him as he silently watched. These kinds of meetings were often so banal, nothing to inspire the reactiveness and cruelty that had often propelled him. His possessiveness of the woman might have propelled him onto the scene at one time, but now he takes the time to watch and listen.
He makes note of this change in himself, as his ears flick to catch the words that the little unicorn exchanges with the pegasus. He is interested in this conversation, in the contents of their speech and the tone of their voices. Their scents, the size, and body language of the stallion matters too, but Tunnel's connection with Bardot makes the entire scene engaging, not just to the animal facets and his own needs. It is disorienting to be engaged, to want to engage in such a conversation.
If only to see what she will do.
They are still something and nothing to each other. I don’t belong to you.... You don’t belong to me. She had said. Here she is collecting more spiders, and she’s drawn in a massive one this time.
Tunnel is rather fond of seeing her sopping wet, does she guess at that? If not, the slow pass of his eyes over her slick topline when he leaves the trees will give this away to her. Today though, they have company. Bardot must keep her shameless thoughts to herself.
“You’ve chosen to play your game with a rather contrary creature.”
Tunnel’s gravelly baritone interrupts before Bardot can make her reply. His stout limbs bring him fully into visibility but darkness still clings to the markings smudging his blue hide, like black ink bleeding from the angles of his body. The light is weak and his vision is not as challenged by it as on a fully clear day. There are bright, muddled edges to things, but it does not bother him so much. He stops out of both of their reach, making their pair into a triad. The muscles that band his neck and shoulder shift as Tunnel arches his neck and directs his attention to the buckskin mare. “Bathing again?” Asks the mustang flatly, his expression critical. Grey eyes, very like the clouded sky in color, are lifted to the black leviathan, and Tunnel criticizes himself with an uncharacteristic tsk“It wasn’t my turn to ask a question. I assume this game has room for three players.”
“Oh yes. You caught me.” She says with a small smile that twists up the corner of her lip in an inviting way. Her golden eyes blaze as he begins to circle around her with just enough space to be decent. He considers himself a predator and she doesn’t doubt that with those wings and his massive frame he is a formidable foe. But despite her brightness, despite her gentle decency that runs through her core, the former Amazonian has a hard edge. The dapples imprinted on her neck only a whisper to what lurked beneath her own innocent skin.
Oh he is a confident one isn’t he? She is not drawn to the darkness that lurks beneath his skin but that overconfidence that simmers through the air does spark her interest. She thinks she would quite like to wipe it off his face but she remains calm and gentle in the wake of his brutish mannerisms. Playing the docile doe while the jungle cat lurked below. She opens her mouth to speak but there is a wave of shadows that stills her voice as her golden eyes catch a very familiar shape.
Here now stands the first spider whose web she she had first been spun into. Now standing next to quite the tarantula. She glances down demurely as he speaks of her bathing habits with such familiarity and then lifts her head with defiance, glancing at both of them. “Perverts. The lot of you.” She scolds but amusement flickers across her face and a thrill shivers down her spine as Tunnel inserts himself firmly into this game.
With three players on the board, things just got a lot more interesting.
She firmly turns her gaze back to the dark stranger, pointedly ignoring Tunnel for the moment as she recalls his question. “You ask a question with many answers. Taiga in the North has been my residence for awhile but lately I’ve been traveling. I’m currently wintering in the Pampas.” She says honestly enough, it wasn’t information she felt she needed to hide. “As for my question…” She trails off as if in thought before she smiles at him in her quiet way and says softly. ”Try harder.” Let’s see if he could keep his promise of whetting her curiosity.
She is keenly aware of Tunnel’s proximity but she keeps her gaze trained on the stranger, her head still held high as the teasing challenge chimes in the air like a bell.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Bardot