It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah; any

[satire]

no offense but my favorite hobby is staying hydrated and beautiful Satire has been an extremely prolific stallion recently, with his progeny numbering in the actual digits, but for reasons he was never able to ascertain, the mares did not want to hang around and get married and form lasting relationships. It could have been his truly terrible conformation. Or his stories about the days of worshipping sand, or that time he declared himself king and absolutely no one listened. It could have been that his was part of some awful Beqanna-wide dare. It could have been because some people thought he was funny sometimes and wanted someone related to him in their closets – or wait, is that too meta? We wouldn’t want that, no, not in a horse named ‘Satire’ written entirely in stream-of-consciousness and this lowkey sugar high. Meta swept aside and under the rug to be swiftly forgotten (much like my first semester in grad school), here is Satire. Satire is black and white (onyx and ivory, if we indulge old roleplay dictionaries). And he is smiling, because this place looks like a great home, led by a rugged, handsome stallion and full of beautiful mares – basically, his favorite things ever. (Satty is fluid in his sexuality, like the ocean. Also, he’s always wanted to be a housewife.) He isn’t sure how he got here (mostly because I’m too tired to make up a reason), but he is, in all his queer glory (pun intended). He looks around and whinnies, and it’s really a bit shrill, and someone should stop him. “Hey!” he says, to no one in particular, “this place is really radical.” Because apparently Satty talks like a kid out of an 80s movie. Or whatever time period ‘radical’ was in as slang. Friendly reminder this is all stream of consciousness and, much like Donald Trump supporters (and the tiny-hnaded man himself) we don’t do crap like ‘research’ or ‘be factually correct.’ tl;dr: Satire is here!

[Pot Of Cream]

Cream snorted as she saw the stallion.She only wanted her stallion,although she wanted to see a different stallion.She carefully walked over to him,she didn't what he would do.She whinnied at him trying not to get another mares attention,or even worse Njenyi's attention.Her fat belly bulging outwards.Her limp started again as she was half way there.

[satire]

Before McDonald’s I bet "don't buy cheeseburgers from a clown" was a pretty hard and fast rule His magnetic presence has already drawn in a mare. (Funny, because usually by ‘magnetic we mean he repels rather than attracts.) But that’s semantics (maybe), because what’s more important is someone is here, and Satty must be polite, because he is a l w a y s polite, or at least he always thinks he is, and he actually is fairly nice. An idiot, yes. An affront to natural selection, yes. But nice. “Hello!” he says brightly to her. He notices she’s pale, like milk, and pretty round, like a balloon, and limping, like a...thing that limps. He wonders if the limp happened here. He’ll have to be careful and ready to utilize his catlike reflexes at any moment (by catlike we mean he yells for attention sometimes). “My name is Satire,” he says, and nods his head in greeting, “what’s yours?”

[Pot Of Cream]

"Pot Of Cream but call me Pot.I really shouldn't be doing this."she looked worried.She rested her limping keg and so she was standing on three legs.She couldn't keep still,she kept bobbing her head up and down.

[satire]

Before McDonald’s I bet "don't buy cheeseburgers from a clown" was a pretty hard and fast rule “Nice to meet you, Pot,” he says, “since we’re sharing nicknames, you can call me Satty.” A less elegant nickname, to be sure, spawned somewhere years ago when I, the doleful narrator, was trying to be cutesy, and when my sense of humor wasn’t as evolved, or something. He cocked his head at her, trying to decipher the puzzle she presented – he wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent man (or the most any kind of intelligent, let’s be real), but he did understand she was being a little shady, shifting her head. The same lame leg was now cocked, and he notes this, feeling very wise and detective-ly, as if he was Sherlock Holmes, or as if he had a concept of who Sherlock Holmes was. “Why not?” he asks, “I’ve come to join this cool herd I’ve heard about.” Heard, herd. He laughs to himself. Sometimes he’s so freaking hilarious. But he is serious, again. She might be hurt. “Are you hurt?” he asks. Smooth, Satty. Real smooth.

[Pot Of Cream]

"The stallion.He will think I am talking to you behind his back.He won't want me getting hurt,after all I am pregnant with his foal.I am hurt,my leg is lame."she wanted to cry but kept it in.Her filly kicked,"Ouch!"

[satire]

Before McDonald’s I bet "don't buy cheeseburgers from a clown" was a pretty hard and fast rule It’s flattering, really, that she might find him a threat – not to slap an old cliché around, but Satty is Not Like Other Guys. Which feels gross to type, because anyone who says that needs to be slapped. But the point is, he ain’t the hurting type, except maybe the hurt I put on the English language when I go down this ridiculous path. But, we digress. “But we’re friends,” he says. He doesn’t follow her train of thought, for after all, he’s come to join the mares as part of herd, happy to be led by a (form what he’s heard) rather studly Zorse stallion. “I won’t hurt anyone, much less my friends,” he is genuinely confused by this. True, he supposes his stellar physique makes him look like he’s signed to the UFC, but it’s a cleverly maintained illusion. In his small head, anyway. There’s a lot of illusions delusions there. “How did you hurt your leg? The stallion didn’t do it, did he?”

[Pot Of Cream]

"No he didn't,it's the foal.I am not used to all the weight."

oocorry for being short.didnt know what to write.

[Njenyi]

The shrill whinny beckons him closer, but he half-expects yet another mare. They've been wandering into the Ridge of their own accord, and while Njenyi would never complain, he is also unsure exactly why it keeps happening.

Cream has beaten him to the stranger, a surprising feat for a mare as rounbdly pregnant as she is, and with a limp as well. When he is close enough, the black-muzzled stallion places a gentle nudge on her rump, a casual reminder of both his presence and the fact that she belongs to him.

This close, he can see that the stranger is a stallion rather than a mare. In most situations, Njenyi would have driven him out without a second thought, assuming him to be a danger to the herd. But the stranger has made no attempt to run off with Cream, the action that Njenyi would have taken were he in the other male's position. She is quite a catch, both obviously fertile and unable to put up much of an argument with her injury, yet the stallion is talking with her rather than driving her away. He is not a natural stallion, then, and the only other explanation for a creature as simple as Njenyi is that he is supernatural.

Njenyi has never been overly superstitious, but this stallion is black and white the way that equines are supposed to be, and he supposes that in a place so distant from the savanna that the Orishas might come in different patterns.

"Orisha," he says, lowering his head for just a moment in the proper greeting for a deity that one has never met before. "What should I call you?"

[Pot Of Cream]

She backed away,not knowing what Njenyi would do,he didn't want him to hurt the stallion.Instead of standing she fell to the floor like a little newborn foal,like what hers will do.She didn't think that he would of heard her."What are you doing here?"she asked puzzled and worried.