[Loki notices that in addition to that, Greg also has a black eye.
Well. That sure is a thing. For the moment, he politely pretends to not notice. He doesn't want to lose out on his chance to get to be around horses for a bit.]
...why don't I stop for a coffee. Would you care for one?
[Oh good. He was right. That is the way mortals do things. He smiles.]
I shall await you at the stables, then. With coffee.
[He takes his time with the walking and the coffee getting, since Gregor had been looking a bit rough. Well, maybe the boredom is getting to him, too, Loki thinks. He'll hopefully get a better sense of the man throughout the conversation, even if that's not the real point of this exercise.
[Gregor is there, sitting rather slumped on a bench. Shaved. Also, poking at the bruise around his eye as if trying to see if it still hurts. He stops the instant he sees Loki.]
Nobody who wasn't there believes me, but I was actually too drunk and fell down. [It wasn't how he got the black eye, but it was the truth. He takes another swallow of coffee.] Take that how you will.
[Gregor shrugs.] There were witnesses, but I won't press you. [He pushes to his feet and motions toward one stall.] Since you're going to be helping out here, I figured you'd get in on the vote. We have two new geldings that need names.
[He opens one stall belonging to a docile grey gelding.]
I thought I'd let the new hands choose a name, but people are a bit shy about suggestions.
[Gregor spends a moment deciding whether or not Loki's the type to name a creature something obscene in another language. He doesn't recognize the language, but he's nearly a thousand years removed from most people here. Either way, the fellow seems to be genuinely happy around the horse--Gregor thinks he can read people well enough to be assured of that--so maybe he's not interested in juvenile jokes.]
Languages don't usually die so much as evolve. Technically, I speak Russian and French, but it's so far removed from anything someone from Russia or France knows that they probably couldn't understand me. [He pulls a sugar cube from a pocket and feeds it to the horse, who tongues it up without hesitation.] Individual words sometimes survive.
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Well. That sure is a thing. For the moment, he politely pretends to not notice. He doesn't want to lose out on his chance to get to be around horses for a bit.]
...why don't I stop for a coffee. Would you care for one?
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[Gregor ran out after the hangover and hasn't been to the store since. The prospect actually seems to cheer him a little.]
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I shall await you at the stables, then. With coffee.
[He takes his time with the walking and the coffee getting, since Gregor had been looking a bit rough. Well, maybe the boredom is getting to him, too, Loki thinks. He'll hopefully get a better sense of the man throughout the conversation, even if that's not the real point of this exercise.
Two cups of coffee in hand, he arrives.]
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Hey.
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[Loki offers Gregor the cup.]
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Birthdays.
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[Yes, that is sarcasm.
Loki shrugs one shoulder.]
I've been on the receiving end of enough such bruises. Best think of a better story.
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[He opens one stall belonging to a docile grey gelding.]
I thought I'd let the new hands choose a name, but people are a bit shy about suggestions.
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You're quite the handsome fellow, aren't you.
[Relieved of the apple by the animal, Loki takes a better look at him, moving with confidence. After a moment he laughs quietly.]
You could call him Frakki. He seems quite brave.
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Though if you wish to be literal, Varghöss. [He grins, running a hand over the horse's neck.] Gray like the wolf.
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Frakki would be easier to pronounce.
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'tis from an old language. I imagine no one speaks it any longer.
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The GVB Rehabilitation Stable for Recovering Evil Maniacs
And Gregor finds his true calling: Therapy Horsies
I thought Pinkie Pie had that covered.
Uh oh, therapy turf war coming.
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