It is a sensation that the young man has never truly...felt before, in all his years of life and despite the continued attempts of far more than one overbearing Hunter throughout his younger years, never yet has any dared to lay a hand against his neck, nor any other part of him, the brush of fingertips momentarily unfelt upon the white gold of that thick and powerful neck, the stallion perhaps distracted with his determination to achieve the apple without bowing to the domestication this man so seemed to desire of him, oblivious to the fact that for one such gesture he has perhaps befallen another, skin given to twitch and muscle roll in sheer response to that gentle caress and the almost....pleasing sensation this results in, the equine shifting slightly to further allow such a thing before the true extent of his own depravity is evidently made clear, the colt jerking suddenly away from the Hunter with a clear snort of disdain, head shoved against him now by way of both exploration for further hidden apples along with an effort at correction. Hunters can be trained- if only handled the right way from the beginning. It would be better, he thinks, to refuse to acknowledge this petting incident at all, tail lashing in momentary displeasure at his own lack of restraint, no further ridiculousness to be tolerated and yet it would seem he is far from done with his new....pet just yet. His patience is far less than that of his long-lived companion, hoof colliding against the door in clear expectation of attention, waiting for the blonde Hunter to obediently reappear once more, his own violet gaze narrowing beneath that wild forelock at the sight of a second apple, a rumbling snort forced free as those ears once more laced back into the thickness of his mane- meeting the man's gaze as levelly as possibly from his supremely advanced height.

It is perhaps a pleasing perk of his animalistic form to achieve a height far superior to his regular human height, a height truly little more than the unremarkable man before him, a fact well concealed by the war horse skin his animal form so seemed content to parade in. For now however his thoughts continue to linger upon his previous companions. He has truly little desire to see them, useless, all of them, pathetic, weak, human-serving mules as far as he is concerned and yet there is...purpose to their presence tonight, the invite he has been offered perhaps foolish to some extent to waste despite the fact there are many whom will not be inclined to welcome his frosted form and yet- to show up alone would hardly be...polite, now would it? Yes- far better to bring his new little, friend, if only for the momentary satisfaction the blonde man might be worth as a novelty of sorts amongst them. How to...move the Hunter however, remained to be seen, this blonde hardly seeming entirely willing to attend a party he surely had no idea he was going too. The manner of this second apple too- remains a sore point. Frost is used to having his way, to having what he desires, the nature of his animal form in conjunction with his own forceful attitude seeing him step slowly past the Hunter, pivoting slightly in place until he stands right behind the other man- chest against his back before suddenly moving to drape his neck over the blonde mans shoulder in what very near appears to be an affectionate embrace, pressing back, holding the Hunter briefly against his chest before his right foreleg lifts across Alexanders body, pinning the Hunter against him as best he is able before leaning over to extend that long neck towards his trapped victims hand- grasping the half eaten apple within it, large teeth securing a hold before wrenching it free of it's rightful owners grasp. His prize yet again assured, the stallion swings suddenly away to consume his treat, releasing his bizarre hold upon the man, neck arching over and tail lifted in what is clearly a...victory lap about the blonde Hunter. Ego- it would seem, is not restricted to his human form alone.

This status quo of just whom is in charge assured, the manner of moving his new found companion becomes a priority once more, his prancing halted now, coming to stand to the side and yet just out of reach of Alexander, neck arched still and pelt aglow within the light. Frost is a questionable human perhaps, yet his animal form is nothing short of exceptional to those whom understand the nature of a horse. One foreleg extends now, pawing at the earth beside the Hunter, head thrown forward, attempting to make Alexander move on and up the road, head tossed again, dancing about in a manner entirely unique to a stallion itself- showmanship, after all, is very much the art of the equine. An art evidently lost upon the still standing hunter, this mans...calmness....unnerving. It is an unusual trait to meet a man so calm, Frost oblivious indeed to this particular man's long and decorated equine history, eyes narrowed once more- determined that the Hunter will move.

Hunters are- stubborn creatures and yet it would seem- so are certain stallions. Those violet eyes narrow slightly once more, the horse turning abruptly from his companion to wander several strides away from him and back towards the coffee house, several feet between them now as the heavy stallion pauses, facing his opponent briefly, taking a moment to truly size up this man. Small, neat ears remain pricked forward, gaze watching the hunter beneath his forelock before each muscle tenses beneath that white gold pelt, the stallion plunging suddenly forward in what is quite clearly a charge evidently having challenged the unfortunate Alexander to a game of...chicken. If he must chase the Hunter up the street in an effort have him moving in the right direction then so be it, the horse almost entirely sure the man will do as others do- run, almost entirely sure he does not have the nerve to remain rooted to the spot and risk being crushed beneath 1600lbs of stallion. It is a game, a dance of sorts, the horse entirely content to test this man's nerve thoroughly, entirely assured a crack can be found in his armour, Alexander's calm surely not this unwavering to remain standing before a charging war horse and take the chance on whether he will or will not stop before colliding with him, frost entirely determined to attempt to drive the Hunter up the street the way any stallion drives a.....mare. If the Hunter should prove more difficult than that, then Frost will simply have to adjust. No one yet however, has ever not fled before him, has ever dared to stand unmoving to see if he truly will run them down and he hardly expects a barista to be the first....