Not even he could say what had roused him from his hazy existence. The earthquakes hadn’t done it, or the floods, the tornado, the eclipse, or any number of natural or chaotic-character-caused disasters that had rattled this world since the moment of his birth.

Okay - that makes it sound like he had caused any or all of those disasters which - for the record - he hadn’t even caused a single one of them. His disasters were more of the personal variety and even then they were relatively small in the grand scheme of things.

Whatever the triggering event had been, though, Clopin had crawled his way out of hazy obscurity and was now here. Alive and awake and... relatively interested in re-integrating himself into the world at large. He wouldn't say he was particularly ambitious about doing so - there were no fantastic dreams about becoming king or anything like that. There was not even any intention of swooping into some land and causing political unrest - unless things got really, really boring. He just wanted something new. The absolute vagueness about that desire intrigued him. He would not know until it happened whether he was satisfied with the new thing being something small or something large - for now, the only thing that mattered was that it was different.

There was a general sense that his talents were wasted just harassing his family from time to time and it was time to see what the generations were up to now.

Like any good recluse, Clopin does not just waltz right into the thick of it and try to make a friend with the first horse he sees. He does some reconnaissance first. As a bronze eagle, because even if he's spying he might as well do so in style. In this form Clopin spends a few days soaring around Beqanna. Watching the horses move around in their little lives, being absolutely fascinated by the utter ridiculousness of the coat colours that existed - any and every shade he could ever think of! He was old enough to remember when the population had been various shades of brown, white, and black. And that was about it. It had been shocking to see his first purple horse, or to see the small flecks of colour that decorated his sister’s (and his own) face, but beneath the boughs of one of the oak trees stood a vibrant, galaxy-painted mare and another with flames dancing on the top of their horns walked on by as though this were an every day occurrence.

And, apparently it was.

When Clopin needed a break from spying he would explore. Some lands were familiar, which he appreciated, and others were interesting and new. He spent some time harassing the less-pretty eagles roosting in the mountains, where they were preparing for the coming of spring. One awkward moment occurred where he seemed to be coming in the middle of a mated pair - and he is forced to teleport out of there before he is forced to either choose between them or become a third in their couple.

Without caring where he appears on the other side of the teleport, just so long as it gets him away from the bickering couple, Clopin finds himself flying head-first into a stony ruin. The shock of the impact sends him falling to the earth, landing in the snow and sending a small cloud of flakes up into the afternoon air. He is too stunned to do anything but lay there, wings spread and still in his bronze eagle form, and stare with blurry brown eyes up at the offending structure.

“Well that’s not very nice.” Without moving from his sprawled out spot, Clopin turns his head to the side to regard the mare that’s decided to come over and insult him. She’s smiling, which is nice, and is a much prettier colour than some of the others he’s seen around but it’s still so wild to him that there could be an orange horse around at all. You got used to the pink ones, and the green ones, and that was basically all there was for a while until - well until who knows what happened. A rainbow exploded all over Beqanna or something, just another in a long line of disasters.

That tattoo is interesting - but his mind circles back to the fact that he should be insulted and also, he hurts.

“And to be fair - I was actually teleporting. So if you want to be rude and accurate - you can tell me I’m the worst teleporter you’ve ever seen.”

He gets up then. He intends to hop to his talons in a fluttering display but what actually happens is more of an awkward, rolling and flailing moment as he uses his large bronze wings to stabilize himself. His head spins but his ego feels better once he is standing. There is every intention to turn back into a horse at that very moment, all the better to look this mare in the eye, but there is no response from his magic at all. He frowns (or as best as he can frown when he’s got a beak).

A lot in his life, just by the nature of things and his ability in particular, didn’t make sense. And Clopin had gotten pretty good at just accepting, and embracing that fact. But really - if nothing else, he was actually a horse so wouldn’t it make more sense to have changed back immediately and not be able to do anything else?

Clopin’s been around for a very long time - it isn’t often his abilities fail him. But every once in a while there is an entertaining quirk. That must be what this is - not to mention he hit that… well whatever that was that he hit, he hit it pretty hard. He looks down at his feathered body and then puffs out those feathers when he looks back up at the mare. “Hm. And a pretty bad shapeshifter too, while we’re at it.”

The expressions that pass across the mare’s face are so incredibly entertaining that Clopin rather forgets his pain and the fact that he’s quite frustrated at the moment. He wished he had been paying more attention when she did that little gasp after he first spoke. But unfortunately it didn’t really filter through his brain until it was too late to respond properly - that’s just how it all goes, though.

His entertainment does not fade, however, and even his small little bird eyes are bright with it as she responds. He thinks she’s telling the truth about him not being the worst teleporter - and he wants to ask more about that - but then she apologizes and he laughs. It’s not a cruel sound, at least he does not intend it to be. But it is loud - Clopin never was one for quiet chuckles if he could help it.

She seems surprised by him being a shapeshifter - and this is delightfully endearing. Where had she crawled out from, where she didn’t know such a thing - which maybe once was interesting - was now about as common place as seeing someone with wings?

“I am a horse, believe it or not.” He opts to be honest - conducting some great tale felt like far too much effort at the moment. “I just can’t quite prove it to you right now.” He stretches out his wings, testing them, before beating them and bringing himself up high enough to land on a nearby ledge helpfully provided by these weird ruins. Now at least they could look at each other more easily.

His eagle head tilts to the side as he regards her - voice bright with a teasing smile. “I’m Clopin though. It’s nice to meet you - Nee - even if you have a bad habit of berating birds.”

The sparkle that displays Clopin’s entertainment shines bright as Nee speaks again, asking about - how bad he was at teleporting (which makes his hooked beak part in a sharp smile) and then quickly continuing on to ask if he could teach her. Well wasn’t that interesting? No one had asked Clopin to teach them anything before. It wasn’t exactly something he would normally do. Unless it was to teach bad words to someone too young to know them or something equally pointless yet hilarious.

Besides, it might be fun to try it for a little bit - the whole teaching thing. Surely there will be a lark to uncover in there somewhere.

The bronze eagle ruffles his feathers just a little, giving a perfectly timed pause (as though he were giving it some consideration) and nods. “Well, I am… usually passable at it. I think I could teach you. I learned with my sister… which is kind of like teaching someone?” Who really taught who, though? The memory for their early days has faded into the cotton-candy-spider-webbing of his mind, blurred by time and indifference. If he needed a memory he could simply falsify one that suited the occasion.

Like right now, he enjoyed the idea of being helpful so it suited him to imagine a past where he had already taught someone and therefore knew how to do it.

He was not entirely sure how he was going to do that but… well he did not need to figure that out right this second.

“It may have to wait until I am a horse again but we can certainly try.” That sounded reasonable, right? And his interest is not feigned when he asks. “How did it go last time?”

Clopin listens, mostly, to Nee’s answer to his question. He gets a little distracted by an itch in his wing and turns his head to nibble at it. But then she gets to the part about how she had been trying just to hop to a dune over and ended up in an entirely different place. So he looks back at her and does his best eagle-grin. “I would argue that you’re already pretty damn good at it. Like, too good at it. So maybe I don’t need to teach you how to be better - I need to teach you how to suck a little more.”

And that, well, that’s something Clopin knows he can do.

But there’s still the matter of his feathered body and he’s tired of the clickity-clack of his beak. 

Clopin closes his eyes and does what does not come naturally to him - he tries to empty his mind. He focuses on nothing, not shapeshifting, not teleporting, not the interesting mare standing nearby or the other dozen thoughts that so easily enter his mind, eager to fill up any sliver of empty space.

“Ah, there we go.” The bronze colour, however, seems to have stuck. Clopin doesn’t mind being shiny and assumes it will fade over time just like all of his other wayward changes. It didn’t suit him to worry and rarely did those negative thoughts manage to find their roots in his mind for long.

It’s significantly more comfortable now to look her in the eye and there’s no feathers to get all ruffled - except on her. And that would surely be an accomplishment.

“Okay, so what do you think? Ready to learn how to be garbage?”