[P] driftwood, carcass

[Raymond]

The festival was certainly a means to an end, though the ends might vary from one individual to the next, but Raymond was not the sort to conduct his business with a scarecrow's finesse and all the enthusiasm one could find at a wake. He wore his floral crown - a loop of white lilies with pink and purple gladioli lying like a cascade of petals along the sinewy arch of his neck - at a proud and jaunty angle on his head, and on this particular evening he had taken to sampling an array of locally-brewed beverages on offer.

He spoke with surprising eloquence on the subject, having picked up a diverse palette through years of far-ranging travel. A casual glance would have thought him quite a natural part of the landscape indeed as he flitted smoothly from one interaction to the next, appraising the delicate bouquet of a vintage here or suggesting additives to round out a flavor profile there.

One merchant's mead in particular had caught the red stallion's imagination. He had offered Raymond a sampling of rich, full-bodied honey mead with a pleasantly smooth texture. Raymond gladly told him as much and earned an appreciative nod from the artisan. Free space seemed to be at a premium, but even with the generous flow of drink most horses managed to navigate the throng with relative grace.

Until a pegasus' errant wing brushed along his side.

The red stallion arched a brow and swiveled his head to identify the culprit, the passive arc in his leonine tail tightening ever-so-slightly at the question raised by her contact.

She was black as pitch, her coat striving not quite successfully to dissipate into the night's encroaching shadows, with tightly-furled wings and hair trimmed short in a style Raymond knew well. He had reason to doubt the sincerity of her apology but didn't hesitate to seize an opportunity when he saw one. "You'll have to excuse me - splendid work, truly -" he murmured warmly to the merchant as he telekinetically swept another sample of mead from the display and extricated himself from amongst the throng with relative ease.

"No harm done," he said, this time to Marisol.

It had taken but a brief moment for Raymond to disengage. He cut a rather odd figure, the sharpness of his features contrasting impressively with the confident looseness of his stance and the incongruous halo of flowers about his brow. Without waiting to see how she would react, he offered her the sample. "Mead?"

Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around

@Marisol