Odgen stood upon the short, golden grass of the plains, stocky and solid and still. One feathered hind leg and hoof were cocked in a restful position, the whole of him relaxed and at ease--all except for his face. His eyes, solid green like spring and glowing with an inner light, stared out of a brooding frown that twisted his lips even beyond the usual near-snarl caused by his protruding fangs. Combined with the antlers and the brawny look, he didn't give off any indication of being approachable or suitable for company, but neither was he looking for either. In fact, the whole of his attention seemed fixated upon a point in the southern distance, up toward the peak of the mountain range that split the region at its center. Verenor Peak.
He couldn't recall anymore when or where exactly he'd heard of the location, or of the beings who presumably resided up there in the skies over the locale, but the tale persisted. Gods, he'd been told, a number of them that created this world in their image and watched over the various life forms who embodied their doctrines. The concept was wholly new to him, and one that he still wasn't sure he could subscribe to. If there were deities watching over him, how was it things had been so rough growing up? Why hadn't they interfered? Why hadn't they said or done anything to promise the challenges he endured would be rewarded later?
The burly stallion gave a violent snort and shook his great antlered head, sending his thick mane flailing around him as the restful posture was broken by a steadying step to the side. What did it matter if there were actually gods up there? Whatever reach they hadn't certainly didn't extend toward him--which meant he could only rely on himself, a truth he had long ago realized and accepted. "They can't fix everything." The gruff grumble rolled out of him under his breath, a quiet blasphemy for the wholly devout but one Ogden believed firmly in. He wouldn't fall victim to the thought his life was dictated by another. He wouldn't lay at the hooves of some unseen force begging for intercession. He would do, whatever it was that he could, to make things happen on his own.
It was why, as he turned away from the mountain, putting its looming presence behind him, he set his eyes downward, toward the grasses and what grew among them. Winter would be fast approaching, and with it many plants would die and fall dormant--including those he often found medicinal uses for. Healing was his own brand of magic, of changing fates and making his own story, and it gave him a certain sense of power that grounded him and gave him purpose. With heavy, lumbering strides, Ogden began a slow, methodical search of the area immediately around him, little bits of endless dirt raining down from the earth piled upon his rump with each step. If he found anything, great; if he didn't, maybe he could slip away before the quiet was disturbed by unwanted company.
06-05-2022, 09:31 AM - This post was last modified: 06-05-2022, 09:31 AM by Ogden
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
She must be doing something right . . . of that she was beginning to suspect. The ability to come and go from House Atraer hadn't been so easy prior to her recent escapades to present herself in a more favorable light to her father. Not that he ever seemed to be looking, watching, acknowledging her. But she was trying - to show she was just as good of a daughter of Atraer as her siblings, her sisters. Just as worthy of love, affection . . . attention. What she wouldn't give to feel his muzzle between her ears, praising her for a job well done. Just . . . just once in her life. So, in recent days she'd been trying harder to be presentable, a proper lady . . . and while the restrictions felt looser . . . where they really looser, or did he just not care as much as she had originally hoped? Was it easier walking out of the manor now, because she wasn't trying to be sneaky about it? Had his disinterest really been so severe that even her presence as she would come and go would be ignored?
It was a massacre of her self-esteem, as her limbs carried her further, and further from her father's properties. Was it so wrong for her to crave acceptance, care, and the feeling of being liked? Sure, she had Addy - her brother never failed to make her feel important. But . . . but ever since her mother left her to her father's care and tutelage when she was just a couple of months old . . . the feeling of love, support, home that her mother's people had instilled in her had faded to the dismal mess that had her constantly searching out acceptance from other sources. She'd never be able to thank the downtrodden of the alleyways enough for the safety, and acceptance they had offered her when she was still a young foal and had stumbled into their shadows during an attempt to run from home and return to her mother's caravan.
She hadn't even known if the Caravan was still in Solterra, let alone Novus at all. But she'd been young, desperate; and they had showered her in affection. Something as simple as a welcoming touch that soothed her mane back had her returning to those dark alleys. But, would her father ever truly be aware of the distance he had created between him, and her? She, and the rest of the family. Outside of Addy, the rest of the Atraer's saw her as nothing more than a vile outsider. Filthy blood. Unkept, uncivilized, soiled by her mother's bloodlines . . . or was that simply how she read into it, so desperate for any sort of attention, she'd even make up negative attention. Was the negativity all in her head, so she wouldn't have to acknowledge that the entire family (beyond her elder brother) wouldn't even notice if she failed to return home one night?
These thoughts were what carried her now, beyond the walls of the Day Court buildings, and into the desert beyond. Carried her even through the desert, to the lands in between the courts. She was heading west. What a silly concept, to head west - wasn't that the idea when you were to start a new life, a new chance. Go west, young man; haven't you been told? She wasn't after the whiskey, the gold; and certainly not the women, however. But a new start, oh how often that had made headlines in her dreams. Dancing beneath the stars, their brilliance reflected in her eyes, as a bonfire would throw light around. Caravans of vibrant colors pulled into a circle for the night, laughter and merriment as far as the eye could see, the ear could hear. Singing, dancing; freedom.
Her gaze turned away, further to the west, as if imagining it all coming into existence before. But mirages never last long in the desert. She kicks up her heels, painting the sky with her dark tail, the pale creams and ivory of her mane - carrying her further, and further, from Solterra's center, the heart of the Court. Away from the confinement, the perfect daughter who would never be seen, never be acknowledged. The empty, cold hallways of her wing in the manner. The second-hand furniture in her room, because she was an afterthought. A future of captivity behind the fake smile of an 'upper-class' woman. Just for a little while, she could escape it all, right? And so she continued her run, the sand giving way to dry grasses, and brush, her breath leaving her in a slight pant as she just let herself be, to be in that moment, wild and free with the wind.
It made her gypsy heart sing, but not even she could run forever, and slowly her pace slowed from a run to a canter, to a trot, and finally to a walk, her breath still leaving her in small puffs of air, her eyes half-closed as she heads deeper into the plains that would eventually merge with Viride Forest, Dawn Court - she'd been there once before. For the Spring Festival . . . The sound of heavy steps draws her attention up, and emerald eyes turn towards the sound, to the giant that trudged the brush and grass a ways away, dirt piled onto his hindquarters, flaking off with each step. How the rest of it stayed centered there; she'd assume it could only be magic - but it was his actions that confused her . . . She approached with some hesitation, her steps cautious to the unfamiliar, large behemoth (though not as large as Jarek, she had to admit), "Uhm, excuse me - but are you looking for something? Do . . . do you need some help?" She offered with a shy, but friendly smile, tilting her head curiously at him, "I do apologize if I'm bothering you - I mean; but it looks like you're searching the grass . . . and, if you needed, or wanted any help . . . ." Her words fail her, and she has to bury the embarrassment that threatens to emerge, "Uhm, My name is Swahili, Swahili Atraer, of Solterra." She added after that momentary pause as if that would validate her offer any - as if it would keep the odd stallion from dismissing her . . .
Not that it would upset her too much if he did, she was rather used to being ignored and dismissed after all - it's why she'd wandered away from home.
Uhm, excuse me - Ogden didn't even wait for the words to finish being spoken before his ears twitched and his large head lifted, angled in the direction the rogue voice came from. Part of him cursed his poor hearing as his green eyes alighted on a timid looking mare who appeared to be battling some mixture of apprehension and curiosity, a figure he assumed he should have heard approach. It wasn't like she was the smallest thing he'd ever seen--no, she did appear rather average in size, though noticeably smaller than he was--and seemed perfectly capable of making some noise as she traveled. Maybe he was just too focused and had let his guard down?
He hated to think about it.
A breath, short but heavy, rushed out of his lungs in an audible sigh as the mare stumbled through her words, nosing into his business while also offering help--something that admittedly did surprise him--followed by an afterthought of an introduction. The look upon her pale face appeared expectant, anticipatory, waiting for whatever response he would give to anything she had said. Instead, Ogden remained silent and stared directly at her, boring into her with his furrowed frown and silently testing her mettle. He expected at any moment for her to shy away from the scrutiny or even go so far as to leave his company--something he also expected to happen anyway. It was too much the norm for him at this point; it would have been foolish for him to expect anything different.
But he wasn't as cold and callous as he presented, no matter how much he wished others would believe he was. The poor thing had made an effort to speak to him, and even though she looked ready for the earth to swallow her up and take her away from the interaction Ogden felt an actual, legitimate response could be...warranted. "Hmph." The sound rolled from his muzzle in a succinct hum, his tone still maintaining its gruff quality as he turned to face her fully and went on, "Ogden. A medic. I was looking for medicines." He didn't have a fancy title or place to attach to his name, but his short response worked to mimic the mare's introduction, though with his usual blunt spin. "Actually plants to turn into medicines." No sense in getting the girl confused if she wasn't yet aware of how medicines actually worked. The last thing he wanted was some poor soul thinking medicines could be found in ready order naturally in the wilds and to ingest something without it being vetted by a professional. Please, don't be a fool, girl.
Her words replayed over in his head, and belatedly they seemed to register. Swahili...of Solterra. "Solterra, you say." Hadn't he heard that name before? Or was it something similar he'd heard instead? It was difficult for him to determine when he lacked any deep care for the answer. "Where is that, exactly?" Ogden assumed he knew, or at least that he could find the location without any outside assistance if he really put his mind to it. But when he was actively trying to avoid others, it felt pertinent to take every handout he could to achieve his solitary goal.
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The mare tilted her head ever so slightly, pale mane falling into emerald eyes momentarily, even as his own ears twitch, his head lifted, turning towards her. Gee, how big is this guy? She had to wonder as he seemed to come to full height, turning towards her - his own greens eyes seeming to size her up. He wasn't the largest beast she'd come across, but with his head among the grasses, she hadn't assumed he was quite so tall. His breath left him, short - heavy; and instantly she worried that she was about to be sent away. Dismissed. A troublesome, unwanted extra on a solo adventure. Would he be kinder about it than her own father? Would he at least acknowledge her, send her away - or would he merely turn away, disappear, ignore her. The answer appeared to be somewhere in the middle as he remained silent, but his attention was focused directly on her, boring into her. So, she in return felt that fire in her soul light. Her stance shifted, a little more sure, her head raising just a little higher. She might hesitate in the face of meeting someone new - cautious in case they lean into more negative emotions, reactions.
But she was a desert rose that could stand up against the test of time, the raging winds of the sand storm, the searing heat of the sun. No stallion's direct attention would set her off kilter. She was stronger than that. She was the soul of a gypsy, the fire of a desert dancer; and damn it, she wasn't just going to be chased of. Then he left a sound, gruff, as he turned to face her fully - and she's waiting, prepared for him to verbally chance her away - to tell her to get lost. Ogden. A medic. She blinks, shocked, surprised, having NOT been expecting that response, but then her features shift, a bright, and vibrant smile, dipping her crown just slightly in greeting. And then he provided the answers - looking for medicine. Medicinal herbs then? Instantly her gaze was curious, eager, wondering, "What herbs are you looking for? I know what a few of them look like - I keep a small stash on hand for home-treatment. Easier to chew on a stem if I'm not feeling well, than try to bother my father for medical attention."
"Are you looking for anything in particular, or just seeing what there is. If you tell me what you are looking for, maybe tell me what it looks like, I can at least help?" Again, the sense of just wanting to be wanted companion arose. At his question however, she grinned, "Yes, Solterra, it's to the east - if you travel far enough through the plains, you'll find yourself at the cusp of a desert, the heat, the sand, that's the border of Soltera. Travel far enough into it - you'll eventually find the heart of the Day Court. I'd be more than happy to offer my services as a guide, should you ever need it? It's really, really easy to get turned around in the desert - especially if a sand storm starts to sneak up on your heals." She added, as if to encourage him to make friends with her, to admire her company (was it so shameful to just want to have friends who enjoy having you around?)
Ogden blinked. She surprised him. Most often, he associated the chatty folks with being herd horses, social creatures with frivolous wants and desires, with little grounding in practical arts like medicines. To hear from someone who approached him so openly that medicine was a familiar concept turned that perception on its ear momentarily, stalling any immediate response, though of course his mind filled with question after question. What exactly did she take for medicine? Was it actual medicine or simply something tasty plucked from the earth? Where had she learned this knowledge and could the source be vetted somehow? No sooner did the surprise slip away from his features, a heavy skepticism replaced it.
His lack of a response gave the oddly friendly mare enough time to jump back in with an answer to his question, and he vaguely listened to her describe a desert locale known as Solterra. Day Court? Ah, the herds. That's right. He had heard mention of that before, the peculiar association of the equines who lived in the area claiming a slightly different hierarchy than Ogden was accustomed to hearing about. It seemed odd to the varnish brute, who much preferred his own company anyway, but the way they lived didn't particularly matter to him--not when he had no intention of diving into their midst in any legitimate way.
A gruff, "Hmph," came out as a near-snort following Swahili's offer to guide him through the desert if he ever decided to visit, but he quickly shut down the thought. "I'm not going there." No, it was best to avoid any potential negative reactions from the delicate little butterflies who called those "courts" home...though as he studied Swahili again, he couldn't help wondering how it was she didn't fall into the same category. Deciding to test the knowledge she claimed to have--and appease his own worries--Ogden shifted a step closer, a string of dirt raining down from his haunches, and tilted his antlered head at her. "I'm not looking for anything specific," his deep voice answered, coarse but reluctantly curious. "What do you know that grows here?"
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
Okay, maybe it wasn't her? Maybe this stallion really was just more on the antisocial and dismissive side? Thought . . . didn't he know horses were meant to be herd animals? They pack together, for safety, for numbers, for strengths. Together, the whole is mightier than the solo sort of thing. Or that's what the books she has read always said - and when you live in an isolated wing of a massive mansion and only really saw one other individual who lived his life in study - you tended to study too. Though Addy studied to take over for their father one day as Heir to house Atraer, whereas Swa did it purely to learn, to read, to pass the time.
But she did feel the slight tinge of pride in her chest at the realization she had surprised this stallion. Of course, she was well-read, she was a daughter of a proud house, and it was her duty (her desperation) to make him proud (to get him to notice her). Still, he seemed so hesitating, stalling, as if lost in his own thoughts. She was carrying this conversation - but then, that surprise slowly left his features, and the look that came up had her hide prickling with displeasure. That looked oddly like skepticism and lots of it.
She'd just have to prove it. She wouldn't be bullied into running away with her tail between her legs. He was definitely a sour fellow, perhaps he needed a little sunshine, hmm? And so she stayed, she offered more information (if only to prove she did know what she talked about). And then offering to even lead the way if he should care to see it. His quick dismissal however had her blinking in surprise, with a rough snort, "Well, alright then. Perhaps be a little gentler in your quick dismissal, hmm? It's not like the desert world is that bad." She retorted with a small frown, assuming his issues would have to be with the sand and heat. After all, who wouldn't want to visit the different landmarks? Even if for only trading purposes?
Horses were meant to be herd animals, remember? When he spoke again, it was with a step closer to her, and she ignores his curious tilt to his head, to instead watch the dirt fall from his haunches again. She really needed to figure out what that was about. It had to be magic right? Maybe? I'm not looking for anything specific, her head jumped back up before he asked if she knew what grows in the plains. She pauses briefly, before nodding after a moment. "I know a few . . . There was a book, back at the manor about plains herbs, and their uses. I made sure to memorize at least some of the basic ones that seemed the most important to keep on hand, and wouldn't require a trained hand to use."
Her gaze has left him, looking around before seeing what would appear to be a simple patch of orange flower-like plants. Immediately she motioned for him to follow, pointing them out with her nose, "These ones, I remember, I collect them myself when I notice I'm low. They're some sort of milkweed, not sure the type. Named after an insect I think? Moth? Butterfly? Something. Anyway, the roots can be used in them for coughing or lung issues. You can also apply them to wounds, either by chewing them first, or drying them into a powder. But I've not used them for that. Mostly it's for if I get caught in a sand storm and the sand hurts my throat." She explains, before looking around again.
While in some of the patches of flowers, she knew another one to look for, the odd purple flower with the giant cone-like center. Finding it, she blossomed into a smile, immediately picking it telekinetically to hold out to him, "This one too, has a lot of use in the desert, as it can be used as an antidote for anything with a venomous bite or sting: snakes, and scorpions. I've also read that it can be burnt to help with the distemper disease." She added thoughtfully. "Most of the ones I remember best are flowers, so you'll have to bare with me while I remember what they look like. I know spiderwort is around here somewhere, small flower, three petals almost like at triang- Ah, there it is! This one, you can crush the leaves into a poultice, and it treats insect bites and stings."
She hesitates at this point, her ears falling back apologetically, "Those are the only ones I know well enough to identify though . . . I get most of my herbs from different dealers in the alley; these ones I can come collect myself because they're flowers and easier for me to find - and quicker to grab." Her ears perk forward, remembering how he had said he was a medic, "Do you know any others though? I'd love to be able to learn more. The books I've read aren't very descriptive, after all; and never seem to agree on what is good for what." She asked with wide, hopeful eyes once more turned up to him, "I promise I won't be in the way, either! Plus, any excuse to not go home just yet is always welcome." She'd rather be in his less than enthusiastic company than isolated alone in her wing of the manor once more.
Hm. Ogden had to give her credit. She didn't flinch or shy away from his intensity, and instead seemed to rise to meet it, holding herself with a pride and confidence her initial impression hadn't hinted at. Though what might originally have impressed him immediately went the other way following her remark upon his dismissal of her home. A brow quirked over a green eye and his expression soured a little further, nostrils flaring. The desert world. Right. Of course she must have thought it was the locale that repulsed him, not necessarily its inhabitants. How was she to know his interactions with others throughout his life had thus far been less than stellar, and actually very discouraging? No, she'd probably never been through that, wouldn't believe it possible if he tried to tell her. Let her think what she will. It wasn't his problem to fix.
But again, she surprised him. While her admission of a basic knowledge of medicinal plants wasn't in itself all that encouraging, the fact she followed it up in a quick demonstration was. Odgen followed Swahili first with his cynical stare as she traipsed over to a nearby flowering plant--Butterfly Milkweed--and divulged what she knew in an informative, succinct explanation. By the second plant, the sour look on the antlered stallion's face began to lose its tartness, and by the third he actually moved to join her beside it, staring down at the Spiderwort and back up at Swa with a new curiosity in his glowing eyes. It might not have been much in the grand scheme of things, but this young mare wasn't some cloistered, ignorant fool like he believed many in the region's herds to be. She had a practical mind, a memory for useful things, and wasn't helpless as a babe.
As a clear afterthought, having left the offered purple flower floating at first, he plucked it out of the lady's hold with a look and brought it closer while listening to her prattle on about some alleys at home, an eagerness to learn more, an unexpected desire to learn from him if he would allow it. Ogden glanced sidelong at Swahili again, warning bells ringing within the recesses of his mind. This was a bad idea. No one desired to be around him--for any length of time. Usually the antlers and the fangs were enough to drive others away at a first glance, but if that somehow failed then his brusque attitude made sure of their departure. It was smarter--safer--for him this way, to keep that distance between himself and others before the inevitable loss left him heartsick.
And yet... And yet... He hated that some part of him continued to wonder, to question, whether things might be different this time. If it could be possible for someone to be tolerant of his coarse edges and see past what others had run from in the past. His eyes narrowed as the internal struggle continued, snorting as he stood taller, gathering himself and hardening his heart against what he had every confidence would happen. "They never agree," he explained, his tone gruff and direct, "because the uses of the plants overlap. It depends on the location, what can be found there, or what the user has determined works best." Was he really beginning the lessons now? He made a face, cursed himself for entertaining the girl's curiosity while being convinced it would be fleeting at best. "You mentioned home. Will your absence cause concern?" If he was going to do this, he most certainly didn't want it painting a target on his back for some overprotective family members to come looking for the monster keeping their precious girl from home.
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The interactions were difficult - less due to the stallion himself, and far more in relation to just how difficult it was to read him. Particularly when it came to the past experiences she did have with other individuals. Half-sisters who had a tendency to treat her with the coolness of those who believed themselves to be better. A Father and stepmother who seemed to forget she even existed. Guards who did the bare minimum job in regards to her care. An existence was nothing more than an unwanted 'extra' in a household she never truly felt a part of. Perhaps that was why she immediately assumed he had dismissed the land. Why she didn't even consider the inhabitants to be his issue - because when it came to the way that Swahili was raised, her isolation had led her to know so few. The ones she knew the best were the outcasts like her. The alley-folk who hid in the shadows and kept to themselves. A debutante she was never to be.
But then a task was presented, and while she felt like she could never show enough to what would likely be useful in these plains, she found herself quietly trying to show she wasn't absolutely pathetic. It was a mixture of the desire to be helpful, and the desperate need for any attention - but in particular positive attention that came from proving her own worth. She moved from one plant to another, again explaining what little she felt on the next, but as she approached the third, and he moved towards her, the mare paused in her explanation to look up at the dirt-ridden stallion, and for a moment, a flush of pride that she certainly must be doing something right. His silent stare from a distance had been broken, and while she certainly could never know enough. She was proud of what little she had been able to share nonetheless.
When he suddenly began to speak, her gaze had jumped straight to him, tilting her head in curiosity when he explained that the writers of the books would never agree. But despite her confusion over that aspect, she didn't interrupt, listening instead when he told her of the uses for the plant overlapping - of varients based on location, of the best plants for what, in any area. She slowly nodded, before his next question had her pausing, hesitating, the instant reassurances on her tongue that her family was normal, that it was all normal, all okay, all fine. But then, the thought of the actual wording of his question came to her mind. Will your absence cause concern? And at that moment Swa's muzzle briefly opened and closed, once - and then twice.
And she found herself hesitating, the reassurances dying on her tongue. Would her absence cause concern? Would they even notice her absence? She snuck out from home, not out of necessity, but to try and mute the realization that they didn't care. That she wasn't noticed, wasn't paying attention to. While Addy certainly may notice - even he had his own things to worry about (and his own rabbit holes to disappear down). But . . . The desert rose felt that fire in her soul wilt like the frail petals of a blossom left in the sun for too long. "No," She admits after she realized she'd hesitated for too long, "No . . . eve if they were to notice, to realize that I was absent from my father's estate . . . no, there would be no cause of concern, and they do not usually realize I was away until I have returned. Provided I do not embarrass my father's name . . . . No, my absence will not cause concern." She stated with a shake of her head, forcing the smile back to her face.
"You mentioned that it depends on the user determines what works best, as to what plant to use for what? What are some of your thoughts on the plants around here then? How many were I right about?" She asked, eager to pull the conversation away from her family, in case he would start to question any of her thoughts, her comments. The talk, the discussion of medicine was certainly safer, "I'm curious as well, were you digging in the dirt earlier, or? It's just, you have a pile of it atop your back." She explained curiously, to the antlered stallion, with a muzzle full of fangs - as if it was the dirt on his back that was the only thing odd about him.
She paused, seemingly struggling to answer the rather simple--at least by Ogden's estimation--question regarding her family and whether an absence would raise alarm. A stubborn creature by nature, the stallion merely watched in silence with the milkweed twirling slowly in the air while she worked things out, able to see that there clearly was an answer floating around behind her eyes though it was anyone's guess what the hold up was. His eyes narrowed again as he studied her, trying to puzzle out what this elusive answer would be, but most of the concern he'd anticipated being told about was markedly absent from the answer she did end up giving.
No? That didn't seem right. He wanted to be skeptical of the negative response, unable to imagine that an equine in a herd--or court, or troupe, or whatever they called themselves--wouldn't have at least a handful of relatives or acquaintances searching for them if they managed to miss an appointment or kept irregular hours. But the way Swahili said it... Her earnest disappointment was undeniable. This wasn't an easy truth she was sharing, but the apparent spirit he'd already seen in her wouldn't have dimmed like this over a lie. No one could be that skilled at lying. No, she was telling the truth...which meant her family wasn't all that concerned with whatever business she made her own.
He drew in a breath, trying all over again to steel himself. This isn't your concern. He'd made it a point a long time ago not to invite others into his life, to make their problems his, because of how often and quickly they turned away from him. Granted, that usually happened right off the bat, and that certainly wasn't the case for this interaction thus far, but- No, he'd made this promise to himself, he needed to stick to it. For his own safety. And yet...she was so quick, so eager, to turn the conversation back around toward the plants, toward his impressions and opinions, and damn it if it didn't tug at his stony heart just a little bit.
Ogden lowered his smoky green gaze to the spiderwort and after a second slowly released the breath he'd taken in, preparing himself to answer--until another question followed the first. A brow quirked over his eyes as he shot the desert mare a rather irksome look but he snorted, hiding a quiet huff of laughter beneath it. "No," he stated, deciding to answer the personal question first--in the most impersonal way he could. "It's just how my body is." Not even he was sure anymore what had caused it, or when it first became such a pronounced mound of dirt upon his haunches, but he had long ago stopped thinking about it. It was just a part of him, same as his antlers and fangs.
As for his opinion on the local flora...if he was going to do this, then he needed to be honest about it. "To be frank, I'm still learning what grows here," Ogden explained, a little of the hardened edge he liked to create in his voice beginning to soften. "I haven't lived in this region for very long, and there is still much of it I've yet to see. I don't know if I can properly answer until I have." But maybe he could give her something. He gestured once at the spiderwort by inclining his head, while the milkweed was moved behind him to tuck the stem into the dirt on his rump for momentary safe keeping. "I do recognize this, however. We used a variant of this where I come from, a breeding ground for pests. Works just as you claim."
ooc; @Swahili Realizing belatedly that playing a medic means I'm gonna have to seriously brush up on my plant knowledge lol, bear with me
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
It was difficult, to even admit the little bit about her home that the one answer gave. But . . . his reaction was worse. THe way he stared her down, drawing a breath in, as if searching for the lie. Oh how she wished it was a lie. To go home and be wrapped up in an embrace. To feel an embrace, even. Had her father ever embraced her. Her gaze lowers, but she remains quiet, letting him settle his thoughts on what she would have revealed. And then, it's like quiet acceptance. Neither spoke of it, as if it was okay. Normal. And for a brief moment she wants to fight back, to scream how it wasn't fair, that she wanted more. She wanted to feel accepted, to be seen. Dear Zeus, she just wanted to be seen.
But she remains quiet, focusing instead on the plants, and then on him to ask about the dirt. A chance of momentary curiosity. The look he shot her had her smiling sheepishly, even as she nodded for him to tell her, too curious to be properly cowed, her ears perking when he state no, that it was how his body was, and she found her own muzzle dropping open curiously, suddenly filled with thousands of other questions, even as she took a moment to peer him over. The way his body was. With dirt upon his back, a mismatch set of fangs, and antlers as well.
He was your quinsential mountain man wasn't he? "One last question, and then I'll leave it be . . . for now . . . but, can you grow anything from it them?" She asked, suddenly eager with more curiosity, for a safer, more interesting topic then her own dismal home life. He did then offer her some information, or rather, information in regards to the lack of information. New to the land, and hadn't learned much. It made sense and she nodded, before perking up when he agreed with what she had to say about the spiderwort.
Her muzzle split into a vibrant smile, clearly pleased at the approval - even if from a virtual stranger. "Ogden?" She starts, hesitating on the question his name had been turned into, suddenly curious about something else, "You're . . . not part of any particular herd are you?" She finally asks, her voice quiet, "Most herd members carry some of the land's scent upon them. Day smell of spice, Dusk of the sea, Night of fire, and Dawn of nature . . . You're a vagabond, right?" She asks with out judgement, her attention on another aspect of all of this entirely, "What is it like, Ogden; to not be trapped with in the courts? I only have the faintest of memories . . . before I was left on my father's door step . . . Is it as freeing as I feel I remember it to be?"
