this isn't mischief
He doesn’t know anything of Beqanna’s politics. It is refreshing, almost (he doesn’t know who’s ruling which kingdom, what wars might be brewing, who might be in love with who, what deals are being struck, what alliances are being forged, what heirs might be born). Although the trickster never truly cared for the political aspect of his homeland, per say, he still preferred to know what was going on. That way he could pinpoint the weak places (Beqanna’s Achilles heel, in a manner of speaking) and strike with fatal accuracy.
Nonetheless, with his lack of knowledge, the trickster is ready to dive into the world of gossip and politics again. He’d like to know who ruled which kingdoms (although he knows the mischievous little magician still co-rules the Deserts), who were in favor of chaos, and the like. He didn’t, however, expect to gain such knowledge the very day of his re-arrival.
The trickster has seen a lot of magical and unnatural things in his lifetime. The shifting of a raven into a horse isn’t one he’s seen before, but the thrill of surprise and disbelief that might strike a mind who has never seen other things (such as, worlds being put into his eyes or fire-breathing dragons diving through the sky or an entire kingdom burning around him as he sits in a bubble of safety – all things the chaos-lover has witnessed).
The organized chaos of the resulting mare’s crown of feathers gives away her place of royalty easily – she is the queen of a kingdom or, at least, a co-queen. The strong smell on her skin (aside from the stench of foul and feather and wind) speaks of the Chamber and the trickster’s mouth curves into a barely-full, smooth smirk of amusement and pleasure. Only a few hours into his re-arrival and he has piqued the queen of the Chamber’s interest.
However, she has yet to know his name. A silly thing, he thinks, but perhaps she has never come across him before. She introduces herself as Straia and his mind prickles with familiarity. He remembers to back when Rodrik was king of the Chamber (and he actually kept up with rulers and heirs and such); he had a daughter named Straia. Apparently she had become queenie herself.
Bruised eyes glance toward the sky in an almost thoughtful expression. He used to taunt mares who asked for his name (well, honestly only Myrina – and that resulted in a child that he didn’t help care for), but the trickster got a feeling the raven-queen wouldn’t accept such behavior. So instead he says his name in the quiet, still part of her mind (his little fingers of illusionism weave their way into the creases of her mind, leaking in to sing their sweet songs of trickery). He’s mastered the way of causing the illusion of words put into the mind, having done it for many years now. He’s perfected the sound of his voice (no longer were there any overlapping tones or awkward pauses of silence or crackling audio).
“Lokii.”
He settles for the simple way of introducing himself, mimicking hers. Tipping the edge of his back left hoof against the ground (a casual move, considering he’s in the presence of a queen – but when did the trickster ever care about such things?), he waited patiently for whatever she had coming next.
lokii
this is mayhem
