[open] could i use you as a makeshift gauge; anyone

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The approaching stranger is female and star-spangled. As delighted as he is by the first thing, he is equally put off by the cosmic indicators that she is likely one of Carnage’s many children. Ivar does not like magicians, nor anything distantly tied to them. And yet as the white-legged mare draws nearer, Ivar reminds himself that of the magicians he knows, the dark god is the least likely to take offense to Ivar doing away with one of his progeny. Yet he is undoubtedly the most powerful. It is a conundrum that grows all the more insistent as she stops in front of him, and Ivar finally shakes it away. His head tosses back and forth enough to spatter them – but mostly him – with cold water. When he focuses again on the mare the words she’s been speaking when he’d shaken, his golden eyes are not apologetic. “I do prefer it warmer,” Ivar says, his voice rough but his smile impossibly charming. There’s no indication that he means to apologize for possibly getting her wet. The kelpie is curious how much she intends to resist; testing prey by making them mildly uncomfortable is second nature to his kind. He takes a step closer to her. “Perhaps you could help me get warm?” She is still just out of reach when he stops, though his head is pulled up and he is sure he could touch her before she bolted. Ivar relies on his looks to get him this close, on the novelty of the creature he is, but he does not move closer. A shiver runs down his spine. It is anticipation, but it looks like a reaction to the cold. His hide is made of scales, not fur, meant for protection and for sleekness in the water but not for warmth. This close, he can smell the man and milk on her.  A glance beyond her shoulder reveals no one following her immediately, and Ivar dismisses them. She’d have been a better find a few months ago, with a child still in her belly. But a few months ago, he’d have had to come to the River in winter to catch her. Ivar once again finds himself debating whether to proceed. Where has this penchant for thinking come from? The has been spending too much time on land. Too much time doing things other than what he needs for survival. He will take this one, he decides, and return to the ocean for a good long while. There is a large enough herd on his island to feed his children for a while, Ivar decides. He recalls his last visit to the common lands with uncomfortably clarity, which is what has stopped his approach. The pair of winged women in the Field had been unexpectedly crafty beneath their pretty faces, and this starry mare in front of him might be hiding something equally nasty. He would rather find out now; he would not like a nasty surprise when they get into the water. “Is beauty the only thing you have mastered, or are you hiding other skills behind that pretty face?” Ivar hopes the answer is no; he is not sure he’s the energy for a long hunt. @[Desire] and i'll use you as a warning sign that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind