this isn't mischief
Honestly, dick-sizing competitions are one of the trickster’s favorite past-times. When it comes down to the fact that you’ve seen fire destroy a kingdom, impressed the queen everyone hated, defeated your own zombie self, been caught in a bubble with a magician wanting your assistance, and fought in a war which sent brains and matter splattering all over your body, silly little whose-trait-is-better games are a breeze. This time is no different.
He doesn’t have anywhere to call home just yet, but the meadow has become suitable for the time being. Already, someone has gone seeking him out in the meadow (proving it to be a good place for someone to find him). It’s amusing, really, considering the fact that the meadow is the same place his disgraceful mother brought him into this too-happy world. He’d spent the beginning of his time in Beqanna again watching mares and stallions get it on in the heat of the moment, and then watching the leaves brown and fall off in dramatic exits of life.
He hadn’t, just yet, seen anything of importance or excitement. Until the ice-wielding stallion sauntered in and caused the earth to split and a pedestal for him to sit his dick on rose from the ground. He hadn’t seen the earth split open since his own little trait-sizing game with the golden-eyed Jungle mare too many years ago. Nonetheless, with all the things the trickster has seen in his lifetime, the sight of ice shooting from the ground and sending a lone stallion higher than all the others doesn’t strike fear into his heart like one might expect.
In fact, his mouth creases into a smug grin when a do-gooder stands up from around the scattering horses (most of Beqanna don’t care to see blood or gore, nor wish to stick around to watch a show when they might be caught in the sway of it) to challenge the ice-wielder. The trickster, all the while, stays settled snugly under his half-naked tree and waits to see what might happen. Chaos is blossoming here, and he won’t be able to stay away for too long.
A mare with light rippling across her body floats from the sky to poke and prod at the two stallions and the trickster takes that as his cue to slide in. He might as well whip out his own dick now that there’s an actual mare around (although her smell comes off as Jungle – which entices the possibility of fierceness and independency – he still fondly remembers the last Jungle mare he met).
His little tricky fingers seep their way into each of their minds, portraying his seamless voice in their minds instead of from his throat. Who knows if they would have been able to hear him from under his tree amidst the sounds of fire and ice and light. “Hey there, gents, I hate to break it to ya but breeding season’s already over… So you can put your dicks away, now.” He doesn’t move from his position under the tree (among all the fire swirling about and the ice creeping around and the floating mare, he’s very nearly a worm under a rock in this situation), but the faintest hints of sandstorms swirl around his ankles, encouraged by the idea of a fight.
lokii
this is mayhem
