'Excuse me?' the palomino stallion nearly snapped back in disbelief, and Marceline had to fight to keep her expression from turning sour. Instead she leveled him with a look that said, quite simply, you heard me. You should be thankful, she wants to say. To explain to him that there are kings and queens out there far less kind and patient than herself. But she decided better of it and instead shut her mouth against any acrid comments that bubbled at the top of her tongue, watching as he cycled through confusion and remembrance and then, at last, acceptance.
Even when he agreed (not that he had a choice, she reminded herself) he was stiff and uncertain and seemed to still be struggling to wrap his head around his present situation. It made her think, briefly, of Mjolnir's friend Halo. The speckled mare had also been quite awkward, so unlike the bold and brash personalities Marceline was accustomed to dealing with back home. She'd fled rather quickly after the buckskin stallion's disappearance, despite an open offer to stay, leaving nothing but a quickly fading scent on the wind. It made the spotted queen feel proud that her presence was apparently enough to cow weaker mares into turning tail, but frustrated because she knew she had to reign in her bodacious personality into something more tolerable lest it begin to scare more important horses away.
Like now, for example. Marceline could tell this unnamed stallion was uncomfortable, but it didn't stop her from boldly reaching out and sharing her breath with his when he offered the gesture, removing a couple more inches of space between them. It was subtle, the way she had begun to claim him — his space — as her own, but it was there; to any outside eye with experience in this art it would be as obvious as the sun in the sky. And despite his apparent reservations about the whole situation, he got on board willingly enough. Marceline didn't bother to hide the surprise that colored her expression when he asked about which Island he'd be calling home now. A newcomer who wasn't a newcomer? Genuinely intriguing, and better for her in the end.
Red tail flicking idly against her hindquarters, Marceline finally allowed him some space and took a hearty step back. "Salem. The Hills, more specifically. You know the Islands already?" There was no disguising the curiosity that laced her tone. Beneath her inquisitiveness there was also a subtle sense of relief that this whole thing wasn't blowing up in her face so far. She'd claimed mares before, but this was a whole new game for her - something that would have been completely unheard of back home, and caused her ludicrously patriarchy-pleasing parents to clutch their metaphorical pearls.
If only they could see her now.
"Oh!" Marceline suddenly exclaimed, as if having just remembered something very important. "I've been terribly rude, haven't I, not even giving you my name or asking yours? I'm Marceline. What do you call yourself, golden one?"
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