This is where Djinni truly excels.
She does not have to know everything to perfect this, does not have to have an intimate knowledge of a person's character to become ideal. She simply finds the appreciation in the buckskin mare's eyes and wishes herself to perfection. Perhaps she's a bit taller - or shorter - with fuller curves (or perhaps a more slender figure or a more muscled physique). A second look from her target (and they always take a second look) and they'll think they had been blind a moment before, for surely the horse in front of them was the most perfect creature they'd seen. Not so perfect as to seem art - untouchable - but so exquisitely lovely that when she smiles at them, reaches out to them, they'll count each of their life's blessings and realize the sum of them is nothing compared to this moment with Djinni.
She does this each time she takes a lover; Djinni leaves them forever certain that she was - and will remain - they best they have ever had.
(But she does have an exception. It had been an accident, she tells herself, a mistake she cannot repeat. One blue-eyed stallion had seen her as she truly was, had taken her while she was bare of any disguise.)
Her denial makes the winged mare in front of her all the more appealing. If - no, when - she takes her, it will wash the taste of the black stallion from her mouth. Her breathy cries will clear away the groans she remembers too well, her soft doelike hide will remain delightfully furred beneath her roving kisses.
That autumn has slipped away does not concern her, that the season for conception is past is not troubling. Djinni is no longer under the instinctive spell of the fall, but as she takes a step closer to the buckskin mare it doesn't matter. She will take her as a mare, or perhaps a stallion if Charlemagne prefers, but she take her nonetheless and bury her memories where they belong. The love of women has no season, and her mouth waters with anticipation as she takes another step closer. Those feathered wings will be soft around her, and the slope of her neck and the smooth curve of her hip will be warm beneath her touch and her cries of ecstasy will leave no room in Djinni's mind for anything else.
"The Dale?" She repeats in her sand-rough voice, nothing more than innocent curiosity in her green eyes. "You've not lost it. It's gone." Djinni does her best to be gentle. She knows how devoted some of them had been to their old homes. The grullo mare finds this new land to be far better, but she has her priorities. She doesn't want to argue the merits of this land versus that one; she wants to lose herself in this glossy eyes vision and entirely forget the troubles that had come with the discovery of these new lands.
They are close enough to touch now, but Djinni refrains; she never makes the first move. Their conversation is not entirely conducive to her end goal, but she is willing to be patient. If she wills Charlemagne to reach out, to touch her and begin, she does not do so consciously. There are boundaries that even Djinni does not cross; she might set a trap but she will never force a creature into it.
Still, the bait is placed and she offers the mare a smile that is full of condolence as she says: "All the old kingdoms are gone. We've new ones now; had you not heard?" She supposes it is possible, for those who call the meadow, forest and field their home. They might have woken on the mountain and simply climbed back down to the places they knew and never looked past the sparking mist at the edges. Djinni is not at all suspicious of the buckskin's intentions, and even if she were it wouldn't matter. She's not trying to recruit this lovely stranger, she's only trying to seduce her.
She does not have to know everything to perfect this, does not have to have an intimate knowledge of a person's character to become ideal. She simply finds the appreciation in the buckskin mare's eyes and wishes herself to perfection. Perhaps she's a bit taller - or shorter - with fuller curves (or perhaps a more slender figure or a more muscled physique). A second look from her target (and they always take a second look) and they'll think they had been blind a moment before, for surely the horse in front of them was the most perfect creature they'd seen. Not so perfect as to seem art - untouchable - but so exquisitely lovely that when she smiles at them, reaches out to them, they'll count each of their life's blessings and realize the sum of them is nothing compared to this moment with Djinni.
She does this each time she takes a lover; Djinni leaves them forever certain that she was - and will remain - they best they have ever had.
(But she does have an exception. It had been an accident, she tells herself, a mistake she cannot repeat. One blue-eyed stallion had seen her as she truly was, had taken her while she was bare of any disguise.)
Her denial makes the winged mare in front of her all the more appealing. If - no, when - she takes her, it will wash the taste of the black stallion from her mouth. Her breathy cries will clear away the groans she remembers too well, her soft doelike hide will remain delightfully furred beneath her roving kisses.
That autumn has slipped away does not concern her, that the season for conception is past is not troubling. Djinni is no longer under the instinctive spell of the fall, but as she takes a step closer to the buckskin mare it doesn't matter. She will take her as a mare, or perhaps a stallion if Charlemagne prefers, but she take her nonetheless and bury her memories where they belong. The love of women has no season, and her mouth waters with anticipation as she takes another step closer. Those feathered wings will be soft around her, and the slope of her neck and the smooth curve of her hip will be warm beneath her touch and her cries of ecstasy will leave no room in Djinni's mind for anything else.
"The Dale?" She repeats in her sand-rough voice, nothing more than innocent curiosity in her green eyes. "You've not lost it. It's gone." Djinni does her best to be gentle. She knows how devoted some of them had been to their old homes. The grullo mare finds this new land to be far better, but she has her priorities. She doesn't want to argue the merits of this land versus that one; she wants to lose herself in this glossy eyes vision and entirely forget the troubles that had come with the discovery of these new lands.
They are close enough to touch now, but Djinni refrains; she never makes the first move. Their conversation is not entirely conducive to her end goal, but she is willing to be patient. If she wills Charlemagne to reach out, to touch her and begin, she does not do so consciously. There are boundaries that even Djinni does not cross; she might set a trap but she will never force a creature into it.
Still, the bait is placed and she offers the mare a smile that is full of condolence as she says: "All the old kingdoms are gone. We've new ones now; had you not heard?" She supposes it is possible, for those who call the meadow, forest and field their home. They might have woken on the mountain and simply climbed back down to the places they knew and never looked past the sparking mist at the edges. Djinni is not at all suspicious of the buckskin's intentions, and even if she were it wouldn't matter. She's not trying to recruit this lovely stranger, she's only trying to seduce her.
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster