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+---- Thread: [open] Paper crowns on wooden heads; ANY (/showthread.php?tid=9476)
Paper crowns on wooden heads; ANY - Romek - 07-17-2016
Of course Romek had come back, like a little rat to his little familiar rathole. No-one could stay away, could they? It was some irrevocable force of nature, dragging him back, dragging them all back, in little circular patterns of habit and routine, predictability, loneliness. There had, possibly, been a time where he would've returned to his original beloved home, his first and last, but that time had come and gone. After all, he tells himself, when you live forever, why would you want to be tied down to the same place? He tells himself. Perhaps he felt a spot of shame. Perhaps he just wanted a new start, a fresh start, away from old familiar stomping grounds where the ghosts of faces would surely be lingering, if not the faces themselves. What he had come for he could not tell you, or anyone, but he would know it when he found it (he hoped, anyway).
It's a grey day, grey and drizzly, but the weather does not truly bother the spotted stallion. There have been worse things to fall from the sky, like birdshit, and it was a refreshing, if slightly itchy feeling upon his back, soaking into his skin. It dripped off his nose as he stood, nameless, faceless, a nobody in this place for the nameless-faceless. He fit right in. Perhaps in his arrogant youth he would've thought - o God, the nobodies, the useless, the worthless. But today, not quite so much. Today it was the land of opportunity, of self-creation, where he could shrug off whatever imagine shackles he had.
But he hoped somebody came quickly, because it was very boring to stand here alone, and he had the patience of a, well, impatient horse.
{{OOC; First post in forever. Forgive me.}}
RE: Paper crowns on wooden heads; ANY - Maribel - 07-17-2016
Who cares if hell awaits? We're having drinks at heaven's gate.
The color shifter currently is cloaked in the very drab gray that is fogging the Field. She is clever enough to camouflage and blend with the surroundings. It was difficult being such a young mare and meeting new faces. A paralyzing shyness had clamped it's claw around her delicate throat only months ago but with the opening of the Tundra to all genders forces her to shed the smothering of bashfulness. M A R I B E L |
RE: Paper crowns on wooden heads; ANY - Romek - 07-17-2016
Now, most stallions who fancied themselves soldiers would most likely boast that they noticed her straight away, despite the fog and the general misery of the weather. They would say something like: 'My hawk-like eyes saw her straight away, because I am a soldier and soldiers never let their guards down and they never do anything that could even be remotely considered stupid, because I am awesome, and also perfect'. Alas, Romek's heart does not beat to the same valiant song that theirs does, and he hadn't even noticed her until she had spoken to him. He looks up and takes her in, the drenched golden skin, the white-gold of her mane and tail, and her eyes of sapphire/azure skies.
"You're awfully womanly to be hailing from the Tundra, Maribel." he says, tilting his head. Of course, back in his day, there had been women in the Tundra, but he didn't really expect them to try to bring new members back to the kingdom. As far as he knew, they were to carry on the lines and raise children. Did they ever try to recruit? He did not know. His corner of this world was a sandy one, where not very much happened, except for when it did, and then it all happened at once. "Pissed someone off, trying to impress someone...?"
She makes a comment on the weather, which the spotted stallion chooses to ignore (of course the rain was persistent, the confirmation of her comment was literally soaked into his skin). "Romek, from nowhere." - Although that wasn't strictly true, but he thought he'd spare the pretty mare his entire life story, lest she fall asleep from boredom. "I'm here looking for somewhere to live, obviously, and somewhere where I might be useful in some way. I'm not exactly one for an easy life." And the evidence was criss-crossed across his body in the form of scars from wars, battles, disagreements. "I'm not a talker. But I'm honest, and I can hit things really hard." He says dryly, a slight gleam of humour in his golden eyes, his sire's eyes.
For a 'not-a-talker' he was doing a lot of talking. Romek hated this business of selling himself, but there was no point playing the mysterious man and going somewhere he didn't want to go, where he would end up just eating and sleeping himself to death. He stops here, looking at her, waiting for her.
RE: Paper crowns on wooden heads; ANY - Maribel - 07-17-2016
Who cares if hell awaits? We're having drinks at heaven's gate.
He is certainly rough around the edges...almost quite literally with the sop of a brow and body. Her own form is not much more flattering as she tilts her head slightly to the remark of 'awfully womanly'. In fact, it causes the curvature of her lips to grow fuller...even a trickle of a small laugh. "You are quite observant." Her tone is playful enough but she teases the stallion, a half cooked smile tugging at the right side of her lips despite the gloom of their situation. It took a lot for the golden girl to be down. M A R I B E L |
RE: Paper crowns on wooden heads; ANY - Romek - 07-17-2016
She smiles at his words, even a little titter and he frowns, trying to work out if she is laughing at him, or with him (although there is no laughter on his lips). But at her next sentence he relaxes slightly, and even lets an easy grin spread across his face. "I am a man with very few talents, but fortunately being able to see like an average equine is one of them." he says, dryly once more (his humour an ocean of sand, not moist enough for everyones taste but that's a pity for them). Now, there would've been a time when he had reacted quite bitterly, and snapped, paranoid of her intentions, anxious of being mocked, but those days are long past (and yet remains a film of insecurity across him, like an unseen spiders web clinging unpleasantly to his face).
She is so damn happy and warm though, isn't she? It's hard to imagine that she had come from the Tundra originally. She reminds him of the good, gentle parts of his Deserts. Warmth on your face, that kinda thing. "How interesting," he comments, in a voice which makes it sound like it is anything but that. It's not intentional. He's just not a well oiled machine of diplomacy. It's just how he came. Manafacturer error.
She offers her home and he tilts his head graciously, and as he was just about to accept... She shouts and he jerks backward, just a little surprised, although this surprise quickly melts into one of a kind of laughter - his kind of laughter, a little held back, choked up, reserved, more like a barking cough than a laugh. If he could blush, he would be blushing (him, the warrior, being caught out by a woman shouting?).
"They just appeared one day." he explained. They're a mystery, just like, well, a lot of things that Romek doesn't know about. Because they are also mysteries.
"Change is survival," he says at her following words. "And I think trading rain for snow would be pretty good right now."