[AW] *i don't need candlelight;

[Tarquin]

The plains were a riot mixture of scents; all the courts held trace smells here. Neutral ground. The very thought of it curdled within Quinn's blood, annoyed that this was not the point in which he had entered the world of Novus. The freedom of not having come from any of the court lands was held away from him, and he did not much like it. Nothing more than a trace scent lingering on his coat, though, the night court's hold on him. It was where he had arrived, where he paused for rest -- he wouldn't call it home, because that was too meaningful of a term to him; Vhetiveer was home anyway -- and that was all. The night court does not have his loyalty. No place does, not here or now.  If there was a battle between courts, Quinn honestly did not know where he would fight. He knew only that he would be compelled to fight regardless, because that was something he enjoyed above so many other things in life. His mercenary mindset told him that he would fight for whomever had the best price, but Quinn had to always keep in mind what Vhetiveer would want or expect from him. This was an area that Quinn had no interest in failing at. Everything else didn't much matter to him anymore, because he'd lived through so many things, and he had a better grasp of what actually meant anything to him in the long run. He had been so many things, the checklist was near full by now. And what did that leave him? Matters of the heart, perhaps, and finding more reasons to live and thrive. The battles to come. Quinn was holding himself back, but that could only work for so long; he knew how this story went. He had tried to keep calm and settled before, and that all crashed and burned. Several times over. Quinn was set in his ways, and if he hadn't been able to change in the worlds before this one, then what hope did he have now? So instead, Quinn prepares for it. He keeps himself in shape, practicing in the dim morning light until he's sweat-slick and feeling that low burn in his muscles. This was a constant -- nearly the only one -- through all the years. What he could fall back on, no matter what. The day had grown brighter as Quinn ambled on through the plains, irritation still curled about his features. So unlucky to not have arrived in Novus here, though he could always stick to these lands in that I'm-not-a-part-of-anything sort of way; but this was Quinn, and he'd go where he pleased, regardless of where he was considered to belong to. For now he was just looking, itching for a reason to do something, anything. Quinn paused to stare out across the dancing grasses, attention flicking to the spot near his hooves, where some rodent was skittering about. A blink and he'd struck, crushing tiny bones between sharp teeth, blood dripping from his chin. He gulped the entire thing down and proceeded to move along again. I'M READY TO BLEED TO MAKE AMENDS *tarquin

image credits: yokamycelium

@Noella