The way she seems comfortable enough to spread her wings convinces Vladimir that they shall remain outside for a while longer. It was too crowded inside, she deserved the chance to stretch. To feel comfortable. That was what he wanted, most of all. He could hardly impress her if she was on edge.
At her question, he chuckles. “I planned this whole party. I counted the costs and paid the fees and wages of everything and everyone here, from the decorations and food and wine to the acrobats and musicians. As satisfying as it is to see it all in motion, there’s hardly a thrill or surprise in it for me. Aside from what the guests may wear, of course. My servants always take the time to prepare something for me, something unexpected. Something to make the night worthwhile.” He smirks at some inner joke, but his eyes look a little sad for a moment.
He watches the way she eases forward, and smiles to hear the wonder in her voice. Yes, this was a good decision. “They’re intelligent. And, like I said, shy.” He clucks his tongue again, then coos softly in Old Noxian, that romantic, purring language of yesteryear’s poets. “But I am sure they will like you, mademoiselle. Just give them time to introduce themselves, and get our measure.”
The cream-coloured horse steps forward first, head down as it approaches, moving straight for Vlad. The hemomancer smiles and continues to coax the animal forward, unmoving but speaking soft and warm and comforting. When the beast draws up in front of Vladimir, head turned to one side so that man and beast can be eye-to-eye, he stands at least a head taller than the hemomancer.
“Pierre,” Vladimir smiles. “My boldest–”
The horse lunges forward, and sinks its teeth into the briars and roses of Vladimir’s cape, tearing away a significant section of foliage before munching demurely. Petals fall from a silken muzzle and the crunches are very loud.
“Mince! What is this, Pierre? Why?” Vladimir sighs, in irritation that isn’t entirely put on. “As I was saying, my boldest steed. Half mountain horse, which is why he is completely unphased by the idea of eating briars.” The horse leans in again, prompting Vlad to raise an arm defensively, swatting his claws lightly at the air. “Allez, non, away with you, greedy fellow! You will make the fine lady here think I don’t feed you.” The horse tried again, and Vlad put his palm against the horse’s muzzle and gave a small shove. Not enough to push the horse away, but enough to give him a little space. It grumbled, and shook itself, but did not seem offended. It bent down to lip the spilled rose petals from the grass.
With Morgana’s hands both on the fence, Vladmir is free to twist, to reach into the tangled mess of his cape, and pluck a rose from the thorns.
“Ignore that boor and his terrible manners.” With a flourish, he presented the rose to Morgana. A smile curled his lips. “The best way to attract a lady is with the proper gifts.” He bows to her, then nods to where the other horses were cautiously approaching. “Why don’t you see if you can tempt one of those sweet girls closer? Palm flat…” He demonstrated, displaying the rose and its stem on the palm of his hand, bending his claws out of the way. From here, it can be seen that the silver claws - sheaths - are far too large for his fingers. They are not connected to his palm in any way, no chain or strap visible at all, yet somehow they do not slip, and his hands move like he has no fear of them sliding from his fingers.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, once Morgana takes the rose from him. He slides an arm around her waist, keeping far enough from the fence that his wardrobe is no longer in danger of Pierre’s abrupt snacking habits. “They are intelligent creatures. Marvel at them, relax and enjoy their beauty. If they sense you being tense or frightened, then they, too, shall be tense and frightened.”
Morgana’s hand rose to her mouth in shock. For a moment, she believed the horse had bitten him and not his cape. It put her in fear of the four-legged animals. It fluttered uselessly toward him, as if she were even capable of assisting him, only for him to brush it off. He seemed preoccupied with making ‘Pierre’ leave him be. Perhaps, then, in the dim light, he wouldn’t have seen her bare finger poking through the hole in her glove as she’d reached out. She was much too nervous to be completely put together.
Her other gloved hand brushed his as he handed her the treat. For a fleeting moment, she believed he was presenting her with the flower. How foolish. She ignored the excited tingling of her skin beneath the black satin at the brush of his silver claw. Electricity, even in its most innocent form, wasn’t allowed for her.
She held her hand nervously over the railing, her hand quivering lightly. True, the foliage on her outfit was all beads and lace, but it didn’t make her any less nervous. She’d known deer and elk in the wilds outside of Noxus to be rather forthcoming in their aggression, and she did not want a repeat of that instance.
It would not impress her host to melt one of his horses alive out of pure reaction.
It was not the ashen beauty who approached her first, but the one of blended colors, dark and light. It approaches her tentatively, much more so than the other horse had come to its master. She prayed it was because she was a stranger, and not because of the height of her wings. They stiffened perceptively, completely unmoving to avoid scaring his horses. The gentlest breeze blew, and drifted through her patchy plumage.
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