10-25-2020, 09:35 AM
Lightning laughs, choosing her tree
When Fiorina approaches, Poppy turns her gaze from the plants to the xenomorph, and the light of her horns reflects in those lightning-bright eyes. Magic has soaked so deep into the bones of both the creatures before her that their bodies have twisted into something other than equine, and she wonders if they ever appear very much like the shapes that lie underneath all that strange alchemy, if they, like she, can will away their physical oddity, or if they must wear it always for the world to see. Their novelty delights her, but Popinjay is a collector of the peculiar.
As they, perhaps, cannot change the faces they show the world, she has never been able to hide her bold nature. in much the same manner that she reached out to touch the snapping plant, she also reaches out unabashedly to touch the armored mare, planting her muzzle eagerly against the hard exoskeleton of her shoulder, heedless of the cruel barbs of her tail. This is not the first xenomorph that Poppy has encountered, but she was not given the opportunity to touch that one, so she grabs the chance with relish when it presents itself.
And then the little bay laughs suddenly, and she ruffles the feathers of her wings until fine feather dust lifts into the air (and some finds its way to Fiorina's burning horns, turning to brief glowing motes around the black mare's head, burning out to ash and nothing almost instantly,) and she looks back at Wilt as he scolds, and then to sorrowful plant.
"Trust your instincts, little Snapper, neighbors aren't always friends," her expression is roguish, but there is nothing ironic in how she addresses the dark flytrap, no more than when she speaks to the ravens nesting in the crags, and then, to Wilt, "Welcome to Nerine, Wilt-From-Sylva, will you be staying here long? I am Popinjay-From-Taiga, but the redwoods don't suit my wings the way the sea-cliffs do. You look like you might live very well in Taiga though."
As they, perhaps, cannot change the faces they show the world, she has never been able to hide her bold nature. in much the same manner that she reached out to touch the snapping plant, she also reaches out unabashedly to touch the armored mare, planting her muzzle eagerly against the hard exoskeleton of her shoulder, heedless of the cruel barbs of her tail. This is not the first xenomorph that Poppy has encountered, but she was not given the opportunity to touch that one, so she grabs the chance with relish when it presents itself.
And then the little bay laughs suddenly, and she ruffles the feathers of her wings until fine feather dust lifts into the air (and some finds its way to Fiorina's burning horns, turning to brief glowing motes around the black mare's head, burning out to ash and nothing almost instantly,) and she looks back at Wilt as he scolds, and then to sorrowful plant.
"Trust your instincts, little Snapper, neighbors aren't always friends," her expression is roguish, but there is nothing ironic in how she addresses the dark flytrap, no more than when she speaks to the ravens nesting in the crags, and then, to Wilt, "Welcome to Nerine, Wilt-From-Sylva, will you be staying here long? I am Popinjay-From-Taiga, but the redwoods don't suit my wings the way the sea-cliffs do. You look like you might live very well in Taiga though."
@[Fiorina] @[wilt]
