<s>^</s>.What Might I Be Getting Myself Into?<s>^</s> -- [ take a walk on the inverted side

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Subject: ^.What Might I Be Getting Myself Into?^

Author:
Jinrai

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Date Posted: 14:09:52 01/20/03 Mon
In reply to: Euripedes 's message, "Malussinn>>" on 11:39:34 01/19/03 Sun

^.Bleached phina is caught of gaurd, starting mentally as she relizes his inquiry is directed at her. Lobes turned back respectfully as she stepped forth, pistons carried the fae lightly close enough to speak. Bluish gems rose to the king when she spoke, her tone soft, courteous.^

"Jinrai your highness."

^.She did not taunt within of speak sarcastically. She had no reason to, as far as she had seen the King was level-headed. Not overly arrogant etc. she had no reason to spite him. Jinrai often suited her personality to those she was immeadiatly associating with...she was...adaptive. The fem allowed her gaze to glide briefly over the other two, momentarily inspecting her company before awaiting a reply from the patriarch.^

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[> Subject: frozen wasteland

Author:
Syndic
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Date Posted: 14:32:37 01/20/03 Mon

the bleached stallion observed the reply to his commentary with a quiet smile and a nod to emphasies. when again the king spoke the niveous steed lifted his sightless gaze to rest upon the general vicinty of the monarch. it was only a polite gesture. there was not much point in it, and usually he preffered to keep his eyes on some fixed point. where he could feel there was light. as it was about the only thing they still recognized. he heard the added response and turned his head in every which way as the mishcievious voiced brute left their presence, and another drew forward. he hear malussinn's request but, unable to decipher from the tone, or supply such information as he needed from the eyes of the brujo he listened to his neighbour's reponse and decided to add his own introduction wih it. Jinrai. Malussin. Aerial. Frozen Dreams. Euripedes. he kept the names boxed within the cathedral of his psyche, locked in a room for rerfrence, attaching voices to names as he gradually navigated the maze of equids. in his quietly sure way he inserted his few words and hung back in the silence once more.

Syndic, sire.

dipping his mug slightly as he did so. only an inch, no more. not because he was disrespectful. more because he wasn't exactly sure he was facing the right way. beating down the impulse to take another step forward and touch a whither or a flank with his cheek, to gain a more profound image of size, shape, texture. along with that urge he quieted the questions that would provide him with other answers to what he missed. instead he dammed the river of his thoughts and considered instead the quatrain. the poem this meeting had first brought to his mind. it could be important; if he ciphered it correctly. or meaningless babble to epress that the winter would end early this year. either way it nagged him as he attempted to pick ou which of the breezes carried the proper scnet from the proper direction.