Serora Plot 303: Dark Secret

Ah, the oasis. For most, it was paradise; a holy grail, a gift from the gods themselves during a time of such desperation. But for Jemin, it had become something more of a business opportunity. He was a farmer fresh out of a drought, after all, and would take any chance to make ends meet. Perhaps his methods of doing so weren't always ethical, but hey - as long as he kept himself standing, right?

As far as first introductions went, Jemin had already gotten off the wrong hoof with a plethora of other horses. Which, in his opinion, was quite unfair. He'd taken the extra effort to make small talk, and by his own account was 'relatively pleasant.' He'd also restrained from doing too much pick pocketing. 

Well...on second thought, there was that one mare who'd left her baggage unintended, and then there was that naive little pegasus the day before that....

In truth, the mule stallion had no excuse. The equines around here were practically begging to be exploited, and he had enough courtesy - or lack of - to do just that. It was by this manner of working the system that he now had a pair of ever-expanding saddlebags to lean his head against, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his dark coat. He tipped the edge of his wide-brimmed hat, so to keep the glare out of his eyes. But he tipped it not a second too late, and managed to catch a glimpse of ghostly white tentacles disappearing into the nearby brush. 

Hm. A tentacle in the brush. A bright blue sky up ahead - wait, a tentacle? Jemin's head shot straight up. Of all Serorans, there was only one suspect who could possess that kind of hair-do. He'd never met the fabled 'prophet' himself, but knew enough to figure this Ishmael was a rather big deal. That sort of reputation could only mean even more opportunity... Tempted by curiosity, Jemin rolled back onto his hooves; intent on following the pale hippocampus. 

Queerly Edit: Literally disgusted by how much I love this character

       Atticus snorted as he made his rounds across the edge of the Oasis. As he came around a sand dune he noticed just how lovely the bright blue sky was with his red eyes. He smiled, inherently happy that his herd had found their way here. They had been doomed for a drought that even Alya could not help them in, until she sent Ishmael. Well no one was sure who sent the strange hippocampus but Atticus was a faithful individual and thought with all his heart that their loving Alya had sent him to keep them out of the dry ages. He continued moving after a moment, a steady trot as the heat did not bother him as much as it seemed to bother other members of the herd. Which was slightly confusing as he was a "fish" as some as the herd members might say. He chuckled to himself as he watched five of his herd mates following something they had seen. As Atticus made to go do another loop of the Oasis he stopped.
       "Wait.." He thought to himself as he turned and looked back at the strange occurrence he had almost passed by. "What in Alya's name are they doing? Oh, that's Ryder! And some small filly.." He reminded himself of when the two of them had been paired for a mission, although he did not recognize the filly. "Where are they all going in such a hurry?" He asked himself before bolting to catch up with Ryder, coming along side the chestnut paint he slowed himself to his and the filly's pace, "What's going on?" He asked his friend before smiling at the young one, "Hello there little miss! I'm Atticus!" He said with a smile introducing himself to the little gray foal. "What are the five tracking Ryder?" He asked utterly dumbfounded on what he had come across and hoping it was not as bad as it seemed from an outside perspective.

Seroran Planter  

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'Good luck Jemin, you might need it!'

Then it was a good thing, he supposed, that luck usually took favor upon him. About fifty percent of the time, at the very least. But never mind the probabilities. He would simply improvise along the way, as was his typical strategy. Although a few of his herd mates voiced concern over the ethicalness of cornering Ishmael, Jemin paid no mind to the thought. As long as they - and more importantly, he - reached their goal, what did it matter if a few feelings were hurt? It wasn't like they planned to actually harm the mellow prophet, after all. And Ishmael didn't appear capable of harming them either.

Or, Jemin hoped not. He wondered briefly whether tentacles were lethally poisonous or something else equally as terrible. Great Gods, wouldn't that be great, if he actually did turn out to be poisonous? Shoving these doubts to the back of his scattered mind, the farmer watched with a certain nonchalance as the plan was put into action; both groups going their separate ways with caution in each step. He waited carefully until mostly everything seemed at place, and then finally emerged from the shrubbery; giving his ruffled mane a small shake to rid it of burrs. 

"Ishmael, I'm guessing?"

Clearing his throat, the mule sauntered over in a manner that demanded attention, coming to a gradual halt once he'd reached Ishmael's side. He observed the white equine through darkly casual eyes, one brow cocked in a sincerely curious gesture. "It's a real honor, to finally meet you in person. The tales fall truly short of your..." Hair? Eyes? Odd habit of talking to inanimate holes in canyon walls? "...vibe."

For perhaps the first time in his wayward life, Jemin restrained from speaking too much. The less said, the more Ishmael would have to question him upon. That is, if the hippocampus was going to cooperate and keep himself busy with conversation. He risked a single sideways glance, checking to see if his 'friends' were still safely tucked out of immediate sight.

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Ishmael had not expected company. As Jemin made himself known, the Mullah did a remarkable impression of a startled cat, launching a few centimeters off Kaia’s good earth as they pivoted, staring in wild-eyed disbelief, ears pinned flat. “Ah… You- but…?” Ishmael mumbled, swinging their hindquarters towards the cave as though their slight frame might be able to block the gaping entrance. Ishmael was not talented at keeping their emotions under check, and as Jemin approached, the Mullah’s anxiety became so painfully obvious as to be laughable.

“That’s… me.” They replied at length, shying like a dog caught chewing on the upholstery. Their head was held low, one pale eye staring up at Jemin from beneath tangled hair and undulating tentacles. “I- thank you, that’s- w-wait, why are you here?” The question came out quickly, laced with fret and a touch of accusation.

Ishmael glanced behind them, an eye cast to the darkness of the cave. No horse or creature was immediately evident; the cave was too dark, and Ignacio’s sun too bright overhead. There was however the sound of hooves, some large beast moving deeper into the depths of its den. Ishmael released a shuddering exhale, and looked back to Jemin.

ooc- WOW sorry that took so long I am the #worst