12-14-2020, 08:42 PM
IONIA
Generally speaking, Ionia would’ve just nodded her head and let this critter pass on by. She’d laughed at what she naturally assumed was a joke - his mention of the fae givin’ him the right to rename the island because they were annoyed with him - and then felt kinda bad afterward when he didn’t match her chuckle with one of his own. Serious type of fella, she considered Gale as her laugh died away and the whimsical memories of her childhood on Ischia came floatin’ back to haunt her for a moment. But them skeletons in her closet only needed a good broom pushin’ to go away, and as soon as she spoke about her plans to party in the Meadow all was forgotten again.
That’s why she’d never stayed home. Unlike her counterpart ‘Handsome-but-a-tad-serious’, Ionia never quite caught the bug of responsibility. No kiddos, no title, and literally no hope of carryin’ on what her mama started years and years ago. The mere thought of being in charge of someplace or some horses gave her the willies. Eh-yuck, no thank you. What she had learned in all that time was how to be a good hostess, if ya know what I mean, and how to keep that from stickin’ around for a few years afterwards, if ya catch my drift (wink wink, kiddos.) That and a second language, which was practically useless this far out from the western sea.
She’d never fit in with the fru-fru type, (not that she had anythin’ against blue boy here) so she’d made her way in the world by swinging with the vagabonds and lowlifes of Beqanna. And boy, was it a fun ride.
“Back to the Plains, ya say?” The ombre mare sucked in a deep breath, brows waggin’ at his not-so-subtle hint. “Wow.” She exhaled a dark plume of smoke, pursing her lips to the side so as not to blow it all across the stranger’s face. “A real live ‘Alliance’ contender, well well.” Ionia whistled. “Kick my ass and call me a mule.”
She did the math, quick-like in her head. The word around town was that the fight was reachin’ a climactic ending here soon - only ‘bought four or so horses left until a final shoot-out showdown to announce the winner. Right? “Eh, four or five,” she thought. Ionia couldn’t quite remember. Now what were their names? She knew there was one mare left: Mah-za-keen. Ionia was rootin’ for her, personally. Go team. And then maybe three stallions? Balto - she remembered that one… and two others. Ah, dangit; her memory was shot to hell after too many wild nights.
“Honored to meet ya, Balto.” Ionia flashed her best and prettiest smile, matchin’ it with a lash flutter that had the power to blow gale-force winds.
That’s why she’d never stayed home. Unlike her counterpart ‘Handsome-but-a-tad-serious’, Ionia never quite caught the bug of responsibility. No kiddos, no title, and literally no hope of carryin’ on what her mama started years and years ago. The mere thought of being in charge of someplace or some horses gave her the willies. Eh-yuck, no thank you. What she had learned in all that time was how to be a good hostess, if ya know what I mean, and how to keep that from stickin’ around for a few years afterwards, if ya catch my drift (wink wink, kiddos.) That and a second language, which was practically useless this far out from the western sea.
She’d never fit in with the fru-fru type, (not that she had anythin’ against blue boy here) so she’d made her way in the world by swinging with the vagabonds and lowlifes of Beqanna. And boy, was it a fun ride.
“Back to the Plains, ya say?” The ombre mare sucked in a deep breath, brows waggin’ at his not-so-subtle hint. “Wow.” She exhaled a dark plume of smoke, pursing her lips to the side so as not to blow it all across the stranger’s face. “A real live ‘Alliance’ contender, well well.” Ionia whistled. “Kick my ass and call me a mule.”
She did the math, quick-like in her head. The word around town was that the fight was reachin’ a climactic ending here soon - only ‘bought four or so horses left until a final shoot-out showdown to announce the winner. Right? “Eh, four or five,” she thought. Ionia couldn’t quite remember. Now what were their names? She knew there was one mare left: Mah-za-keen. Ionia was rootin’ for her, personally. Go team. And then maybe three stallions? Balto - she remembered that one… and two others. Ah, dangit; her memory was shot to hell after too many wild nights.
“Honored to meet ya, Balto.” Ionia flashed her best and prettiest smile, matchin’ it with a lash flutter that had the power to blow gale-force winds.
@[Gale]
Powerplay: Yes! | Injuries: Will bite back >:)