the old switcheroo.

Barrett · 06-02-2011, 03:54 AM

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Barrett was perceptive even if he didn't always seem like it. His speech and mannerisms were casual and unassuming; his aura was typically one of mellow indifference. His attention seemed to jump around a lot (and it did), but that didn't mean he missed everything in between. He just wasn't very reactive--and much to his parents' dismay, he seemed to downplay his own intelligence.

Maybe it was unfortunate he lacked the ambition to realise his full potential, but maybe something could be said for his uncanny ability to appear so inconsequential and non-threatening, too. He wasn't quite as charismatic as his predecessor, but he could always fade into the background to avoid trouble. It afforded him an air of confidence that was neither haughty nor contemptuous.

Thus, despite the tense undercurrents to their meeting and that toothy grin, he found himself relaxed and submissive. On the surface, he was still much more preoccupied with the horse. "Useful?" he pressed, but already he was beginning to understand. Utility aside, the horse was a companion, not unlike his great-grandfather's falcon or his mother's raccoon.

His pale gold eyes followed the equine as he plodded away, and then turned back to the russet and sandy hued hybrid before him. Ezekiel wasn't so much older than Barrett, but something about him seemed much more grave, much more adult. Perhaps those scars, perhaps that cool, battle-ready projection of focus and discipline? The chocolate yearling did not allow his gaze to linger more than a moment, and peered off as a firefly's glow flashed nearby.

"Mom was," he replied, promptly turning his attention back to the Aquila. "I've got my dad's name in there, too, though... Barrett Poer de Aika XIII." It was a mouthful and he usually omitted his surname unless it was relevant, as was the case here. "Barry's fine, though," he added quickly, as if worried such a lengthy moniker might make him sound pretentious.

A pause. "Is Gabriel okay?" It suddenly seemed strange that he--the comrade, brother, and friend of whom Anselm spoke so highly and extensively--had fallen out of the limelight. Not that much time had passed, had it? From what he understood from his mother, Anselm had settled down a lot over the past year, too, but for all intents and purposes he was just as spry and youthful as ever, despite pushing six years of age. Hopefully Gabe had retired to follow more leisurely pursuits, too.

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