Heat runs fingers down his spine, creeping along the sweat that drip, drip, drips steadily along his ribs. Golden hair is tied elegantly at the end of a braid, held at bay with a small golden clip. His tail is looped and braided, delicate pins and baubles threaded into place, others keeping it in place where it would stay for the celebrations. Not even weeks of travel from Denocte could keep the mysterious man from feasts and sellers, from an open market full of new cultures and gems both living and dead.
Stopping in a pub, the clay still cool from the night, he orders some spiced drink or another and sips on it as the heat begins to die down. When the afternoon cools and the torches are lit, he finds his way into the stalled streets once more.
Laughter is a balm over the scrapes from desert sand. Chatter is constant, a humming like that of a bird's wings, filling any spaces left around him. This place is alive and full of magic as a new sovereign takes the throne. Of course, who the king of the sand is or isn't doesn't truly interest Alecto. Politics, he's learned, is not a place he is ready to dip his toes into yet. So he does not. Instead, the man drifts among the people.
When they stop him for a laugh or a drink, he is swift to join them with an easy grin.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, another stall is set up. Behind it, a man of tan and ebony smiles with his wares. They shine as the sun in the sky, imbued with nothing less than a love for his very craft. Stopping, the Denoctian steps nearer the vendor and offers his own smile. "Are these jewels local, or do they come from far-off lands?" And it is hard to tell if he is talking merely of the precious gems and wares on display, or of the man responsible for them himself the way he eyes them both - a gleam, interest, something elusive and enticing.
oh-ooh-oh, you think you're special
oh-ooh-oh, you think you're something else,
ok, so you're a rocket scientist,
that don't impress me much
The heat was a subtle drum against his flesh, heating his golden pelt with the familiarity of home. Sure, it was dryer than the desert at midday around these parts. Still, Rylan was undoubtedly enjoying the heat, even with the occasional crisp breeze of fall promising winter was just around the corner. His ears were perked forward, his smile charming and easy. Others would occasionally stop by his shop to look at the gleaming jewelry he had placed up to build his name up. Priceless small trinkets crafted so tenderly. Engraved and beaded necklaces on leather straps, delicate feathers intertwined with deerskin lace and strings. Small gems, carefully carved beads, and light porcupine quills embroidered into chest plates or attached to tinsels for the mane of anyone who fancied such delicate crafts.
From what Rylan had seen so far around these parts, there weren't many who played with his craft. Sure, there were plenty of leather workers making scabbards, or bags, or armor. Some could craft weapons, others who seemed to deal only with metal and gemstones, making trinkets that felt as cold and lifeless to the native raised stallion as the hard rock of some of these homes. It was nothing like the feather and hide, the leather that wasn't distorted into something else, but instead tanned and kept natural, kept wild as he, himself, could be. The stallion himself wasn't shy about wearing his own, from the turquoise and bone necklace around his neck to the thick and heavy arrowhead hanging from the dual strands. To the deer hide band wrapped around his foreleg, turquoise beads carefully carved and threaded through the laces, and feathers hanging against his muscular upper limb, feathers that matched the much longer, singular feather braided into his mane.
He looked the part of an outside, a traveler not yet known to these parts, but that was the purpose of being here today, of stepping outside of the official workshop he'd rented for himself. It was already half-buried in rawhides that still need to be scraped and cleaned, in small rock and stones - some brought with him from home, others collected around here that needed to be polished and carved out. Necklaces that needed to be strung, hair tassels needed to be feathered. It was easier currently selling his items from this small booth than trying to let anyone into his mess of a studio. At least until he could organize it and really make it a workable space. At least the corner he'd set aside for his personal living had been fixed up proper, tidy, homey, perfect, and the entire reason his own shop was still a mess. He knew his priorities.
He was playful, friendly as others stopped by, chatting, asking him about his items, a few were surprised when he allowed them to try them out, teaching them how to tie the tassels into their mane. He laughed as items were fallen in love with, coins exchanging hooves so they wouldn't have to remove the braids, the bindings once in place. His easy grin kept others around, talking to the friendly gentleman. He was just as curious about Novus as the citizens were of him. He was met with just as many grins as his friendly little wolf-dog pup was, as the small, energetic pup wove around hooves, batted at tails, and was nuzzled into happy-puppy-oblivion. It was in those moments, as teal eyes settled on the little pup and softened with fond affection, that others would see the Rylan hiding behind the seller's front. Soft, gentle, caring, and considerate.
A click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a command without words, and Tyee was perking up from where he was being smothered by a young foal. Instantly the pup's tongue lolled out, and he came raising forward, scrambling with his paws to stop before he'd run into the stallion's legs and succeeding only to the point that he used Rylan's limbs to control himself, rather than colliding with them at full tilt. The stallion snorted and scraped a hoof against the ground. The pup merely stared, head tilting at the side before licking at the ankle in question. Rylan repeated the gesture to the same response and finally had to sigh and give the verbal command, "Tyee, Lay down." He repeated the gesture at the same time, and the pup happily bounded to his own pile of furs beneath the stall and happily closed his eyes, even as he panted.
With the pup back under control, Rylan grinned sheepishly at the snickering parents of the foal, "Pup was darn near tuckered out. He ain't too old yet, 'n' I gotta make shure he ain't o'er extendin' 'imself." The stallion apologized, the smooth drawl falling from his lips, sweet as molasses. He glanced away, seeing another approach, and he paused, blinking a few times as a galactic rapture seemed to descend from the crowds. All dark shadows and glowy, gold vibrancy. For a moment Rylan had to remind himself to breathe, but for the love of The Great Spirit, what did they feed the men around these parts? These divine being was stopping at his stall no less!
Rylan forced himself to stand tall, steady, even as he briefly glanced at his items for sale, making sure they were tidy, well displayed. However, the words that came from this holy beast had the turquoise eyes of the sun-kissed stallion jolting back up, forcing his easy grin back into place. No need to make a fool of himself over a silly transaction, right? "Ain't been 'round these parts long 'nough ta sell much o' the local collected. Most, iffin not all, come from meh homelands." He answered, pleased as punch that he didn't stutter once. But there was still something to this man's glaze that Rylan felt his mouth growing dry. What was with these stallions?!
He shook his head slightly, disguising the action as a means to toss his forelock out of his gaze and feeling the comfortable soft wap of the feather against his neck, the gift of his mother, and a stabilizer for when he was starting to feel in too deep. It rounded him enough to shift into a more comfortable stance, using his muzzle to direct attention back to the wares, his smile friendly, playful, "Feel free ta browse. Try an'thin' on ya might like. Just ask ya put it back if yer not gonna buy it. I hate chasin' after thieves." He joked, good naturally, "Name's Rylan, by the way; maker of all the items ya see before ya." He added proudly. Sure, he could do the normal stuff - Leather Armor, Bags and satchels and the likes, but this was where his love was, jewelry and accessories, and helping someone find the confidence to pull off any look, no matter what it was.
so you got the brains, but have you got the touch?
From the foot of a child a pup leaps, tongue lolling, eyes rolling about happily. It yips excitedly, it lags with exhaustion, and at last it slides its way to the golden stallion’s feet. After a moment, a tap, two, and a sigh, the seller at last tells Tyee to lie down. Alecto’s mouth crinkles with wry amusement, eyes filled with good-natured laughter when he at last looks back to the stallion. The couple round up their child after a glance at Alecto when he speaks, slowly moving away, keeping their child close and urging them not to comment on the galaxy that Alecto wears on his skin. Tossing the child a smile, he does a half turn to show the tapestry of his skin, display it for the world to look at.
Alecto is not a shy man.
With an experienced eye, one who has been in many markets and seen jewels belonging to those in high stations down to stones commoners and thieves collected and deemed valuable, his gaze travels over the turquoise, the quills, the leather and beadwork. Another appreciative smile crosses night-kissed lips when he hears Rylan’s next words. ”So you come from another home, too. It must be lovely to birth one such as you, but not lovely enough to stay?” The question is gentle as he pries into another land, another world. How many, he wonders for a moment, are there? Which one could his princeling be in? Was he even in Novus at all anymore? Every day that passed decreased the odds being in his favor, and so still he drifts from site to site, city to city, looking for the opalescent being he chases still. None of this is said, only rapt intrigue at the possibility of another place, another adventure, another world where his father and his past would not find him.
Would they find him here?
Golden gaze at last goes from a beaded necklace and feathered piece to be tied in his hair to the sculpted planes of Rylan’s shoulders, the curve of his neck. Inch by inch, he devours the man whole, a smirk upon his face. ”Rylan,” he states, ”I’ve been told the chase is fun,” brows raise suggestively. Soft laughter rings from his chest, gentle as the night sky that begins to creep overhead. ”If you were to choose a piece, any piece, for myself, what do you think would fit me best?” Because he could take the table of treasure if he felt like it, but he could not say that it would mean a thing to wear them.
Home, miles and miles and worlds away, there are trunks of gold and rubies and pearls, of garnets and sapphires gifted to him by nobles, by his mother and sister, by anyone and everyone save his father. When more formal events came up, when he was forced to make an appearance, his maid would fuss over what he should wear. Would this or that make him look more appealing? It was hard to please his father, but he would always look the part of his star-studded son. The Raptis blood runs strong and true, from generation to generation they all became a galaxy of lies and glory. Beautiful monsters. Now, this monster has his eye set on a new prey with pretty golden skin.
oh-ooh-oh, you think you're special
oh-ooh-oh, you think you're something else,
ok, so you're a rocket scientist,
that don't impress me much
The youthful stallion couldn't keep the grin from his handsome face, his dark-rimmed eyes crinkling slightly with the open expression as he watches his pet's movements. A hum in his mind reminded him Keokuk was nearby as well, but where Rylan was amused by Tyee's youthful flamboyance, the stag was less so. Of course, true to his half-substantial form, Keokuk didn't have to be fully present to express his disapproval at Tyee's energy. Or perhaps, Rylan was just that familiar with the stag who had helped raise him. He turns attention away from Tyee as the pup lays down, letting Keokuk, as well, settle. Instead his attention turns towards the approaching stranger who looks like the sun and moon were playing tug of war across his pelt.
Rylan would be the first to admit the clash of colors was bewitching. He'd also be the first to keep the admiration to himself. But, he was a shy man. So instead he busied up himself with making his work more presentable, his ears perking to show his attentiveness on the stranger when the stranger spoke. That attentive-ness was soon far more direct as he registered the words spoken to him, 'must be lovely to birth one such as me?' Ry is quick to dismiss the words as perhaps he heard them wrong, or they were said in a different manner than the one Rylan had originally thought up (so sue him for hoping such a handsome stallion might flirt with him a bit). "It's like another world compared ta 'ere. I ain't complainin' 'bout Novus, mind; but . . . but there wa' somethin' wild 'n' peaceful 'bout home." He chuckles after a moment, "But, I made the foolish mistake o' leavin' fer a gal. Wild thing she was. Fancied her as purty damn perfect . . . 'til I met the man she chose o'er me." His eyes were filled with mirth, the turquoise hue gleaming at the stranger, "Dunno what shocked 'er more. Me lettin' her go, or that I thought her new stallion was far more attractive than she."
Okay, so perhaps he was only shy about expressing romantic interest himself. Beyond that, Rylan had an ease about himself in how he spoke to others, not minding the more awkward stories, words flowing free and smooth, and dripping like sweet honey. The stallion tilts his head as he feels the other's eyes stroke over him, the feather in his hair, the necklace in his neck, and then his body. This time, he can't deny the words delivered, and his muzzle drops open, even as he swallows hard at the suggestive look, the smirk he was given, "Er, I; uh?" It's not often Rylan finds himself tongue-tied, but in his defense, how do you respond to a promise like that? The laughter that rings forth relaxes him them, and he finally chuckles as well, "I guess it depends on who wins, 'n' w'at's ta be won." The buckskin finally agrees.
And then he's presented with a real challenge. If he could choose any piece, what would fit him best. Very slowly, Rylan's gaze rolls over the other's body, eyes drawing along the shapes, curves, and lines. Subtle dips of muscle, each movement of hair, the way the colors clash. When he speaks, it's with a pause, thoughtful, but serious, "I'd think some'in' understated. Over-looked unless yer lookin' fer it." A few items lift into the air, occasionally held up next to the stallion before tossed to the side, some immediately dismissed, others pausing a while longer before the stallion seems to have an 'ah-ha' moment. Instantly, all of the items fall from where they'd been hovering, and this time, Rylan turns away from his collection, "They're not somethin' I was plannin' ta put out, see. Almost didn't think of 'em."
Three small drawstring bags were lifted from a box, each bag embroidered with colored quills that depicted a different stylized item. Rylan stares down at them for a long moment before two of them return to the box, and finally the third, with a black and white, simplistic eagle is left. He opens the bag, pulling out two items from it, the first a simplistic hair tie, two long eagle feathers, mostly white, but dipped black, with delicate beadwork along with the leather band, small carved beads out of opal, and onyx. It's set down in front of the galaxy stallion, before the second item, a necklace joins. It's on a thin, easy to ignore leather thong, with another two feathers, and a third, smaller feather, softer and more whispy. The opal and onyx carved beads layer twice on either side of the feathers, and between the beads, is a small carved stone of an eagle in a dive. "Ain't super fancy, but if I'd have ta pick something for you, I'd go with whites 'n' blacks. It contrasts with yer colors, but the bead work is smaller, more o'er looked. Most might notice the feathers only. 'N', whe'e I come from eagles represent the strong, the brave. 'N', I can't think o' nothin' braver than askin' a stranger ta choose what they'd pick fer ya, since it's relyin' completeleh on their opinions of. I sure ain't been around ya long enough ta know ya well, which means yer askin' 'bout first impressions too. An eagle iffin I e'er saw one."
so you got the brains, but have you got the touch?
