Common

She is not blind, though she sometimes wishes she were. Like now. If she were blind, she wouldn't have to notice the lanky behemoth heading her direction with the worst sort of curiosity written in his dark eyes. Nor, would she notice how tall and lean and powerful he looked, or the way her stomach twisted funnily at the sight of him.

No. She all but snarled at her ovaries, blaming the season on her unusual reaction to the man. She'd tried love. Three times. And each time it had burned her in the end, leaving her more bitter each time. And she wasn't the sort to stoop to casual flings, especially when a so-called casual fling would leave her pregnant and even more hormonal than when she'd started.

Switch stiffens as he gets close, warding him away with a snarl forming on her lips. Like most men too stupid to read the warning for what it was, he doesn't obey her silent request to get the fuck out of her personal bubble. Instead, he opts to stop and for one shining glorious moment, she has every intention of continuing her march across the Commons.

Except her feet betray her.

I just want to hurt him, a tiny bitun poquito. She tries to tell herself, but she knows better. It's those damn dapples, and the way she hasn't felt even a flutter of this much appreciation or attraction in too many goddamn years. All he's done is look at me. She chides herself, and yet she can feel the old desire to be appreciated rising in her chest as her hooves slide gently to a stop on the soaked ground.

"Don't let me stop you, boyniño" The Paso gestured aggressively toward the open meadow, and raised an expectant brow. "By all means, go frolic. I could use a laugh." And she could really. Even though she hadn't really stopped to think about why Marceline's rise to power bothered her so much, she knew the source of her frustration really had nothing to do with her. Unbidden, the elaboration rises to her lips, delivered in the same snarky, thickly accented tone. "It's been a shit day."