Common

This girl is a gun, before you know it, it's done
And you'll be wishing that you crossed your fingers

arceline watches, curious and cautious, as the stallion's eyes narrow. Is he dredging up memories of her, she wonders, or simply sizing her up should their little chat take a turn for the worst? Marceline is wholly prepared for the possibility, but no doubt the cold and the snow and the rotundness of her belly would hinder her greatly.

When he speaks again, another spark of recognition ignites within her mind. He is the Lagoon stallion who had come knocking at her door all those years ago. His name is lost to her now, but she can still recall the sight of him at her border, the politely imploring intonation of his voice as he humbly asked her to send her sons his way for training. The stallion she had seen in years past had been bright-eyed and idealistic, with a vision for the Lagoon some might call misguided, naive even. The stallion standing before her now is a far cry from him, with his dull expression and rigid posture and the hard inflection of his voice as he speaks.

What has happened to him? she wonders. Where has his spark gone? What trials had life tossed at him that had hollowed him out in such a way? These questions press at her tongue and itch against her lips, but she swallows them down.

She could remake him, she thinks. Take this broken shell of a man and build him back up to something great. If she could nurture him into something resembling a stallion again, unearth the enthusiasm and tenacity he had displayed so very long ago, he would undoubtedly become a force to be reckoned with. A force she wanted at her side in the seasons to come.

"Of course," she replies breezily. "Your memory serves you well. Yes, I would like you to accompany me back to 'that godforsaken island.'" Marceline's lips curl slightly in a soft but wry smile. She considers her next words carefully, trying to refrain from seeming aggressively overeager while also taking into consideration his own hesistance. If nothing else, she could make the opportunity somewhat more bearable for him - give him a light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. "If you find yourself reluctant, I will strike a deal with you. You come stay in the Hills with me for a season. If you find you're still… averse… to life on Salem, you will be free to leave come the end of spring. I won't tie your leash and then watch you choke on it." And if he had nowhere else to go?

Well, that wasn't exactly her problem, was it?

Marceline tilts her head, fixing the full intensity of her smoldering amber eyes on him. "What say you?" Surely it was a better deal than withering away in the freezing cold of the Commons, looking every bit like a forlorn foal who had just lost its mother.