i hold on so nervously to me and my drink
i wish it was cooling me, but so far, has not been good
it's been shitty and i feel awkward, as i should
The morning broke through her dreary state as the mare blinked open her eyes from where she and Gareth had stopped after they had set out late yesterday to journey back to Denocte. The warmth against her back and the soft, but steady movement against her side was all she needed to know that Gareth was still asleep as she lifted her head slowly, and nuzzled his cheek in a gentle greeting, being careful to not wake him up. A slight yawn was pulled from her as she blinks her gaze a little more, before lowering her head back down, using her long, bundled mane as a pillow to rest her cheek against - only for her muzzle to twist that the scent of smoke and wood trapped in those locks, making her sniff and sneeze after a moment.
Her gaze cut to the locks with a slightly narrowed expression as she lifts her head to actually take a moment to peer at the locks bound carefully by amber bands - the metal gleaming, gems sparkling, but the hair itself showed signs of being well over due for a restyling. Her quick gaze over her tail as she whipped it towards her side proved that. How convenient, for her, they had chosen to rest at Rapax River, soothed to sleep last night by their joined body heat, and the river rushing nearby. She carefully shifts, pulling away from Gareth, her motions smooth but careful to attempt to keep from waking him up, her tail carefully guiding his body into a restful position when she had to sneak out from his embrace.
Once free, she had to shake off the lingering cold from being removed from his side, but she eagerly made her way towards the river. Her tail would be dealt with first, it was always easier to unbind. A couple of careful prodding, after wetting her hair was usually all she needed to do, to properly unveil the very small latch, that would allow the bands to unsnap from her tail, Setting the gold and amber bands aside to replace later, she carefully unwound the long curls, the pale cream and ivory reptilian tail exposing as the long hair that grew from the underside and tip of the tail unwound and was soon trailing into the water, the length startling her for a moment. It's easy to forget how long her hair is thanks to how she binds it up, but it never failed to amaze her. Next however came the actual mane, and that was always more difficult.
She whisks her tail, sending those creamy strands away from her body as she prods and pokes to find the hinges on those bands, and soon they join the others, the long, wild mass of curls unwinding from the tight coils that help pull it up and out of the way, and soon her mane joins her tail in painting the water. It's at this point she happily lays down in the shallows, just letting her hair soak, watching the river run slightly dirty as it pulls the smoke and ash from not only her mane and tail, but her body as well. It doesn't take long for most of the muck to be removed from her body, and for much of the trapped foilage and grime in her long mane and tail to be loosened enough for her to begin to tackle the actual act of washing her hair.
But it's also the more difficult part, as those wild curls obscure her vision while she's trying to sort through the curls, removing twigs and leaves as she finds them, trying to keep the areas she's cleaned separated from the strands she hasn't touched yet. A gruff snort leaves her muzzle as she tries to toss her mane and forelock from her face, annoyance visible as she once more tries to sort through the mass of curls, only to become trapped in the curls, ears flicking back as she lifts her head, strands twisting around her muzzle even as she shakes her head to dislodge the most of them.
A hint of a sound catches her attention and she breaths a sigh of relief, "Gareth!" His name is a please, a huff of desperation, "Help, please!" She begs, as she finishes untangling the few strands for her muzzle, to be able to properly look up, amber eyes searching for her stallion, her expression borderline desperate, looking more like a wet, fluffy dog than a dangerous mare as the curls seem to just tangle around her, "I just wanted to wash my hair so it would stop smelling like smoke!" She explained in a whine, "But it just keeps tangling and obscuring my vision. Will you help me?"
this club has got to be the most pretentious thing
since i thought you and me
i am imagining, a dark lit place, or your place or my place
"Speech" Thoughts
@Gareth Notes: She's like 'nothing weird here. I'm not about to cry out of frustration. But . . . HELP ME.'
well i'm not paralyzed, but i seem to be struck by you
i want to make you move, because you're standing still
if your body matches what your eyes can do
you'll probably move right through, me on my way to you.
The festival had been an exhausting, if fulfilling venture. Gareth had stayed late to help the last of the Deluminian hosts load things into caravans to be taken away. The work had been simple, but after having helped to disassemble more tents than he had cared to count, pulling heavy poles behind him, his body ached terribly. Pangaea had not been able to coax him any further in their journey home than the distinct river that ran through the Dawn Court territory. While they had usually spent the night chatting away until sleep overtook them, the stallion had succumbed almost immediately once they had bedded down.
It was only the uncomfortable breeze that came with the dewy spring morning that pulled him from his slumber. He groaned, turning to bury his muzzle into creamy, curly locks, only to be met with flattened grass, still warm. The stallion blinked his amber eyes open, taking in the now familiar scent of the saurian woman who had, until recently, been sleeping at his side. Swallowing the rising panic in his chest at her absence, the medic lifted his heavy head and looked around, twisted locks tumbling from barely maintained buns and falling loosely to his thickly muscled neck. She couldn’t have gone far, and it had to have been very recent if the ground still clung to the warmth she left behind.
Weary, the medic pushed himself to his hooves, pelt shaking off the morning chill as he listened to his surroundings. The sound of birds in the trees above him played a melody of lovers, singing sweet nothings as they passed between leaves. In the distance he heard the sound of the Rapax River, and logic dictated that Pangaea likely made her way to the waters for a morning drink before they started the long journey home again. At least, that is what he had hoped. There was still a part of him that believed she might disappear one day, without so much as a goodbye.
It was a foolish thought, he knew. Considering how the first night of the festival had gone, it was absurd to believe that she would leave him without a trace. Still, with the hurt of Salome still so fresh in his heart, there was little he could do to soothe those fears save to look upon the mare’s face and be reassured that she was there. He didn’t want to admit it, but the sorrow he felt at the loss of his childhood love dictated much of how he had approached this connection with the saurian woman. His conversation with Luvena when he had come down from the mountains after his last meeting with the vampire woman had been a disheartening one, though it had been what he needed to hear. Salome had been dipping in and out of his life, and in the deepest recesses of his heart he knew that things would never be as simple as they had been when they were children.
Nothing is ever as simple as that. Nothing is so pure, so free, so unburdened by life as the wishes of children. He’d wanted to believe that she would return to him, having finally spoken aloud her love, but there had been doubt. Noor had voiced it to him then, but his pride had prevented him from seeking guidance in his bonded. The elk had understood, and when Gareth had returned from his visit to Luvena, he had not said a word about Salome. He could be brash, sometimes cruel with his words, if he felt it was for the better, but Noor had never wanted to see his friend crumble at the hands of a woman in the way he had done under the repeated offenses of Salome.
If the elk had been honest with Gareth, he would have told the stallion that this was part of why he had distrusted Pangaea. Perhaps the medic knew this, too, even without his friend having to say anything. Nearly being eaten had played a bigger role, naturally, but they had seemed to be on better terms at the turn of the season. While the elk likely would never approve of the stallion’s affections, this was certainly an improvement, and the mountain man would take it.
Still, that lingering fear and heartache sat in his chest, and so whenever he woke to emptiness in his bed, there remained a sinking sensation that Pangaea had finally wisened up and moved on. The tumult quieted as the stallion pushed his way beyond the foliage surrounding the river and saw a familiar face.
Well, not so much her face, anyways. The gold-coloured woman was floating in a sea of cream, the pull of the river tugging her curls away from her body in various places. If Gareth hadn’t recognized her lyrics or the distinct structure of her wings, her supple body, he would have hardly believed it was her. Upon reflection, the stallion was fairly certain he had never seen Pangaea’s hair unbound, and the raging torrent of curls was something to behold. It obscured her vision as she tried to separate the tangled strands to create a window, causing quite a bit of fuss.
A deep rumbling laugh erupted from his chest, before the equally deep colour of red rushed to his cheeks. Though it was no secret that equines roamed the lands “baring it all” as it were, and he’d had plenty of opportunity to explore all of the more… delicate regions of the mare when he had been aiding her hind limb, to stumble upon her in the middle of a bathing ritual felt incredibly lecherous.
He stumbled over his words. “I… ah… how?” Gareth averted his gaze, watching the river caress the furthest strands of her tail.
By Caligo’s Night, her hair was lengthy. No wonder she kept it bound the way she did. The woman wouldn’t have been able to walk two feet before getting caught up in a tangle of locks. He couldn’t even imagine trying to brave the air with tendrils streaming every which way and catching every known bug in existence along the way.
i hold on so nervously to me and my drink
i wish it was cooling me, but so far, has not been good
it's been shitty and i feel awkward, as i should
Had the mare been more thoughtful, she'd have left a note for the man. Would have informed him of where she was. Had she been more aware of some of his own inner workings, self-sacrificing ways aside; the very expectation he had she'd wisen up and leave - she'd make sure to remind him that her leaving would always be temporary. But when a lady needs to freshen up - a lady needs to freshen up! And so she'd made her way to the nearby river, and taken part of the monstrosity of unbinding her hair.
She'd be the first to admit that she forgets her own hair length, just as much as she has a tendency to forget the time and work it takes, heavy wet curls clinging to everything, accenting every curve of her shoulder, and neck. Tangling around her muzzle. Tail winding around her limbs, clinging to fur and scale alike as if the water turned the strands into creeping vines. While much of the debris was thankfully free - untangling the individual curls to make sure no remaining larger pieces of filth remained in those creamy locks was the struggle. Even now she'd only managed to begin messing with the forelock around her face. Trying to clear it, trying to control it so that her vision would be less trapped.
She should have started with her tail. Even she knew that was the way it worked. Work with the tail first, so you're not fighting with the mane to clear your vision before you can finally get to work on the rest of things. And she'd foolishly started with those cords of mane that wrapped her muzzle and features in an embrace, shrouding her eyes like a veil, until she was frustrated and wanting to stick her entire head underwater. It is why the sound of her male had her relaxing with relief, soft pleas leaving her muzzle for his assistance in this taxing act.
At the sound of his laughter, she felt a smile pull on her muzzle, that soft rumble, deep and echoing making those butterflies spur to life in her belly. Soft, sweet, delicate. He had a way of making her feel like a woman, not just a sometimes-predatory monster. She struggled through her mane, and further relaxed once she could see him, only to notice his very quick descent into embarrassment, "Now is not the time for faux-modesty, Gareth!" She half whined, her tones colored with the playfulness that had become the natural banter she allowed to flow out with him, "And I'm fairly certain I look more like a wet dog at the moment then some tempting goddess bathing in a creek." She added, finally untangling the rest of the hair and forelock around her face, so they fell in thick, wild, and luscious curls.
The curls tumbled free to frame her jaw, drawn over her brow, sweeping slightly across her gaze - the extra buoyancy from the hair not being pulled tight and controlled giving it more life - more depth. Thicker curls than he usually was able to bury his face into, touch, and nuzzle into. With her face free, she continues to separate out the rest of the curls, pulling random leaves, and twigs that had become trapped in the mass when it had been bundled up as slowly, so slowly, more of her hair was left to spring back in wild, thick curls that coiled up around her neck, the ends still dragging deep into the river to coil around her legs.
"What do you mean how?" She parrots in surprise, looking back up at him, golden eyes gleaming in amusement, "Most of it is done, I'm just trying to untangle it now, separate the curls and make sure there's no leaves or twigs left tangled up in it. Perhaps you can help me with my mane . . . with the way you're acting, I'd be worried letting you at my table would have us making a trek to Amare Creek before the day is through." She teased, eyes dancing with merriment, before she reached out to him, "Come on, doctor, won't you bathe with me?" She offered with a soft, playful purr; this sound warm and delicate - rather than the demanding purr he's heard before when in the heat of the moment.
"Join me, Gareth . . . It'll be a refreshing way to start our journey back home.
Home, who know his home would become an important place for her too.
Home, with Gareth.
this club has got to be the most pretentious thing
since i thought you and me
i am imagining, a dark lit place, or your place or my place
"Speech" Thoughts
@Gareth Notes: <3 She's being so soft right now. Just like 'yes, come snuggle up and help me untangle my mane.'
well i'm not paralyzed, but i seem to be struck by you
i want to make you move, because you're standing still
if your body matches what your eyes can do
you'll probably move right through, me on my way to you.
The stallion swallowed hard, his audits pressed back against his own fallen locks as his embarrassment deepened. Despite the saurian woman’s claims to look like a wet dog, she most certainly appeared to be some kind of goddess to him. The medic had seen some beautiful mares in his lifetime; hair meticulously maintained, flowing, the picturesque image of a fair maiden. He could acknowledge their grace and glamour just as any young stud with eyes would, but it had never drawn him in. Salome had been the exception, but that had been her mind and talent in equal measure to her delicate frame. His own grandmother, whom he loved deeply, had an incredibly long silver mane that she kept pulled back. It was her influence that led him to maintain his own in a similar manner.
They all paled in comparison to Pangaea, though. Her wild curls falling about in every which way filled him with a feral excitement. The curve of her neck was more pronounced now that the unruly plumes of cream were laden with water, the true strength and structure of her tail sparking curiosity and awe. She had told him somewhat of her less equine features when they had sought shelter when passing through the Arma that winter, but she had kept the thick muscle shrouded in the way she had bound her hair to it. Now that he could see clearly, the way the tresses grew from the soft underside to culminate in an artisanal brush at the tip, he understood why she had wrapped her hair this way.
It was also apparent why she had asked for his assistance. The sheer length of the hair was striking, but with how dense he knew it to be from his gentle touches, to see it soaked in water, he could begin to imagine how unmanageable it would be on her own. Even now, the river struggled to keep the locks afloat, stretching and curling around her body in an attempt to pull debris from the coarse fibres.
The woman’s commentary pulled Gareth from his wandering thoughts and his eyes met hers once more. His maw gaped, opening and closing much like a fish pulled from the water. Pangaea had a way of bringing dark colours to his cheeks, and at the mention of Amare Creek, he could do nothing but stare openly, unable to speak, stuttering over unintelligible words as he tried to start the gears turning in his head again. Though the invitation to help the mare with her bath had been as open as she could possibly get, there was still a part of him that hesitated, clinging to the idea that he was a medical professional, and she was a lady, and as a gentleman he shouldn’t be intruding on something so intimate.
Except that is exactly what she wanted. As she reached for him, a seductive tease on her tongue as she called him ‘doctor’, a shiver ran through his dark earthen coat. He’d never been much for honourifics like that, but Pangaea made it sound exciting, alluring, and it stirred the sleeping beast in his belly just as it had done that night of the full moon at the festival. The stallion swallowed, hard.
“Alright,”Gareth agreed, the low, husky rasp of his response surprising him. His lyrics rumbled deep in his chest as his heart raced, stepping forward to join her in the cool waters. The dirt and debris from their travels were pulled from the feathering at his hooves by the river in the same way the Rapax had done with the smoke and ash from the mare’s curls, his one sock brightening from a dingy dull brown-grey.
His expression shifted, moving to her side, pressing his muzzle to the woman’s neck, moving the unruly locks of hair out of the way to whisper against her skin. “I make no promises other than I shall try to behave myself. As a gentleman tasked by a lady to help tame her beautiful mane.”
It felt like his heart was going to leap right out of his ribcage and drown in her. He had tried not to think too much about the implications of the mare choosing to bring up the famed creek where lovers were often found reveling in each other. There were other parts of him that had very different ideas, but he would swallow those instincts. After all, if Pangaea truly meant to stick around, there would be plenty of time for that in the future, and he had no intentions of rushing things. He would not amble as he had done with Salome, for that had been a hard lesson he felt that he had learned, but he would not push things with the saurian warrior. If he were going to share affections, he would court her properly, as a man should.
Gareth moved then to help her separate the front half of her mane from what he could only assume was her forelock. “I can help you keep things separate, and perhaps we can divide the sorted locks to one side of your neck so then it is clear which areas we have already gone over.”
i hold on so nervously to me and my drink
i wish it was cooling me, but so far, has not been good
it's been shitty and i feel awkward, as i should
Pangaea would be the first to admit she enjoyed the reactions she got from her stallion. It was proof that it wasn't in her head, or the right mood. That what she felt for him all the time, was reciprocated. Where she felt like a monster, an oddity, a creature of nightmares in the eyes of others, to Gareth, she felt beautiful. She felt wild, and admired, and a woman. And where before she'd always felt like the struggles of these locks she refused to cut from cultural beliefs, she now felt like Rapunzel, being stared upon by a man for the first time. Young, and free, and full of the promise of adventure, should he climb those locks and enter the tower she'd been locked away. She was Fiona, hidden from the people, awaiting the kiss of prince charming so she wasn't a monster when others discovered her; only for Gareth to come and declare she was perfect as she was, fangs, claws and all. He'd slid the glass slipper upon her clawed hind leg, and deemed her his princess.
And as he seemed to blossom into the embarrassed stallion who had stumbled upon a dryad bathing; she felt those wondrous feelings returned. Wild curls flowing freely, she felt like that dryad, gently crooning for the poor villager to come closer, to pepper kisses upon her bare shoulder as she pulled him beneath the willow branches from the searching eyes of the other whispering druids. The way he looked over her, feral and awed had her heart beat just a little faster. How, in this mess of wild curls that tangled around her like some living monster, did he find beauty? How, when he looked at her like that; did she believe it?
His eyes finally met hers, his muzzle seeming to gape, repeatedly opening and closing. The look drew a sound she'd never made before, a soft, startled giggle from her diaphragm, the sound far more delicate and feminine than she was used to. A debutante on her first debut; and he was that best friends who looked like he finally saw the light as she descended down the stairs. A filly experiencing the flutter of romance for the first time. And then those feelings roared to a fireball at his lack of speech as she suggested the Amare Creek playfully. The knowledge she could render him so thoroughly speechless was exhilarating. She watched the shiver run down his spice, that title she had taken into the habit of using, purring it like it was the most alluring thing she had ever heard, producing such a reaction.
She lived for the proof that this wasn't one sided, and his responses, despite his gentlemanly behavior were that proof that it was real. She wasn't imagining it. It wasn't a brief carnal lust of firelight and wine. It wasn't him generously giving as she pressed and pressed for it. She wasn't forcing his hand, in making him act like he wanted her for her benefit. He approached her with an affirmative, but the low rasp, so husky it sent a shiver down her spine, her eyes widening to hear the effect she held in his voice had a small smile touching her muzzle. He entered the water with her, and as he did, she immediately reached for him, her muzzle pressing to his neck, arching against him, as she shifted closer (as much so as she could, half trapped in those wanton locks), her muzzle slipping down until her forehead was pressed to his flesh.
His returned touch was warm to her skin, starkly contrasting against the cool rush of water, as he brushed the locks away, his whispers enticing a rush of heat to her belly, as she grinned against his skin. "Oh, you plan to try and behave yourself . . . and here I was hoping for a fun bath time experience with you." She teased, letting her fangs scrape lightly against his flesh as she spoke, wanting to hear that primal growl he always let loose when she did. She pulled away before his intoxicating presence could pull her from the task at hand, laughing as she tossed back some of the combed through locks, that forelock tumbling away from his eyes.
This time the press of her muzzle was against his, cheek to cheek as she nuzzle him, "I appreciate it. Thank you, Gareth." It was a softer tone than she typically used when she played with him, a subtle continued proof that her advances weren't just for random nights of fun, but for the stallion himself. For him at her side forever. Whether it was helping her control her locks, or raising small children with draconic wings, and blanketed faces, downy soft fur growing in rich feathering over darkened honey bodies. For gathering herbs together in companionable silence, to his gentle lessons on what each one did, as she listened eagerly to the knowledge he had. To nights snuggled together and just existing. She wanted it all . . . with him.
She smiled as he assisted with shifting through part of her mane, mentioning dividing the sorted locks to the other side of her neck, once they'd cleared the debris and set the curls right. She nodded eagerly, gently lifting and flipping the bit around her face she had completed in such a directed manner. "This part is mostly done. Not a lot, but at least it keeps the majority of it from my eyes so I can see what I'm doing . . . though, judging by the amount of dirt and dust coming from you . . . we were both in the need for a bath." She teased, motioning to where the water was still running dark, while his sock was becoming noticeably lighter, her expression light hearted and playful as she teased him, even as she began working her way through untangling a lock of curl, checking that there was no debris left trapped in the strands, before tossing it to the other side of his neck, and repeating the process with the next curl in line.
this club has got to be the most pretentious thing
since i thought you and me
i am imagining, a dark lit place, or your place or my place
well i'm not paralyzed, but i seem to be struck by you
i want to make you move, because you're standing still
if your body matches what your eyes can do
you'll probably move right through, me on my way to you.
“Come hither, Gareth,” the smoky familiar tones spoke to the young colt. A strong woman who wore her age like a cloak of wisdom stood in the running water, motioning for him to move closer. Her silvered hair, normally bound with leather, flowed freely now, curls tangling in wild waves. “These old bones don’t hold up to hair washing like they used to.”
The boy tilted his head in confusion, his own mane bound in small braids. “Why not cut it, then, MawMaw?” He wrinkled his nose a bit, thinking about how heavy it must be to have so much length gathered up on her crest all day long. Still, he did as was asked of him, as he always had, and moved to his grandmother’s side.
“Because, child,” she said, mirth in her lyrics and a bright twinkle in her eyes. “Our hair holds all of our experiences. Every thought you’ve ever had from the day of your birth to the day you return to the earth. There is nothing so much entirely you than the hair that grows from you.” The crone spoke as if that were all the explanation he would need, though the colt was still bubbling with questions.
The feeling of Pangaea pressing her muzzle to his cheek pulled the stallion from his reverie. She thanked him softly, gratitude wrapped in each word. It was no small feat for the warrior to ask for assistance, and to do so as eagerly and openly as she had done with him in this moment meant the world. He returned the gesture, gentle with his touch.
“Of course,” he purred, baritone lyrics rumbling through his chest. “Ask the world of me and you shall have it.” Though such words could have been flights of fancy or beautiful dreams, Gareth spoke them with sincerity. He had decided that if he were going to pursue the mare, he would do so with every ounce of his being. No expense spared, no stone unturned. Dedication at its finest, if she would let him.
He worked diligently, letting the saurian woman take the lead on how to handle her hair. The thick layers of cream were not so much unlike the hair his grandmother once had, save for their length and colour. Somehow, the warrior before him had managed to maintain a length that seemed impossible for any one creature to have. Perhaps that was just part of her lineage- Saurians must have continued to grow their locks all their lives. Most equines had a point in which their manes and tails would grow no longer. Gareth had reached that point some time ago, and had since found comfort in the weight of his thick locks.
The crisp spring morning provided beautiful music, the melody of birds in the surrounding trees, the sun against his dark pelt a blessed warmth against the frigid chill of the river. He would be grateful for when they finally finished their trek home and he could settle before a fire and rest properly. Noor would be pleased to have his friend home again, he was sure.
Though the elk still held his reservations about Pangaea, he no longer spoke ill of her, and that had been a vast improvement to their living situation. The medic wondered briefly what would be waiting for him at home, once his bonded companion knew that Pangaea would be staying. He supposed the cervidae had been holding out for the time when the warrior would be on her way, but he perhaps would not be so surprised to find that she would not be moving on, nor did Gareth have any intentions of pushing her out the door.
The brute chuckled, continuing to pull small debris from the maiden’s locks. “How long has it been since you last were pampered?” he teased, lipping at the crest of her neck and tickling her with his whiskers.
i hold on so nervously to me and my drink
i wish it was cooling me, but so far, has not been good
it's been shitty and i feel awkward, as i should
There was something about the stallion, that always had Pangaea wanting to reach towards him. Something that hummed to her through her bones. That desire to keep him close. But . . . suddenly this felt like another obstacle, another monumental moment in their relationship, her muzzle touched to his cheek, and his acceptance to assisting her with something so simple as ensuring her hair was once more in proper order seemed to weave that red thread even tighter around them - connecting them with stronger, and stronger knots. Entangling their lives together.
The soft purr of his baritone seemed to rumble straight through her, and it took all her own self control to not say screw it to bath time, and instead screw . . . no, bad thoughts, bad thoughts. Though, not really bad, just at the wrong time . . . wrong moment. Instead, she gave into the desire to lean into that rumble, nuzzling her muzzle against his neck, smiling softly at his promise of offering her the world, "The world sounds a lot to handle . . ." She replied softly, shaking her head, before brushing her muzzle briefly against his as she pulled away, "I'm certainly not so demanding as that . . ." But if she was being honest, all she would ever want to ask of him, would be for him. Him for forever. To never leave his side, to stay in Denocte, into his home that had also become hers over the course of the last few seasons.
But focus, focus; onto her hair. She let him assist with those curls, carefully untangling the long curls, separating the finished sections to the other side of her neck once they were done. With the two of them working together, it was certainly moving far faster than if she was doing it alone, as he assisted in pulling small pieces of missed debris from the locks, even as she carefully worked each curl into a perfect, clean ringlet. She pauses at his question, smiling at the softness of his touch, before thinking on her answer.
Pampered? There's a moment's of pause, of uncertainty on her face. What did it actually mean to be pampered? She had the occasional quick bath, to clean and retie her hair back . . . But to truly be pampered. "I guess that would depend on your definition of pampered. My people aren't the most . . . demonstrative . . . The most pampering I've ever had . . . has likely been these past few months with you." She admitted after a moment, her head ducking faintly, embarrassed to admit it. "Prior to that . . ." She hesitates, she really does. "Back home, it's a much more dangerous world . . . no time for pampering, really. I was considered silly for even caring about my appearance beyond making sure my mane and tail where bound back. That I would wash it regularly to try to keep it clean was considered too time consuming, too much time out in the open, for a predator to see me."
This is the part where she really hesitates, "First leaving my home world . . . the place I ended up . . . . " A ripple, a shiver carries down her spine, remembering the chains, the cold touch of steel. The tranquilizers when she had to be moved from her containment unit. While the unit itself was nice enough - enough space, and natural with real grass, and trees . . . it had been a cage to disguise the experimentation, the tests . . . the pain when she was deemed 'behaving dangerous. "There was . . . nothing pampering about that place." Duellum, she was certain; had met his own end in that location. His own death. The remaining raptor from her and Rex's pack. She turned her head, burrowing her head against his neck, the damp, now clean curls moving more easily, now that they were no longer tangled together.
She breaths in his scent, finding that sense of grounding, of comfort, of safety in him that she'd started associating with him for so, so long now. "No, I'd say the most pampering I've ever received has been with you . . . I suppose my only option is to stay as close to you as I can from now on." She teased gently, breathing those words against his neck as she leaned into the steadiness of his muscular built, "For as long as you'll have me of course." Maybe she did need the world . . . after all, Gareth had become the center of her world many, many moons ago.
She pulled her muzzle away once more, turning towards the shore to collect one of the gold bands, carefully clipping it back into place against her neck, containing those long curls. The next section was very loosely braided, or twisted, helping to draw up the length more, before being clipped into place by the next couple of bands, until her mane was once more contained in her usual style. Turning towards her tail, she repeated the process, wrapping her tail hair around the long tail base itself, the bands clipping the hair properly into place, so that the locks wouldn't come loose from their confinement. Once her hair was back in proper order, contained with only the long curls of her forelock left out to frame around her face and jaw, did she turn back to the stallion, playfully poking him in the chest with her muzzle. "Your turn. You've got enough muck being removed by the water to prove you're just as caked in the smoke from that bonfire as I was. When was the last time you were pampered, dear Gareth?" The mare teased, moving towards him to nuzzle herself up against his body, picking at his mane playfully from where it was bound up. "Even a fair bit of your white markings look more grayed out than ivory." She added, before playfully using her weight to push him deeper into the Rapax River, careful to make sure he would fall into the shadows, but still deep enough that the waters moving past would strip more of the dust, and smoke from the fur of his body, playfully following him into the deeper waters.
Compassion was a two way street after all . . . and if he was willing to pamper her, she'd return to the favor . . . How else would she make sure he remained aware that the devotion went both ways. She might not be able to give him the world, so she'd done the next best thing; and she had given him all of her heart so long ago.
this club has got to be the most pretentious thing
since i thought you and me
i am imagining, a dark lit place, or your place or my place
well i'm not paralyzed, but i seem to be struck by you
i want to make you move, because you're standing still
if your body matches what your eyes can do
you'll probably move right through, me on my way to you.
The stallion focused on the task at hand, carefully weeding through the bits of debris still wound in her hair. Goodness, how had she managed to get so much foliage and various insects tied up in there when her hair was bound? It must have been an age since she last felt comfortable and safe enough to detangle her mane. Her next words confirmed as much to him, about her life being not the most courteous to those who decided their health went beyond just basic survival. He deliberately chose to ignore the admission that his actions had been the closest to pampering that she had experienced, though his mind filed that away for later with the determination that he would show her what true pampering was in the future.
His audits flicked as she spoke about the place she lived when she left her home. No, not where she lived. Where she ‘ended up’. The way her lyrics quieted, the hesitation that trembled in her voice told him that this was not a good place. Wherever she had gone clearly left an impact upon her, and he felt the pang in his chest, the desire to protect her from those memories and to make sure she knew those days were over, whatever they were.
He gently pressed his muzzle to the base of her spine where he had been detangling, trying to offer his presence as she curled into him. They stood for a long moment like that, the chill of the river pulling at their limbs and the light trill of morning birds as the rest of the forest began to awaken. Summer would be here soon and the pleasant mornings like this would soon be a distant memory, replaced by muggy heat and lazy insects.
Gareth arched his neck and pulled Pangaea in closely, teasing her only slightly with the seriousness of his tone. “Forever is a long time, I hope you know, because I do not see us parting any sooner than the end of time itself.” The smell of the saurian woman enveloped him, and he knew that those words held a ring of truth to them. He wasn’t sure how he knew them, but he did.
Noor of course would tell him it was the certainty of puppy love, and perhaps there was an element of that. After all, his heart was still aching from the loss, the betrayal of Salome. In contrast, Pangaea was like a spring bloom, a breath of the freshest mountain air. Though Gareth wouldn’t quite admit it yet, she had brought life back to the medic. She had given him a clear purpose when he most needed one. The brute was determined to keep her near him for as long as she was willing.
Amber hues watched as she parted, moving to the shore to collect the various trinkets that were utilized to keep her curls contained. A soft smile spread across his muzzle as he watched her carefully wrap up her hair into several fashions, though he figured it was more for function than looks, and bind them back with delicate gold bands. No sooner had she finished this task did her gaze turn to him, a devilish glint in her eye.
A booming laugh rumbled from Gareth’s chest as she nudged him along the riverbank towards an overhang of trees, pressing him into deeper waters. “Fair, fair,” he remarked. “I never considered pampering for myself. Too much work to do, you know. What with beautiful women swooping down from the skies to gobble up beloved companions and in need of medical attention, herbs to be mixed and courts looking after.”
He bumped her playfully with his muzzle so that Pangaea might know that his words were a gentle thing, and he held no grudge against her. His thick tail flicked back and forth as he smiled. “I think you’ll find my hair is quite different to yours, but you are welcome to try to tidy it up as best you can.”
