YOU'VE GOT COLD, DEAD EYES-
Something inside of you feels as if it should be bothered by her comment, pulling in the corner of your cheek opposite to her, sure to hide your disdain behind your exposed cheek. The temptation to scuff at her comes along, but no, you've always been the type to spare a pretty face as long as they're providing you some sort of pleasure. As long as she lasts, essentially.
Your retained scuff makes its exit as soon as her gaze is off you. The apology that you receive isn't enough to move past, but who said you were the forgiving kind? "Would you like the truth, or would you like to be lied to? The truth hurts, but I'll lie to you if you're too soft." A jab taken at the aesthetic of the pastel dove, her features delicate, colours akin to what you'd imagine to come with privilege. Too nice to have endured the brutality of the world.
Having reached a depth at which you're comfortable with, tense knees bend with a soft groan as you submerge yourself. As much as you hate getting your feathers wet, it's worth getting out of the sun. It bares down hard against the length of your face before dunking yourself entirely.
Left open-mouthed for the brief of moments, snorting to clear the rest of the water from your air ways as water droplets fly, it's what you needed. Awake in the fullest, prepared to enjoy the company of a mare who you now find is participating in your small game. A deep breath, and you pop your head (and full attention) around to acknowledge her statement with a coy smile. "Would anyone wish to chase away a pretty dove in their bird bath, first thing in the morning?"
A single wing crawls out from beneath the surface, and waves itself forward to send a splash in her direction, more teasing. "That is, unless you're wanting to be chased."
@Willoughby / speaks / ooc
