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Tags: soquili, horses, breedable pets, pet horses, familiars 

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[PRP] Gatsby and Calla

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.Tortured. .Pumpkin.

Backwoods Garbage

PostPosted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 4:03 pm


This is an AIM Log between Kaitaia's Gatsby and .Tortured. .Pumpkin.'s Calla.


Prancing around and trying out his moves, Gatsby missed the other stallion at first. As soon as he spotted him though, he immediantly stopped what he was doing and coughed, trying to regain back some of his dignity.

"Hello," he said with a polite and cordial nod. "How are you, old sport?"
PostPosted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 4:05 pm


Calla raised a brow at the other stallion, stifling a chuckle at the behavior. It would have been rude to poke fun of someone honing their skills. He nodded in greeting before slowly approaching.
The wind's language caused curiosity to rise in the stallion. Old? He was surely anything but! "I'm well, thank you." As he grew closer, he examined the male further, only to notice something by his mane. Could that be? No, not possible. But it was! The stallion wanted to burst out with questions but kept his cool. "My name is Calla. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

.Tortured. .Pumpkin.

Backwoods Garbage


.Tortured. .Pumpkin.

Backwoods Garbage

PostPosted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 4:05 pm


"Nothing to worry about. Calla was it?" Gatsby wondered if he'd seen him acting like a fool, but decided it was best not to say anything of the subject, especially if he wasn't going to bring it up himself.

Seemingly much cooler than he actually felt, Gatsby nodded to him. "I'm Gatsby. Pleasure to meet you, old sport."
PostPosted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 4:06 pm


He nodded, and didn't mention the prancing in fear of being rude. A rush of confusion flew through his head again as the phrase, 'old sport,' was repeated. Calla managed to overlook it when he realized himself staring at the flowers at the base of his mane. He quickly nodded in response to the stallion's introduction. "Yes, pleasure." He took no time to begin his line of questioning. "Pardon, but how, exactly, did you get those blossoms secured onto your head like that? Are they woven, perhaps, or even spliced or tied?" The stallion leaned closer for further inspection, perplexed.

.Tortured. .Pumpkin.

Backwoods Garbage


.Tortured. .Pumpkin.

Backwoods Garbage

PostPosted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 4:07 pm


"Hm? These flowers?" Gatsby looked a bit surprised when Calla stepped close to him, his nose right beside his ear. Usually it was only the mares that cared to ask about his flowers. Not that he minded being near this stallion; he was rather handsome.

"Ah, a pretty maiden wove them into my hair," he grinned, making a story up on the spot. He was good at that, Gatsby was. "She thought they would look nice in my mane. They do, don't they?"
PostPosted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 4:07 pm


Calla's brows knitted together. "Maiden, as in two-legger? I've heard stories of them before. I don't know how a mare could get those in there..." He nudged at one, checking its security. "Surely they need to be changed every so often? It'd be horrible if they were to rot in there." He nodded at the question. "Indeed they do... Now if I could just figure out how this works..." His mind was no longer on the stallion, but on how he may be able to adorn himself with the wonderful blossoms of his home. His mother would be so proud of him should he do that...

.Tortured. .Pumpkin.

Backwoods Garbage


.Tortured. .Pumpkin.

Backwoods Garbage

PostPosted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 4:09 pm


Gatsby looked at him sideways as he checked out the flowers tied into his mane. To be honest, he didn't know the trick himself. He had his little bird friend to thank for that. Using her deft beak, she was the one that wove the blossoms into his hair. That didn't sound nearly as romantic as a fair maiden, though so Gatsby refrained from telling that.

"You don't know how to do it? Well, old sport, it's really not all that hard!"
PostPosted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 4:09 pm


Calla's ears perked. "Really, it is?" His excitement began to grow. "Do you think maybe you'd be able to show me? You see, I was named after a flower. My mother's obsessed with them. If I were able to weave them into her hair, or my hair, she would be so amazingly happy." He had never seen anything like this, and he was beyond amazed at the thought. For a moment, though, he allowed his mind to wander. "This phrase... Old sport. What's it supposed to mean?"

.Tortured. .Pumpkin.

Backwoods Garbage

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