Horizon Ridge cast away in time

set after their previous thread if that’s ok!

no sooner had they broached the ridge demarking the end of murkwood’s claim did sobeille wheel upon @Vermouth, her mouth drawn into an expression of contempt.

arrogant pricks. she exhaled, looking back where the slope of the ridge darkened into blackwood. she was silent for a while — entertaining a line of thought too dark to put into words.

Her scathing words cut into his thoughts as he weighs his options. Vermouth looks at her but says nothing. Instead, he takes a few steps away from her and gives his dark coat -- still damp from his earlier plunge -- a hearty shake. He stills a moment later, his eyes contemplative as they regard her.

"All bark and no bite," he remarks disinterestedly. "I never caught your name. I'm Vermouth."

He'll stay here for a few moments, at least, and sate his curiosity. But already, Vermouth is ready to move on with his life. He wants to hunt before his hunger begins to sap at his energy.

as he steps out from range, sobeille fell to her own quiet thoughts -- though she approved of the innate courtesy he displayed by considerately avoiding giving her a shower.

who were those people? when had they gotten here? and did her maman and tante know? sobeille thumbed through a catalogue of worries.

i be sobeille. she noted his faraway look. where you from?

It's an eccentric name, which suits. Vermouth's lips press together as he tucks it into the back of his mind. His tail flicks as she questions him in turn. He doesn't mind her curiosity, though she'll probably find his answers rather bland.

"I'm not from around here," says Vermouth, his pale eyes roving their surroundings as the word "here" leaves his lips. He pauses before adding, "I came here to find a territory to claim, then take a mate and build a family."

It's a tale as old as time, isn't it? He thinks it sounds very humdrum, which lends to its credibility. Vermouth suppresses a smile and cocks his head, wondering if she'll find this fictitious backstory as boring as he does.

smoothing out the rest of her flared fur, sobeille turned back to vermouth. his gaze was elsewhere; she visually followed the distant line and found nothing in their surroundings that could possibly be more interesting than her.

she suppressed a snort. were her season upon her she might find his goals potentially aligning with hers' - save the first bit.

is dat so? sobeille kept this in the back of her mind before examining his features, apprising the stock in which he came from. she did not know him well enough to detect any falsehood. what you be lookin' for in a lady?

"Just that," he replies with nary a hesitation, "a lady." He cants his head innocently. "I want to find someone to cherish and protect. I want to court her, bring all her dreams of romance to life. Then I want to wed her, give her children and build a life together." Vermouth hesitates for a beat before adding, "You could say I'm a prince from a faraway kingdom, looking for my princess to create our happily ever after."

It sounds so corny, he has to carefully control his expression. The worst bits are partly true. Vermouth finds that sprinkling in some facts makes his stories even more believable and convincing. His black tail switches as he silently eyes Sobeille, wondering if such a tale makes her want to gag a little too.

from an early age sobeille learned to obscure the presence of lies with a little truth; don’t lie outright. state the truth first. and ever so gently weave the misinformation in, nestling against the heart of your truth like a tumor.

but she was still only just beginning to learn how to read people — and people were far more complicated than lies.

vermouth’s answer drew skepticism. not for its lie, but for sobeille’s inability to reconcile her perception of men with what he’d shared. corny was an understatement — this was the disallusioned dream of little girls before they had their first bitter taste of how the world really works.

you be a man. sobeille countered, lifting her chin to measure the honesty in his gaze. dats bullshit.

Astute observation, he thinks wryly, though the next words out of her mouth earn a quiet blink. He wonders what one thing has to do with the other.

“What makes you think it’s bullshit?” asks Vermouth, whose intrigue is authentic. “My… genitalia?” he tacks on with an incredulous twitch of his brow.

did he truly not know? 

or was he playing the game sea lions so often engaged in; waiting carefully under the tow for that exact moment to spring to life. 

if he did not know, sobeille doubted she could explain the nuance of her culture and his gender’s place in it in few short words. and she certainly would not waste valuable time and peace educating him. he was a man — his place was not in education but in subservience. even if he’d bolstered her in their skirmish with the pirates, he still was still only a man. 

dats not what men do. she finally answered, deciding rather than argue she would present a simple universal truth. your — an expression of revulsion unintentionally crossed her face and betrayed her leanings — genitalia is what gets men in all dis trouble.

She calls his bluff on the fairytale. She’s right, of course, but Vermouth doesn’t think it’s about his gender. Perhaps he’s wrong. He tilts his head, contemplating this. His family hadn’t exactly raised him with sound morals. He’s done a lot of work to mend himself since leaving them, though there’s only so much damage control he can do after being brought up with a Kvitravn’s values driven into him.

Actually, her sweeping generalization about men reminds him of his family’s principles. She appears to look down on men like the Kvitravns look down on those with swarthy features, himself included. Vermouth’s tongue sweeps over his bottom lip as he ponders this, then shakes his head as if the comparison is an annoying gnat whining in his ear.

But he plays along, asking, “Trouble? What trouble is that?”

she lodged him with a firm look that brooked no quarter. you be knowin’ wat kind of trouble dat be.

did she really have to explain? he hadn’t impressed upon her the suggestion he was stupid; sobeille was not one to give charitably in that department.

unaware of his family’s morals (though she would probably take obscene delight in them) sobeille smoothed the dislodged fur at her chest with a hard press of her tongue.

if you be wantin’ a wife, i suggest you go north up de coast. her eye sparkled with mischievous humor. what would chani think of this man? the prospect of sending him miles out of the way on a fools errand caused a pleasing ripple within her. it was delightful to be cruel for no reason; it gave her no motive, which meant no one would suspect her.

and no one would be watching.

“No,” he counters, “I really don’t. Why don’t you elaborate?”

He tucks her suggestion into his proverbial back pocket, gaze sliding northward as if he might see the distant ocean. He’s just come from that general direction, though he makes no mention of this as his faded golden eyes cut back and settle on her face, patiently expectant.

sobeille prepared to clap back and answer, but on second thought, her mouth shut abruptly. she didn't owe him an explanation, and the way she thought he was playing stupid grated her. did he really not know that men everywhere walked around with the ugly thing between their legs dictating their every move?

was he gay?

as he looked back towards the coast sobeille replayed what he'd just said. why don't you elaborate?

he may have bolstered her side in the pirate skirmish, but he was still only a man. and a man could not ever compel hard-headed sobeille to do something she did not want to.

i t'ink you can figure it out for yourself. she countered back, sniffing at the wind. sivaak and yura would wonder where she was by now.

deciding he wasn't worth making them wonder, sobeille airily waved her tail and, unless he had something else to say, began her trek home.

out of extreme abundance of caution, she did not go directly to camp. her path roved up and out until she was sure no one followed, and only then did she turn in the true direction to their hearth.

Her mouth opens, then shuts with a click. Vermouth sees the resolution steal across her face right before she refuses his prompting. His head tilts, sensing her aggravation as her tail flicks and she turns to leave without another word.

He’d really wanted to hear what she had to say, though not enough to call out to her. His eyes track her wary movements until she’s gone from his sight. Vermouth then blinks and straightens his neck.

It’s time to get to that hunt. He draws in a steadying breath, pushing the day’s impromptu rendezvous to the back of his mind as he sniffs the air. Finding something worthy of his attention, Vermouth strikes out.