[P] salt to the sea

[Toulouse]

toulouse Her bitter response took him aback—but only slightly. Toulouse was nothing if he was not adaptable. His reactions shouldn’t matter; she was blind. She would never see the slight down curl to his lips, the way his ears flinched back a centimeter in response to the dryness of her tone. The tension he held in the serpentine arch of his neck would forever be lost on her, as would the rigidity of his spine. And yet, he slipped the smile back onto his lips; relaxed his spine as he stretched his neck back out. He forced his ears to swivel forward pleasantly, for one hock to bend as he shifted his weight to the other side. He was an actor and a snake; perfect in his art of deception. Body language affected speech: to smile with your lips was to also smile in your voice, it was unavoidable. And naturally a blind mare could pick up on his mood by the tone of his voice—so he masked his tone with the movements of his body, imbuing it with all the good naturedness his pose might suggest. His mind may be a dark and fickle thing, but he could lie perfectly fine with his body nonetheless. He let her words hang in the air between them, an extended pause opening like a valley between them. The wind whispered through the grass, tugged at his caramel curls, but he was silent. Patient. “I don’t think I’m terribly fond of the ocean, anyways.” “Me, either,” he replied smoothly, his eyes trained on her. “The sea spray is horrible for my hair.” It still was a horribly frizzy mess from his time spent down on the beach, hanging in ropy tangles from his crest. He would have to find somewhere to buy some new oils and fragrances to keep it manageable. Or just leave the coast. “Am I here to see the sights?” he repeated her question back to her with careful precision, turning her words over thoughtfully in his mind. His lips curled into a smile, revealing his pearly white teeth. “Maybe. I only just arrived here, actually—my boat made a short stop down on the beach below. It wasn’t actually my first choice of arrivals, but I don’t fare well on the sea you know, so any land was better than returning to that ship.” A little bit of truth, and a little bit of lie, mixed in together to create the perfect cocktail of illusion. He had no doubt she would believe him; everyone, everywhere, had always believed his tales. “I take it you’re from around here, then? Any advice for a newcomer?” The wind continued to whisper around them, weaving through the tall grasses and pulling at the palomino’s tall frame. It held secrets, he knew, from all the places the wind had blown; he had only to convince someone to decipher them for him. the motherland don't love you, the fatherland don’t love you. so why love anything? the faithless; they don't love you the zealous hearts don’t love you. and that's not gonna change. ut deo. @virun ! ”here am I!”

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