05-12-2021, 07:10 PM
He tells her that he’s never been to Ischia and then asks her about it. Moira nods in answer to both of Oren’s questions about her home, giggling at the way he stares. Her mother had warned her about this, about how she and her sister would draw attentive eyes from those who are not familiar with nereids, and quite likely even those who are.
It feels very flattering, and she tucks away the memory of his dazed blue eyes and handsome gold blaze, the very first time she’s been admired. Her mother had also been clear about how to dissuade the interest she would draw, but Moira pointedly doesn’t follow any of her advice.
@[Oren] tells her that he is from Taiga, and Moira’s gold tipped ears prick curiously. That is where her father was from too. Rosey must be a sibling, she thinks, and their father some sort of ice creature. That explains the glitter to his skin and spikes, and she shrugs at his question about melting. Only one way to find out, she supposes.
“I’m more likely to dry out,” she replies to his query about the dangers of her freezing. Moira is mostly teasing, though she’s not entirely sure that’s impossible. She is sure that she won’t truly freeze, but the grey filly does appreciate the abundant energy in Oren’s step as he prances in place. He is not nearly aquatic enough for her to love, Moira knows, but he is still very handsome, and there is nothing wrong in a little summer flirting.
She joins him in movement, stepping forward and then sidestepping away across the wide path. Her body still feels a little strange on land, and perhaps that shows in her oft-wobbling movements, but she is enthusiastic in her prancing about and staying warm.
“So where is this dance, anyway?” She asks when they have passed the first few trees that mark the edges of the forest. Moira has slowed, and the breath that she now catches makes large clouds of steam in the air around them. She should probably find her mother there, Moira knows, so she slows a little, and pauses to poke curiously at a frozen patch of snow.
It feels very flattering, and she tucks away the memory of his dazed blue eyes and handsome gold blaze, the very first time she’s been admired. Her mother had also been clear about how to dissuade the interest she would draw, but Moira pointedly doesn’t follow any of her advice.
@[Oren] tells her that he is from Taiga, and Moira’s gold tipped ears prick curiously. That is where her father was from too. Rosey must be a sibling, she thinks, and their father some sort of ice creature. That explains the glitter to his skin and spikes, and she shrugs at his question about melting. Only one way to find out, she supposes.
“I’m more likely to dry out,” she replies to his query about the dangers of her freezing. Moira is mostly teasing, though she’s not entirely sure that’s impossible. She is sure that she won’t truly freeze, but the grey filly does appreciate the abundant energy in Oren’s step as he prances in place. He is not nearly aquatic enough for her to love, Moira knows, but he is still very handsome, and there is nothing wrong in a little summer flirting.
She joins him in movement, stepping forward and then sidestepping away across the wide path. Her body still feels a little strange on land, and perhaps that shows in her oft-wobbling movements, but she is enthusiastic in her prancing about and staying warm.
“So where is this dance, anyway?” She asks when they have passed the first few trees that mark the edges of the forest. Moira has slowed, and the breath that she now catches makes large clouds of steam in the air around them. She should probably find her mother there, Moira knows, so she slows a little, and pauses to poke curiously at a frozen patch of snow.