Tonight, All of the Monsters Dance [o]

Wow. Wow! Lost, again. Again, he'd fucked up, wandered too far, slipped, fallen, slept too late, didn't pay attention, any sort of mistake someone could make that would end up getting them lost, Quinlan was bound to commit it. What a dumbass, right? _{How?! How do I keep doing this?! Stupid, stupid, idiot! You're so stupid and dumb, god, why does Torque even talk to you?!} The first time he'd lost his close companion, he'd sat down and simply cried. Waterfalls of tears had flowed without cessation, and he most definitely had looked a fool. Of course, he had managed to re-encounter the mare; somehow he'd always ended up doing so, no matter how far apart they'd wandered from each other.

This constant recurrence, the never-ending cycle of getting lost, no matter how hard he try to avoid it's happening, had hardened the stallion, in some ways, to the tragic events; in fact, he no longer cried when he lost his friend! Of course, he still felt like doing it. Heroic, right?
A deep look of worry crossed the stallions face as he stopped his usual mental self-depreciation and, for the first time, took in his surroundings. Fear grew rapid and contagious, in his eyes and on his lips, as he took in the eerie vibes he had, somehow, missed upon entry of the place. A sharp, cold shiver ran down his spine, dread dripped from his heart like sticky goo, and he knew his time would come here. _{This is where you'll die...}

As his eyes gazed around the place, horror magnifying with each detail observed, he spotted her. She lay quite a few feet away, though still within eye's view. Already chilled heart froze, for only a second, as nervousness took hold of his body. However, this mare did not seem quite as threatening as others had, and he found her markings and coloring, the contrast of dark ebony with bright orange, pretty.

This being said, though he felt no immediate and overwhelming fear of the horse, he could not abandon his skittish and cautious tendencies, and approached slowly, hesitantly, a wary and careful look in his eyes.

by sixsmith.

He watched her carefully, muscles tensed, but ready to flee, should he need to. She did not appear, in any way, to be of some strong threat, and this helped to put the stallion at ease. However, he simply could not find it in him to relax, to allow himself to come across as open and extroverted; these were things he was not, how could he lie about something so crucial?

It had been too long since he had found himself able to speak around others. Of course, Torque had been the occasional exception, but to go ones entire life unable to speak with others? It sounded overbearingly difficult. It was a damn good thing he never really felt the need to speak, anyways.

However, this being said, he had grown so accustomed to silence, to living life only listening, that when the mare addressed him, the words had first been registered in a sort of dream-like trance. This was how he had learned to cope with the inability to socialize, to take nearly all words in with a dreary, dreamy tone, and he could manipulate these things, if need be, to take whatever shaped he preferred.
This case was different, though; this time, he was being specifically addressed, by a stranger, who had no knowledge of his disability, and was expected to answer.

He shifted awkwardly in place, staring at the mare with a contorted face that read helpless confusion. What was he to do? He no longer punished himself when the words failed to roll off his tongue; he no longer found himself frustrated to the point of explosion over something he could not, ultimately, control. And so he stared at her, awkwardly fidgeting from one hoof to the next.

by sixsmith.

Her attitude, her body language, her actions, all spoke to him in a mischievous tone, one that perhaps enjoyed taunting, one that seemed to enjoying pushing buttons, testing. It did not sit right with him. It made him uneasy, cautious, nervous, it made the previous, small trust he'd imbued in her hard, so, so hard, to hold onto. Her curious ways threatened him, and though he felt it possible, in the near future, to relax himself, that feeling was coming to an end. Perhaps he should learn not judge a book by its cover. Not all things that seem harmless are, in fact, harmless. Silly, silly mistake. He wouldn't allow it to happen again.

Her loud snort gave him such a frightful start, left him swallowing down a now fast beating heart, sent him alive with a jolt, that he ran. He darted from the mare, fear in his heart and in his eyes, in his bones and blood, until he'd reached a safe distance from her. When the distance he had reached from her had felt safe to him, he turned on his hooves and watched her. From afar, though not so much that he could not hear her words, he held his gaze on her, steady, almost like a hawk. A silent figure, with a small, but noticeable, look of fear on his face, cold eyes nearly glowing in the mist. _{Dangerous... She seems too dangerous. Dumb, don't assume. Never assume. Learn that. Dangerous...}

However, her next words seemed of lighter tone, seemed to hold worry and care in them. This affected him. This brought down his guard, if only slightly, and the fear slowly morphed into extreme uncertainty. Where was his voice? Childhood? He remembered that. No, he didn't want to. Too painful. Bad thoughts, bad vibes, best to leave it all alone. Alone.

His lips quivered, determination sunk in, and his jaw set. He would do it, if only once. Names were important. _{"N-n-n-... N-n... Nnname..."} His voice was wobbly, uncertain as to which direction it really wanted to take, unflattering, squeaky. _{"Q-q-q-q... Q-... Quin-... Q-Quinlan..."}

by sixsmith.

Uncertainty bore so plainly, heavily, on his lips, face, eyes, it was like a smack in the face for all who were present to see it. He watched her carefully, still, eyes not daring to peel away, lest she take up on his moment of carelessness and attack. A hesitant step back began its course as the mare took steps towards him, but stopped as he realized she did not wish to charge, nor harm. However, there was no small amount of trust he would give the mare, for now, at least.

Opposite of the mare, oddly enough, given his past, the stallion bore no scars, no bruises, besides those received from clumsy tumbling, no marks of his past. His mind sure did, though. Boy, did his mind contain marks. Don't think of it. He watched as she studied him, and it put him much further on edge. Was she seizing him up? Probably. Forget it. Bad vibes. He could feel a headache coming on, and, of course, it would be a bad one. This mare sure did put him on edge.

A nervous nod rippled through his muscles in some kind of response to the mare, eyes still glued to her. _"N-N-Name?" An expectant tone hung onto his voice as he spoke, and he waited, tense, for her reply.

by sixsmith.