There's a man hidden in the shadows of a nearby building who snaps to attention when the horse shows up. The recon he was doing can be done later, but here-- well, a fantastic opportunity has dropped directly into his lap. When he bet Enfys that they could race bike to horse if only he could find an appropriate steed, he didn't expect it to be so easy to do the latter. But when opportunity presents itself...
...Well. Hannibal stands slowly, hands at his sides, and makes low and comforting noises as he steps towards the horse. "All right, all right. Chaaa, chaa-- com'ere, pal." This is going to be embarrassing later. "Come on."
What's this now? Anyone who knows something about equine body language can read "noncommittal" in the horse's posture and attitude. He doesn't com'ere, but he doesn't move away either. Instead he drags one hoof against the ground as he looks the man over.
(He's making a careful inspection for any signs of tack, actually. Some chances Tadhg will not take, in the Nexus or out of it, and he has no intention of winding up haltered through carelessness.)
Seeing nothing to worry him in the man's hands, the horse flicks his small ears back and forth and nickers softly, maybe enquiringly.
This is good! This is... better than getting kicked in the face, or charged, or completely ignored. It is even better than having the stallion rear, turn, and disappear as quickly and unexpectedly as he arrived. No, no tack on the man-- just a smell of warm leather, motor oil, and cigars.
Hannibal's hands, first at his sides, now spread entreatingly. Nothing in them. "Heeeere, boy. Com'ere..." His voice is low, his posture wouldn't frighten a twitchy mouse-- he takes a few more slow, easy steps. It's pretty obvious he has no idea this is anything but a horse. "I'm just going to come and say hello, okay? Good boy."
Hello indeed. The horse still doesn't approach. Instead he extends his nose toward the man, inhaling his scent before blowing out a gusty, pleasantly grass-scented exhale. His tail swishes as though flicking away a fly; he seems the very picture of horsey unconcern.
Watching his approach, Tadhg wonders how much the man knows about horses. It's a fair bet that he knows nothing about púca.
The man moves with a quiet confidence-- there's no fear there, but he's not doing any crazy 'horse whisperer' mumbo-jumbo, either. Hannibal once knew horses quite well, but it's been years since he's been in saddle or stable.
A few small steps (and not much direct eye-contact) later, and Tadhg's extended nose is met with similarly outstretched fingers... and then, if permitted, the man's hand-- palm up.
"Hey, there. Look at you." He chuckles, quickly glancing at as much of the dark horse as he can, to check for injuries or issues. "Where did you come from, huh? This is no place for a horse."
Pffff. Tell me about it, man. The horse's low rumble expresses the tone of Tadhg's wry inward thought, though of course not the words.
The horse accepts the contact with eyes partly closed and one small twitch of the skin over his shoulder. He looks to be in excellent health, legs strong and free of swelling or splints, body sturdy and muscular without excess fat, his charcoal-grey coat burnished by the sunlight in spots. Head cocked toward the man, Tadhg waits curiously for whatever his new acquaintance plans to do next.
...Well. Hannibal stands slowly, hands at his sides, and makes low and comforting noises as he steps towards the horse. "All right, all right. Chaaa, chaa-- com'ere, pal." This is going to be embarrassing later. "Come on."
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(He's making a careful inspection for any signs of tack, actually. Some chances Tadhg will not take, in the Nexus or out of it, and he has no intention of winding up haltered through carelessness.)
Seeing nothing to worry him in the man's hands, the horse flicks his small ears back and forth and nickers softly, maybe enquiringly.
Reply
Hannibal's hands, first at his sides, now spread entreatingly. Nothing in them. "Heeeere, boy. Com'ere..." His voice is low, his posture wouldn't frighten a twitchy mouse-- he takes a few more slow, easy steps. It's pretty obvious he has no idea this is anything but a horse. "I'm just going to come and say hello, okay? Good boy."
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Watching his approach, Tadhg wonders how much the man knows about horses. It's a fair bet that he knows nothing about púca.
Reply
A few small steps (and not much direct eye-contact) later, and Tadhg's extended nose is met with similarly outstretched fingers... and then, if permitted, the man's hand-- palm up.
"Hey, there. Look at you." He chuckles, quickly glancing at as much of the dark horse as he can, to check for injuries or issues. "Where did you come from, huh? This is no place for a horse."
Reply
The horse accepts the contact with eyes partly closed and one small twitch of the skin over his shoulder. He looks to be in excellent health, legs strong and free of swelling or splints, body sturdy and muscular without excess fat, his charcoal-grey coat burnished by the sunlight in spots. Head cocked toward the man, Tadhg waits curiously for whatever his new acquaintance plans to do next.
Reply
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