even after they have been stepped on
The crowd is riotous all around him, a cacophony of music and voices and merriment that he, alone, is silent throughout. From the corner of one cherry-red eye he watches the tavern, as several horses take bets around a dart board. The first player hits the board within the triple ring, and the onlookers roar their approval.
The meaning of the score is lost on him, but still he watches as the next player steps forward to toss their dart.
The scene is temporarily cut from view as the stallion walks past. Po is still thinking about winter, still thinking of the way snow and ice must be clinging to the building like it, too, wants to be warm, like it, too, wants to be welcomed inside. He’s thinking about the way his own back looks like it’s dusted in snow, like maybe he should return to it and find somewhere else to lose himself in his thoughts - when the stallion greets him.
Ipomoea looks sideways at him, the dark stallion who seems to fill the room with his very presence and yet, is not at the center of the noise like so many others are. “Hello.”
There’s no recognition in the other’s eyes, and for that, Ipomoea feels a curious mixture of sadness and relief. Sad, that there are still too many people who don’t know him, who haven’t accepted him as their own after his absence; relief, that the stranger isn’t avoiding him because of who he is. The bartender has already avoided looking him directly in the eye - Ipomoea had been considering leaving when the stranger spoke.
So he offers a small smile, to let the stallion know he’s welcome - but with a loss of words filling his mind, he says nothing else.
@Sol Bestiam
