02-04-2020, 04:18 PM
There was an uncomfortable energy growing inside him. The tugging, insistent pain of having his shields stripped away scale by scale. He was not the one who was exposed for the world to see, every flaw and feature on display. This mare seemed not to have gotten that message. She had flayed him down to the bone within minutes of knowning him, and it was not a pleasant sensation.
The thud of a hoof against the unyielding ground startled him to a halt. It was the only warning he had before she shifted, pushed her body to halt his. With a snort his head swung to face the sound of her, rarely displayed stubbornness hanging on him like an ill-fitting coat. "Do not judge me for surviving the only way I know how." He rumbled. The knotted nest of his forelock obscured his eyes, yet he still managed to hold her in his sightless gaze.
His own gold-tipped ears leaned backwards briefly, an irritated flicker. It was laughable, really, that he'd thought of himself as a mysterious being. He was not. Lying, concealment were never skills he had acquired with any real skill. So much was revealed by the subtle gestures of the body and face, and he could barely moderate his voice. If he had any secrecy to him, it was only because he had interacted with so few others.
With a hough, he stepped back, trying to navigate his way around the snapping mare. His tail whipped the air as he passed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand what it's like. I've never really enjoyed having my ass kicked, so yeah, I'm going to avoid that whenever possible. Fighting back gets a lot harder when you can't see the hits coming." He shot, head low as he attempted to continue the way they had been going, not caring if she followed or not. He'd made his own way such a while, it was never long that he let others guide him.
The milky blue orbs rolled in their sockets at her invitation. She was calling him to be what he was not. Was that not exactly what he'd traveled so long to avoid? "As positively generous as that sounds, Miz Neverwhere," he drawled, "I'm starting to think I'm not your type. I go where I want to anyway, and I'm not looking to be under yours or anyone else's feet. Never been my style and if you'll pardon my saying so, I'm not about to change that just because some ornery mare who doesn't know me from an apple says I should." His tone was kept light and conversational, like none of this really mattered.
Certainly, there was a draw to her abrasive suggestion. But he knew he would always be the first to roll over and submit. It had been the way he'd survived for going on a decade now, and it would be a hard habit to break even if he wanted to.
@[Neverwhere]
The thud of a hoof against the unyielding ground startled him to a halt. It was the only warning he had before she shifted, pushed her body to halt his. With a snort his head swung to face the sound of her, rarely displayed stubbornness hanging on him like an ill-fitting coat. "Do not judge me for surviving the only way I know how." He rumbled. The knotted nest of his forelock obscured his eyes, yet he still managed to hold her in his sightless gaze.
His own gold-tipped ears leaned backwards briefly, an irritated flicker. It was laughable, really, that he'd thought of himself as a mysterious being. He was not. Lying, concealment were never skills he had acquired with any real skill. So much was revealed by the subtle gestures of the body and face, and he could barely moderate his voice. If he had any secrecy to him, it was only because he had interacted with so few others.
With a hough, he stepped back, trying to navigate his way around the snapping mare. His tail whipped the air as he passed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand what it's like. I've never really enjoyed having my ass kicked, so yeah, I'm going to avoid that whenever possible. Fighting back gets a lot harder when you can't see the hits coming." He shot, head low as he attempted to continue the way they had been going, not caring if she followed or not. He'd made his own way such a while, it was never long that he let others guide him.
The milky blue orbs rolled in their sockets at her invitation. She was calling him to be what he was not. Was that not exactly what he'd traveled so long to avoid? "As positively generous as that sounds, Miz Neverwhere," he drawled, "I'm starting to think I'm not your type. I go where I want to anyway, and I'm not looking to be under yours or anyone else's feet. Never been my style and if you'll pardon my saying so, I'm not about to change that just because some ornery mare who doesn't know me from an apple says I should." His tone was kept light and conversational, like none of this really mattered.
Certainly, there was a draw to her abrasive suggestion. But he knew he would always be the first to roll over and submit. It had been the way he'd survived for going on a decade now, and it would be a hard habit to break even if he wanted to.
@[Neverwhere]