ORIGIN

'Just like that?' Pride offered a nod, to this, a quiet "Mhmm," murmur of agreement. "As for Attikias, that would be best--you're right--but you may have trouble running into him without his--ahh, both of your--daughter, first. I hope it goes well, whatever you choose; I'm sure it will. Bring her a story, perhaps," he added, smiling, then the smile faded and eyes widened a touch as he remembered something important. "Ahh--she was very young when I met her, but I told her a story that was--fiction, and she does not... She did not then, at least, understand metaphor and story. She would, I think, see fiction and fairytale as a lie; a tale of purple fields would have her believing they were real. Be careful how you phrase things, so that you don't lose her trust," the elder stag advised.

He offered only a nod in response to the question about magic--it was all he had time for before Azizos had yoinked the little rock from his mental grasp (a strange feeling, to be sure, and a disconcerting, almost dizzying one) and held it up a little higher. Pride snorted, amused, and reached directly for Azizos--to lift the lion-stag just an inch or two off the ground. Even then his grip was weak, and he settled his son right back down again before speaking.

"Be careful what you wish for," he offered, playfully; "I may be weakened but I'm no pushover! -Let's play," he added, in agreement, and turned to trot a few paces farther away.

A game of catch was no good, after all, when its players were standing right before one another.

Pride snorted at his son--even as Mischief let out a quiet sort of hissing squeak as she was moved, and set down. An indignant stare was fired Azizos' way from the Throne, and she sat back, then, paws brushing over her ears as she put herself back in order.

The stag, meanwhile, eyed her and then smirked at Azizos. "She's annoyed with you, I think. Right-... A shame you haven't got a shield, just in case. I learned a way to pull energy into my body, to hold it there--perhaps you've learned it? It creates a sort of burst outward if you're struck," he explained. But he was choosing a small, round stone, even as he spoke.

For a moment he paused, head low, nose just before the rock, and his gaze flicked playfully, mischievously, up to Azizos.

Rather than picking the rock up, as yet, Pride sent a blast out horizontally--sending it skittering along the ground, destined (unless caught) to shoot between Azizos' hooves and out behind him. "Catch," he warned, sharply, amusement in his tone.

Mischief let out a soft snort as she grasped Azizos' meaning through Pride's own mind. She was now sitting 'upright' atop the Throne--slouched down, on her rump, her back to the back of the Throne and her fuzzy underbelly exposed to the world. The way her hind legs splayed carelessly out to either side, the way her ears lay lazily and her eyes tracked Azizos with half-closed lids, showed wholly how much of a little queen (on her Throne) she was. Idle, casual, dismissive, amused, all in one, and Pride looked to her, and snorted again, himself. He then shook his head and looked to Azizos--in time to realize that his son had not only not caught the stone, but had, in fact, stepped directly into his path.

Whoops.

He was, for a moment, worried that he'd somehow permanently hobbled him. "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned--but he was asking for another throw, so... it couldn't be that bad, could it?

"All right, then. Get ready," he suggested, and looked around to find another small rock. This one he tossed more gently, an underhand (but without hands) throw, lobbing lightly skyward before his son.

He sent his mind after the stone, speaking all the while. "So--was there anything specific that caused you to go back into your stone?" Pride asked, carefully. He knew that stress could do it, and he hoped that Azizos hadn't been under such strain. Especially without my noticing; and what kind of father would I be-? But then, he trusted Mercurius, at least, to note such things and Mercurius hadn't seemed to have any idea, either.

That was... relieving, a little.

He caught the stone and sent it lobbing gently back, a light arc through the air. "And is everything else all right?" he went on. "Mercurius and Arsu are both well, if you haven't seen them; Mercy and I revisited the garden recently." He offered a kind incline of his head--a reassurance.

Family, at least, was all well.

He felt, for a moment, a stumble: a stutter in his magicka, a strange sense that something had faltered. It was like a door falling open, and he had to struggle, for a beat, to concentrate on his son's words. They were more important, after all, and he focused on them closely.

The rock, however, clattered to the ground.

"Hm, sometimes we simply sleep, I suppose. Livius has gone into their gemstone often enough, and it seems to be simply random, at times. Weariness, perhaps; stress, I do not know." His eyes lit, a bit, at the mention of the meeting. Pride was still very torn by the role he'd played. By which side he'd been tempted to take. Shame still gripped him. But this, too, he shook away, for now. "What did you think of all of that, then? It was--a heavy topic. Difficult business."

I hope you are not ashamed of me.
And only now--and half as a distraction--did he turn his mind toward the strange tug he had felt at his mind. To that open door. He reached for what lay beyond.

After a moment, he felt... bouyant. His hooves left the ground. The stone--and all the others around him; perhaps Azizos, as well, began to lift, to hover just a little. What-?! he thought, with alarm--and then looked up, blinking, to his son. "Ahh," he said; "I think I just found out what that magic does."