11-12-2019, 09:01 PM
 I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take Ivar rarely notices the passing of time. Each day in this tropical paradise is little different from the one before. The sun shines, a cooling breeze blows, the tides crash. What he does notice, what metric he does use to mark anything more than the rising and the setting of the sun, are the women. So that is how he knows that Isobell has been gone for quite a long time. She had disappeared before the fall, and now he has felt the quickening of his colts within their mothers and she has still not re-turned. Her absence is grating in a way that only kelpie women truly are, and Ivar’s serrated teeth grind against each other as he prowls through the jungle. Walking on land is like sand in his teeth; frequent and ever unpleasant. The odd need to balance his weight evenly on four legs, the sensation of being pressed down by restricted directions of movement, the way open air feels against his jewel-toned scales. The minute mother of pearl scales that cover his face are currently drawn down in a scowl, and yet due to his very nature, it is still an unnaturally attractive face. Even with the crocodile-like teeth that protrude from his overlong jaw, even with the cold way his golden eyes blink at shifting greenery around on the path that leads back to the sea. They are alert for motion, as are his twitching ears and flaring nose. It is a scent that he notices first. The very one he has been trying to find for months. But the winged mare that he stalks (for that is the only way to describe the way he moves, motion that hints that despite his gen-erally equine shape, he is very much not a horse) toward is not Isobell. Nor is it one of his other women, instead it is a stranger, one who has shared space with Isobell recently. The scaled creature has not slowed his approach, and now his questing white muzzle explores the opalescent mare’s neck and crest. The touch is brief, and laced with a wordless command to [stand still | be quiet] until he pulls back with a scowl even deeper than the first. Isobell hasn’t marked her, so the pegasus isn’t a threat, and yet Ivar’s golden eyes are sharp as they at-tempt to determine who she might be. Isobell can’t be out wandering Beqanna. She knows better than that. She knows where she belongs. And yet… Another close inhale, and a curious brush of his teeth against her throat to see if she might flinch despite his hypnotic command. Ivar was never taught not to play with his food, and he likes testing their boundaries. She smells of Loess, even more than of Isobell, and Castile as well. A memory of another opalescent mare surfaces. Castile had been finished with that one by the time Ivar had found her, and he does not think the dragon will begrudge him a little fun. She had been delightful, and a reminder that women belong to other men are often the best sport. But no – this is no time to be distracted. Despite his primal nature, the kelpie is not simple-minded, and it becomes suddenly obvious exactly where his wife is. This is not the first time Isobell has tried to run from him but finding dry land. She knows his dislike of it, knows that he will avoid it at most any cost. Isobell also knows that he is, at heart, deeply lazy. The effort to bring her back will be a day-long event, and Ivar just isn’t feeling it. Later, he surely will, but just now he has a pretty mare with feathered wings in front of him, and he very much enjoys the way that feathers look beneath the water. “It’s been a long time since someone just wandered onto Kelpie,” he tells the brightly colored mare, taking a half step away to leave them near enough for a conversation and yet not so far distant that he might not reach out and touch her in a moment. He likes the name for the island that has spring up in the years of his occupation. “Did Isobell send you here?” The kelpie asks with an suddenly intent curiosity. That would not make up for her leaving, of course, but she does know the ways to soften his temper more intimately than any other creature. Sending this pretty mare would be a good start, but she’ll need a whole strong of them to save her neck the wringing it deserves. that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind |
@[Oceane]
I will change anything you want just ask <3