VAUGHAN
Testy, she is. His heart rate increases two-fold as she begins to singe his ears, his muscles tensing and his jaw locking...but no grimace or squint apparent on his face. He was born from two very stubborn people and has lived through more than a burnt ear - she would not get the satisfaction of pain being expressed. Once she stops, he looks at her with his champagne eyes beneath his own black forelock, "Were you jealous of a wittle wabbit? Call me Snow White, or Sir White if you will - all creatures are worth my time, especially those who don't have abilities to do harm beyond natural means to others," a small smile creeps upon his dark face, a nicker towards her as if to say 'lighten up, it's okay', but it doesn't last long - his smart mouth just digs the hole deeper, 'What a fitting name, at least the bunnies would think so - if you have a destination in mind, then proceed but as for myself, I'm just here because I have no where else to go." Homeless. He'd never thought of himself as such until now but as it stings, it occurs that is him in a nutshell.
"Perhaps I would visit there but I'm no show prize, I'm just a bastard stallion trying to live life in peace or whatever sounds good at the time," he turns his attention away from the bunnies and starts his trek back towards the meadow, looking over his shoulder if the hotheaded woman would be walking with him (or behind him, so she could watch him disintegrate) on the way. "Where is it you call home? You know, so I can be sure to stay within a certain radius if they have you patrolling the border. I'd like to live a few years longer," he jests, though he shouldn't - she as well as anyone else could kill him without getting a drop of blood at their feet. He was a fickle fellow, he almost took pride in his mortality and how painfully aware it would present itself in the coming years.
His mother would outlive him, his grandmother would outlive him, his sister and all the ones who he knew would outlive him and he was the youngest of them all. He's in no hurry to grow old but he's certainly starting to approach his prime and at this rate it will all be wasted.
"Perhaps I would visit there but I'm no show prize, I'm just a bastard stallion trying to live life in peace or whatever sounds good at the time," he turns his attention away from the bunnies and starts his trek back towards the meadow, looking over his shoulder if the hotheaded woman would be walking with him (or behind him, so she could watch him disintegrate) on the way. "Where is it you call home? You know, so I can be sure to stay within a certain radius if they have you patrolling the border. I'd like to live a few years longer," he jests, though he shouldn't - she as well as anyone else could kill him without getting a drop of blood at their feet. He was a fickle fellow, he almost took pride in his mortality and how painfully aware it would present itself in the coming years.
His mother would outlive him, his grandmother would outlive him, his sister and all the ones who he knew would outlive him and he was the youngest of them all. He's in no hurry to grow old but he's certainly starting to approach his prime and at this rate it will all be wasted.
THE MAN WHO FEARS LOSING HAS ALREADY LOST.
