Down to the Root
Posted: Sun Oct 13, 2013 9:53 am
Caustic flexed his neck, a rather discontented scowl on his face. He was doing a friend a favor, and the event was rare enough to irritate. He felt like destroying something for the need to go out of his way like this.
Of course, when Sunspot had approached the spiked black stallion he hadn't been able to turn him down. It was a reasonable enough request; better, it held a possibility of being an interesting experience. And he had a bit of a soft spot for the tiny red stallion. It still surprised him to some extent that one of his social experiments could prove the beginning of a real relationship.
Since Sunny continued to surprise him by exceeding his expectations in rather impressive leaps, Caustic continued to find him amusing. There was, however, a secret that he now carried; his "project" had done more than garnered a temporary fondness by being entertaining. By earning Caustic's respect (through no small amount of struggle), Sunny had opened a crack in the Warrior's armor. It appeared, much to said Warrior's displeasure, that once in that little crack the little red fellow had wedged inside Caustic's affections and become irremovable.
In short, the cruelly apathetic stallion cared for him, enough to call him friend and Circle-mate. He hadn't properly acknowledged this fact, not even when he joined the Circle his peppy friend had founded. To his mind, it had been more a matter of staking claim over Sunny and joining with two Rogues; Sunspot was his to look after and guide, to disillusion and reshape. Nobody else would be allowed to mess with him. Eternal, in turn, had also gained his respect and lodged herself too far inside to be considered normal - but she was Rogue and the only Serian he would willingly follow, so he counted that as a valid exception. If he hadn't bound himself to her as friend and confidant happily, then it had at the last been with cynical amusement. Which, for him, was pretty much his version of happy.
In the end, it all lead back around to this fiercely brave, tiny red stallion wedging in just as deeply. Except that there was nothing at all exceptional about Sunspot. He was small, peppy, loyal, and highly adaptable (especially when shown no alternative). Yet each time Caustic tasked him with a new way of growing beyond the shallow facade that had been erected to hide from reality Sunspot did more than rise to the challenge; he kicked it down the hill on his way passed to the mountain top.
And each time it stuck.
So when the stallion found him in the neutral lands of their realm, Caustic found he didn't honestly need much convincing. Sunspot wasn't being drug along the journey of his growth; he was running ahead any time a direction was given. And Caustic knew it was for more than the sake of growing beyond his personal limits. His little friend went that extra length to try and please him; first out of fear, and over time out of honestly enjoying surpassing his expectations.
It was a reward for doing so well, so often, this willingness to do something in return. And, grudgingly acknowledged, it was out of fondness for his friend. He was, much to his own astonishment, quite willing to do whatever that little red stallion may need to have his life be just that much easier. The fellow may not be a bondmate, but he was a Circlemate and beyond that, Caustic simply cared for him.
In the end it put him here; standing in the Fields as a bitter wind cut at him under an overcast sky. There was a stallion he was supposed to meet, someone he was to take a measure of and give his own special touch to. Unfortunately, he'd been asked not to kill him; between the choking sulfur aura that clung to him, the spikes ringing his eyes and cresting his shoulders, and his deadly basilisk two-tone stare he was armed to the teeth for proper fighting and defense. He wouldn't find it all that difficult to simply break a leg and leave the hothead plenty of time on his rump to cool down.
It was his corrosive personality that had been requested though, not his Warrior skills. So, with a mild grunt as he acknowledge and accepted the fact that the bond he shared with this stallion - indeed, with all in his Circle - had an unexpected result of being beholden as well as protective, he pushed his ears forward and used that touch of magic that all Serians hold to push his presence outwards. It was, save for the magic of bonding and his stare-of-death, his only ability; yet while he focused it seemed that the shadows grew a little thicker and a dank shadow crawled over the land.
The challenge was clear, a sensation woven through the oppressive gloom as the Autumn breeze began to grow teeth and bite. Any that dared find him would not be expecting smiles and nuzzling.
Just let that hothead Black Thorn make his way over. Even the name gave him a dry amusement as he waited for his next "project" to be brought to him. Nevermind the thorns on a rose, they were no bother to him; he'd take this prickly little fool all the way down to the root and leave him unearthed.
Oh yes, this favor could prove to be quite bearable after all. It had been far too long since Caustic had gotten in a good, old fashioned fight. This particular thorn may prove handy for scratching that old itch.
Of course, when Sunspot had approached the spiked black stallion he hadn't been able to turn him down. It was a reasonable enough request; better, it held a possibility of being an interesting experience. And he had a bit of a soft spot for the tiny red stallion. It still surprised him to some extent that one of his social experiments could prove the beginning of a real relationship.
Since Sunny continued to surprise him by exceeding his expectations in rather impressive leaps, Caustic continued to find him amusing. There was, however, a secret that he now carried; his "project" had done more than garnered a temporary fondness by being entertaining. By earning Caustic's respect (through no small amount of struggle), Sunny had opened a crack in the Warrior's armor. It appeared, much to said Warrior's displeasure, that once in that little crack the little red fellow had wedged inside Caustic's affections and become irremovable.
In short, the cruelly apathetic stallion cared for him, enough to call him friend and Circle-mate. He hadn't properly acknowledged this fact, not even when he joined the Circle his peppy friend had founded. To his mind, it had been more a matter of staking claim over Sunny and joining with two Rogues; Sunspot was his to look after and guide, to disillusion and reshape. Nobody else would be allowed to mess with him. Eternal, in turn, had also gained his respect and lodged herself too far inside to be considered normal - but she was Rogue and the only Serian he would willingly follow, so he counted that as a valid exception. If he hadn't bound himself to her as friend and confidant happily, then it had at the last been with cynical amusement. Which, for him, was pretty much his version of happy.
In the end, it all lead back around to this fiercely brave, tiny red stallion wedging in just as deeply. Except that there was nothing at all exceptional about Sunspot. He was small, peppy, loyal, and highly adaptable (especially when shown no alternative). Yet each time Caustic tasked him with a new way of growing beyond the shallow facade that had been erected to hide from reality Sunspot did more than rise to the challenge; he kicked it down the hill on his way passed to the mountain top.
And each time it stuck.
So when the stallion found him in the neutral lands of their realm, Caustic found he didn't honestly need much convincing. Sunspot wasn't being drug along the journey of his growth; he was running ahead any time a direction was given. And Caustic knew it was for more than the sake of growing beyond his personal limits. His little friend went that extra length to try and please him; first out of fear, and over time out of honestly enjoying surpassing his expectations.
It was a reward for doing so well, so often, this willingness to do something in return. And, grudgingly acknowledged, it was out of fondness for his friend. He was, much to his own astonishment, quite willing to do whatever that little red stallion may need to have his life be just that much easier. The fellow may not be a bondmate, but he was a Circlemate and beyond that, Caustic simply cared for him.
In the end it put him here; standing in the Fields as a bitter wind cut at him under an overcast sky. There was a stallion he was supposed to meet, someone he was to take a measure of and give his own special touch to. Unfortunately, he'd been asked not to kill him; between the choking sulfur aura that clung to him, the spikes ringing his eyes and cresting his shoulders, and his deadly basilisk two-tone stare he was armed to the teeth for proper fighting and defense. He wouldn't find it all that difficult to simply break a leg and leave the hothead plenty of time on his rump to cool down.
It was his corrosive personality that had been requested though, not his Warrior skills. So, with a mild grunt as he acknowledge and accepted the fact that the bond he shared with this stallion - indeed, with all in his Circle - had an unexpected result of being beholden as well as protective, he pushed his ears forward and used that touch of magic that all Serians hold to push his presence outwards. It was, save for the magic of bonding and his stare-of-death, his only ability; yet while he focused it seemed that the shadows grew a little thicker and a dank shadow crawled over the land.
The challenge was clear, a sensation woven through the oppressive gloom as the Autumn breeze began to grow teeth and bite. Any that dared find him would not be expecting smiles and nuzzling.
Just let that hothead Black Thorn make his way over. Even the name gave him a dry amusement as he waited for his next "project" to be brought to him. Nevermind the thorns on a rose, they were no bother to him; he'd take this prickly little fool all the way down to the root and leave him unearthed.
Oh yes, this favor could prove to be quite bearable after all. It had been far too long since Caustic had gotten in a good, old fashioned fight. This particular thorn may prove handy for scratching that old itch.