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“Are we seriously not going to talk about this?”
Zulius narrows his eyes, casually shifting his gaze across the rest of his herd. They are currently sitting around the house boat deck table for their morning breakfast ritual, with plates and platters of giggle cakes and fruit cluttering the surface (a recent addition after convincing the family cook you can not survive exclusively on carbs and sugar), as they all curiously glance over at the zebrataur. Zulius’ own plate is—as he would say—‘fashionably’ untouched: supposedly to look good, but everyone knows it’s just his excuse whenever he isn’t feeling hungry. And as things currently stand, the man’s appetite escapes him.
“Talk about what?” Horse asks with hesitant concern, as if not expecting a competent or sensible answer. It’s not unwarranted, of course; Horse is more often than not the voice of reason for the usually chaotic group, and Zulius marked himself on more than one occasion as a bit of a drama queen. It’d almost be funny if the irony weren’t so painful. The zebrataur controls his breathing as an eye twitches, raising a single hand in the air before emphatically swinging it down in the equine’s direction. Or, more specifically, her human companion, who is currently glued to the horse’s front. Despite neither being an appropriate height to sit next to one another (or build, for that matter), the two somehow managed to become a tangle of limbs and hooves at their place at the table, Horse sitting upright with her belly forward, and Rider resting in her “lap”. The sight would seem unusual and rather uncomfortable if not for how expertly the two seem to maneuver around and with each other, belaying an intimate familiarization of the position. Horse and Rider give similar looks of confusion towards Zulius, the warhorse’s head currently placed on top of human’s as the two subconsciously nuzzle one another as they wait for further explanation. The table remains silent, but every other occupant's eyes are curiously occupied with either their food, the table, or (in Durpleton’s case) literally just open space.
“Seriously?” The zebrataur rehashes, his breathing becoming slightly more hectic “We’re seriously just not going to talk about this?” Glendale subtly hands a paper bag toward Zulius, the latter immediately pushing the hand away without breaking eye contact.
“You… sigh- you didn’t say anything, Zulius.” Horse responds in her typical straight-man manner, acting as if she’s the only sane one in the room, all the while gently pulling Rider further into herself like a teddy bear. “We can’t talk about something if you don’t say what it is.”
The narcissistic centaur desperately looks towards any other occupant, any other herd member for some sign, some acknowledgment, but was once again met with all too knowing postures that don’t levy a thing. Wammawink, of course, looks towards him with a wide, forced smile.
“Of course now, Zulius, whatever could you mean?” The alpacataur says through clearly gritted teeth. Zulius feels his breath hitch once more, slapping away Glendale’s offering bag as she reaches out again.
It all started pretty simple. When Rider was recovering from her fatal stab wound (how she survived, they still debate; popular theories include rainbow tears, impossibly bad aim, or Horse somehow breaking the confounds of life-and-death), Horse made it her personal mission to never leave the girl’s side and tend to all her needs, which of course made sense: who else would do that but a horse and her rider? So there was nothing unusual about the twos’ constant contact, one frequently using the other as a crutch.
So when Rider was improving and Horse got her own Shaman House Boat™, no one blinked an eye when the two made a room specifically for the two of them. Even when Horse was no longer nursing the human, the two had a history together: as soldiers, beds were too soft and cuddle piles too crowded, and the two were most used to using each other as bedding during long nights out on the field. So yeah, no one saw anything unusual about them sleeping together for the time being. Of course, this was all under the assumption that the arrangement was temporary until the human fully healed. By the time she did, the herd quietly expected them to slowly reintegrate with the rest of the herd.
They didn’t.
They still slept together, and were almost always in contact despite Rider no longer needing the extra support. If anything, it became more and more apparent that the twos’ ‘affectionate gestures’ only increased as time went by, spending a good amount of time holding and staring at each other. It was becoming increasingly more obvious that there was more going on between the two.
Then the singing started.
As Rider and Horse became more acclimated to the wacky world around them, so too did they become more comfortable with singing about their feelings. Usually, this would come in the form of them singing about each other, how they were both “okay”, or never leave each other’s sides, or how they want to just hold each other as they stare lovingly into each other’s eyes. It was when this became a daily occurrence that no one could deny what was happening. However, whenever asked about their relationship, Horse and Rider would respond with “Oh, well we kind of think of each other as sisters now. I know it’s strange, but we just feel so close that we really couldn’t be described any other way.” Of course, the herd did find it strange, but for entirely different reasons. And yet, still, no one had made mention of the fact.
Zulius stares Wammawink dead in the eyes, just daring her to continue. No one has said anything, and apparently no one wants to be the first to say anything, and it’s starting to drive the zebrataur mad. As the herd continues to eat, a mischievous smirk envelops Horse’s face as she forks a piece of giggle cake and holds it up.
“Hey Rider, I could feed you this time.” Rider doesn’t hesitate as she returns the smile and opens her mouth wide, causing Horse’s simper to broaden as she holds the fork just out of reach.
“...and what do we say?” Horse asks smuggly, gaining a slight look of confusion from her human compatriot. It takes but a moment for understanding to come to Rider as she rolls her eyes, making a show of rhythmically tapping her foot on the ground in a way not too unlike a horse asking for food. Satisfied, Horse closes the distance to the human’s lips, Rider responding with a hearty chomp.
“How was that?” Horse asks earnestly. Rider chews and swallows, beaming.
“I don’t know, I think I could get used to being fed by my horse.” The two gawk at each other in amusement before bursting into laughter. As the laughter dies down in a sigh, they peer into each other’s eyes. Rider raises a hand to gently caress the side of Horses long face, her eyes shifting down to the mouth for only a fraction of a second before it shifts back up to stare the equine straight in the eye.
“ My horse…” Rider whispers, the words so tender everyone could see the hair covering Horse’s face stand on end, the teal fur lifting to show the scarlet blush underneath. They gaze at each other with stupid grins, music begins to play and-
“Oh! My! Self!” Zulius shouts out, slamming both hands into the table. Suddenly, everyone freezes as Zulius turns to…you. A little prompt with the words “Shameless, Oblivious Pair Driving You Mad? More Likely Than You Think!” scrolling below him (He acknowledges that he is no longer in the same visual medium, and thus drastically decreasing the meta-ability’s effectiveness, but he frankly doesn’t care).
“Alright, quick Hot Goss moment…they’re doing pet play role reversal right in front of us ! I’m not even that shameless!”
Time resumes and everyone suddenly gasps in pain.
“Agh, what the hell Zulius-” Horse starts to shout before she has an apple thrown at her head.
“No! What the hell to you, Horse! Are we really not talking about this! Are we seriously, really, absolutely not going to even acknowledge this!? At all?! Even remotely!?”
Glendale once again reaches out with a paper bag. This time, Zulius grabs the object with a desperate flurry. He wastes no time in hyperventilating into it as the deer wife gently rubs his back.
Horse and Rider look on in unbridled bafflement.
“He’s really not going to say what it is, is he?” Rider asks as she leans back into the crook of Horse’s neck, giggling as the horse playfully licks the remnant of uncleaned syrup off the corner of the human’s mouth.
“Eh, I guess some people just have a hard time spitting it out.” Horse responds with an indifferent shrug, maintaining the twos’ impossible affectionate embrace, “Right, sis?”
The scream of frustration that proceeds is heard for miles.