Foul stench.

“He was apparently about 6′5 and bulky. My mom was also my height. I’d say I’m more of a giraffe with how lanky I am though,”he mused with a slight smirk. Jonah figured he’d be the same height if he wasn’t born female.

“So… Who are you anyway?”

“Diego. Diego Brando. I am often referred to as ‘Dio’, however.” He says, crossing his arms and tilting his head some.

“What a sweet lady.”  Why would her rider be so grumpy on such a lovely animal?  So beautiful and sweet tempered.  And he clearly took pride in her…suppose some people were just sour.

“I would.  I’m a musician, come to gain inspiration from the riders around here.  Something…of primal beauty about a horse in full gallop.”

He’s still talking to her while the horse is walking, so apparently she’s supposed to be keeping up.  Thankfully at a walk she can manage it.  “When I can.  I can’t afford one of my own, but longer distances I can usually find a few travelers that could use a guitar and a lovely voice in the evenings.”

“Musician? I hope that holds up.” A slight bit of truth, he understood jobs of that area were often difficult. And very tiring, oh well! They chose that route for themselves~!

“Never knew my father, he left my mother well before I was born.” Jonah gave a shrug, keeping his face neutral otherwise. 

“All I know was he was blond and that I look a lot like him. I’d look more like him if I didn’t color my hair. My uncle was told about him by my mother, and she hardly talked about him so I don’t have a lot to say.” The 6′2 boy’s orange-amber eyes are sharp as they gaze at the other.

“I see.” Diego keeps the note of his words. No, he wouldn’t know of this other ‘Brando’ walking about. Diego’s own slightly slitted green eyes stare back against his own. Standing at 5″9′ he hates that he had to slightly adjust his eyes upward. Ridiculous.

“Ah… My name is Jonah Grigio. I took my mother’s last name instead of my father’s since I figured Jonah Brando didn’t suit me. I’m 18, and my birthday is on December 30th… You also look vaguely familiar.” He leaned in curiously.

A scowl is given, Brando? did that mean he also came from the farmland? “I see.” 18, Diego is 21. He is definitely not his. But he looked too familiar.

And unfortunately she’s met a snooty asshole.  He probably would’ve run her down if she hadn’t moved too.  But he likes his horse.  People who like animals can’t be all bad, right?

“I thank you kindly, sir.”  She may as well pet the horse, who seems much sweeter of temper than her rider.  Her hand brushes its neck, once, and quickly besides to avoid annoying the brat in her saddle.  “Hello beauty.  Hope I didn’t offend you, standing in your way.  God, if I were a painter.”  She steps back, respectful of the horse at least.  She’d offer the lovely beast an apple if it didn’t mean probably getting lectured by the man atop her.

“You are welcome.” He says, watching her pet the horse, Silver bullet seemed to enjoy the pet - her tail swayed left and right. Diego felt semi-insulted that Silver Bullet liked being pet by someone other than him, regretting the offer.

“You’d paint her, hm? sweet of you. But she can only stay still for so long.” Silver bullet begins to walk forwards some after being still for the moment. “See? Impatient when we aren’t busy.” He gives her another pet before looking down at the woman.

She would ask him why he never learned to turn his horse, because she’s sensing a touch of sarcasm in that excessive politeness, but she’s never met this asshole and thus will give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Uh…certainly.  It’s a beautiful animal.”  And she does step aside, though mainly because she doesn’t want to be run over by a horse.

“But of course, She is Silver Bullet. An Arab thoroughbred, to be more accurate of her beauty.” he lifts his head a little more, showing how he viewed himself. A hand reaching and gently stroking through the horses’ mane.