D U N E
- ☾ -
"W
ell, yes,” she says, without adding more. If Dune believes her, he doesn’t show it. His expression is one of exaggerated skepticism, playful disbelief upturned at his lips and doubt in the rise of his brow. “I’m feeling more honest than usual, though. Maybe it’s the alcohol?” He laughs quietly, a heavy huff of air. “Better an honest drunk than a violent one...” Especially when the drunk in question has horns. It’s strange though, because she only had a few sips of the drink- it was not enough to get a miniature pony drunk, let alone a fully grown pegasus. Perhaps there was something in the air, or the food. Whatever it was, Dune would like it to take hold of him too.
“Dune,” he says, when she asks for his name. And then comes her touch, soft and light but with a strength that surprises him. He leans away instinctively, proud, with a small smile so as not to offend. It wasn’t personal, not at all. He just… he couldn’t have gotten as far as he has by relying on others, and he wasn’t about to start not..
“I’m fine,” he says, because he thinks he is. Or, at least, surely he will be soon. Most afflictions of the body are temporary- he knows firsthand that pain is more than anything a state of mind, so why should nausea, indigestion, and whatever else he’s feeling (we’ll spare you the details) be any different? “But I should... probably...” go puke in the bushes “get back to work. If you’ll excuse me.”
The fight he anticipated has broken out in the room behind Dune. He steps in the opposite direction, pretending not to hear the raised voices that just about everyone else has casually directed their ears towards (even though, for propriety, most guests do not linger with their eyes- that would be rude). There are waves of shrill beration, courtesy of the sour-looking young mare, each followed by the gentleman’s low voice, hushed and strained. Dune is quite sure that one or the other is about to throw a glass. Likely the stallion, who sounds closer and closer to cracking. All of this he’d be delighted to watch, if he were not working. (And poisoned, let’s not forget the poisoning.)
For a moment he considers his companion. His gaze is dark and steady, thoughtful. He thinks she has good stories to tell. He’d like to hear them sometime, when he’s not on the edge of emptying his stomach or passing out. Like her name, Nicnevin-- what kind of name is that? Finally he smiles weakly. “See you around, Nicnevin. Stay out of trouble, yeah?” Pretending he doesn’t look as terrible as he feels, he winks and wavers off, wondering to himself what the pegasus dreams of.
He's confident that one of these nights, he'll find out.
we look almost happy out in the sun, while we bleed to death from wounds we don't
know about
