He knew he wasn't invited--barred from it personally by her mother, actually. But he had to catch Shaheen's chieftain ceremony somehow. So he crept through the trees as quietly as he could and climb up the tallest, closest one allowed. And between branches and leaves he squinted at the yellow blob that was her hair and snacked on a piece of fruit he'd swiped on his way over, grinning to himself. He was quieter in his footsteps than his father gave him credit for, and if he wanted to do something, well . . . there was no stopping him if he put his mind to it.
"With flaming swords from fluttering Waaaaaaar Death fights with its brethren once moooooreeeee Together we fight, together we stand, together we defeaaaaat We seek to make this sickness retreeeaaaattttt!"
"Maybe I'm just feeling generous tonight," was her only reply, combined with a sly look, one that may have held a little bit of malicious intent. That coupled with her all too usual smirk...yes, Shaheen was leering.
"Generous? You?" He couldn't help but laugh a little, letting his fingers entangle with her hair. "How fortunate for me. So...Shall we? Or are you content to lord over me still?" he asked with a cheeky look.
The mare froze when he mentioned exercise and leaving her be and that was when she shot him with a glare, "I get plenty of exercise whether or not you see it. Thank you. Last I recall you are the one that needed the exercise."
He snickered. "That battle was a stroke of luck," he retorted airily, rolling his shoulders with a pop. "I assure you this would not be the case if we fought now." There was most certainly a challenge behind his words; he didn't even bother hiding it.
And there he was, on stage, dancing to a beat he half-remembered, knives flashing as they were swept into the air, spinning almost in sync to the beat. the gargoyles were mesmerized and cheering, the applause a strange sound he hardly ever heard--praise. Now that was something he could get used to.
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