a king walks among us
To not take part in the same delights as other creatures would be both characteristic and overtly animal. He writes, he works, and he, most certainly, loves. The anonymity of soldierly duties allows the black bull a certain flexibility of presence; he can shift between the courts at the behest of his true superiors and gain what is needed. He can also indulge.
El Rey has seen the effects of alcohol on others - not his father, he thinks, wound tighter than a coiled adder, but others these days; fellow citizens of Denocte, the affluent of Solterra. He has not tried such a thing, and he wonders if it will make him violent or joyous. There is only one way to find out. He will venture to: A Bar.
He had seen in it passing on patrol or otherwise sneaking about the city - though “sneak” was the wrong word for his type of monster - and curiosity had finally taken its hold on El Rey. He was between shifts, so to speak, no one to kill and no one to guard (he was meant to be sleeping, actually), but that, he had heard, was The Point. There was something more alive about him these days; it was Juniper and Raum and Denocte and Solterra, a full belly and the sun on his back and a lover at his side. He knew more about the world now than he knew was there to learn, and every day he approached it with wonderment and the same stoic violence that had earned him his status.
He was still naive.
El Rey entered slowly, but not cautiously; rather like cattle testing the strength of a fence out of sheer boredom, or perhaps to reach the grass on the other side (it was greener). His presence is undeniable but he finds it forgettable. The bar - strange. Smelly. Oddly decorated. He wanted to poke about and identify the plants, and in a way the close darkness of the place reminded him of his before-home. His now-home was…a multitude of places. He liked it here.
The bull found no one recognizable among the scattered patrons, so he lumbered to the counter, finding a space beside a silvery mare. His empty dark gaze fell over her, a silent moment gone by before he turned to meet the bartender’s stark white one. It was then that he realized he did not know what to do. It seemed that every utterance of “it was just one beer, one shot, one something” was drained from his mind in that exact second that he opened his mouth to speak. He tried to recall the drinks of Raum’s court to no avail. It had never been important to him, and so, it had dissipated. Not possessing of the anxieties that plagued many - that perhaps plagued a pale cousin, courts away - he simply stood there, dumbly, and stared, not accounting for how unnerving his presence might be.
@Locust
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
