Alexander Macedonia

when I walk into the room there's nothing you can do
To stop me from making moves
I'm coming for you

The Macedonian pulled the leather glove onto his hand with more force than necessary, his anger clearly getting the best of him. How he utterly detested the Mongolian warlord - the man one of the few in which the world even dared to hold at the same level of Alexander himself, much to the Conqueror's disgust. That hatred the Monarch harbored, however, was one shared by Khan himself. Genghis had always been as perhaps eager as Alexander himself to be the victor in their squabbles, few and drawn out though they were. Frost's inquiry on why the Mongolian disliked him so much was returned with an altogether vague explanation of a skirmish that had spanned across several months - the first of many. The entire Mongolian army had been held off at a small Russian town when the rest of the world had thought them an unbeatable force. How Alexander had yearned to prove them wrong! It was a shame he'd never had the chance to finish the war Khan had started with his cruel domination of Central Asia. Frost's intrigue, however, was disregarded with a singular word, "Later." Now, after all, was hardly the time to lose himself within those old memories, not when the race was moments from beginning and most certainly not with Khan afoot. He reached up for the ivory stallion's bridle, only for the steed to swing his head upwards and out of Alexander's reach. The King's blue-green irises turned pointedly towards his mount, the pair momentarily staring at one another with an intense glare. Admittedly, the Dark Hunter almost anticipated that request for an apple - Frost nothing if not an equine of habit. It was, however, a demand that Alexander was quick to turn down if not for how utterly impractical it would be to lug apples across the Mongolian fields when every ounce of weight counted.

The King snorted at that request, his response nothing short of indignant as he reminded his steed that Bucephalus had gone without any apples for a great length of time when the pair had trekked across the desert. Alexander was hardly oblivious to the roll of those violet eyes, Frost eternally disdaining any comparison Alexander might give to any of his previous or, indeed, potential horses. He was hardly surprised by the Alpha's attempt to have the last word, the Dark Hunter eternally rising to even those smallest of challenges. "And I would have told him no too." He insisted as he reached upwards to grasp the rope bridle again. That gentle tug was all that was necessary to prompt movement within the large draft, the stallion following within their wake as Alexander and Matteo headed towards the starting line. The very anticipation that filled the camp was all but palpable, noticeable in each rider, groom, and horse. Alexander's own steed hardly seemed immune to that very same excitement, the stallion practically stepping on Matteo and himself out of a relentless desire to find his own place at the starting line. Those reminders hardly succeded to keep the stallion in line quite so much as the Frenchman's declaration that winning the race was hardly all Alexander desired of the steed. Oh no, winning alone failed to satisfy him when there was a record to beat. That soft snort from the stallion's nose prompted little more than a backward glance from the Hunter, at least, until the stallion insisted his pants were 'sexy'.

A soft sigh left the hunter's lips, his blue-green eyes rolling despite the ready laughter from his own son. Sexy or not, the tight-fitting material would make that long ride easer and Alexander was prone to taking every advantage he could gain, particularly with the rather deplorable weather in the days ahead. The Macedonian paused just shy of the starting line, his own fingers moving deftly over the straples and buckles that secured the saddle to Frost's spine, ensuring each was exactly as he desired. He hardly suspected to find anything amiss, after all, his faith within Matteo was unwavering in this and yet, the habit persisted all the same. His attention deviated only at the mention of an app that allowed his son to track his movements. For a moment, both men struggled to find that application, the "store", as it was called, was wholly useless, as far as Alexander was concerned. Their efforts hardly lasted long before Matteo gave up altogether, insisting he'd ask his son or son-in-law. There were, it seemed, far more important things to discuss with the start of the race so near. He listened with rapt attention as Matteo reiterated those visions he'd seen of the future, his gaze shifting but slightly from horse to horse at his son's mention of each. Frankly, he was hardly surprised Khan's dun would prove to be...difficult. For all the help the Frenchman provided, it would still come down to pure horsemanship. How he looked forward to the disappointment upon Khan's face at the end of that near week-long trek.

With a final farewell spoken, the Dark Hunter finally pulled himself into the saddle that would become his home for some time. Lightly, his fingers gripped the reins, the Macedonian hardly requiring them in the slightest to find his balance or lead his horse. A small press of his heels was all that was necessary to coax the already anxious steed into movement, Frost quickly finding his own place in front of the line painted in the grass. The impending storm, however, cast its gales with the scent of rain across the plains ahead of them. The altogether subtle change in those gusts, however, brought with it an entirely different scent. Vampire. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as those blue-green irises cut to the side, the Hunter momentarily eying the Mongolian from several horses down. His lips pressed together as Frost's inquiry pressed into his mind. Slowly, Alexander's head shook ever so slightly as he informed his mount that this...change within Khan was a relatively 'new' development. That is, sometime within the last eight hundred years, if such could be considered new. It was Frost's inquiry of food, however, that saw Alexander's gaze narrow as his attention purposefully turn back towards the wide-open plains ahead of him. "His horse." He muttered in a low deadpan tone, only for the thought to hang within his mind - "Filthy Mongols." History itself knew well of just how Khan and his army had survived on those fields when they had run out of food. The act of bleeding their horses was barbaric, as far as Alexander was concerned. It was a direct reflection upon Khan's capability as a leader. Alexander's men, in contrast, never went without something in their bellies.

The shuffling of horses beside them focused Alexander's attention away from the day walking vampire. Khan was a problem he'd have to deal with later. For now, there was a race to start and win. It was the pinning of Frost's ears that prompted Alexander to reach forward, patting the horse on the neck as those Greek words left his lips. The last thing he wanted was his own stallion to be any further antsy then he already was - not when they had a particularly long day ahead of them. He watched as the starter climbed to the very top of that makeshift perch, his very presence garnering the attention of every participant in the race as he held his gun up towards the air. Alexander's figure tensed ever so slightly as he leaned forward, watching and waiting until, suddenly...POW! The gun fired with a loud explosion and with a sound akin to a stampede, they were off! The Macedonian was entirely unsurprised as the very beginning of the race unfolded exactly as his son predicted - several horses stumbling, others spooking as they bucked off their riders who attempted to hold on for dear life. Little of it mattered to the Hunter, however, his focus entirely upon the plains ahead of him as the dirt and dust from the horses in front clouded his vision. Frost, thankfully, was eager to find his place outside of that initial mad rush, the pair comfortably settling into a position somewhere in the middle as the riders began to spread out amongst the Mongolian countryside.

It was sometime after that initial dash that Frost finally slowed into a trot, Alexander easily transitioning his own body to match his mount's change of pace. How he disliked slowing when Khan was still in the lead and yet, he would hardly win tiring out the Draft so early on. Already he was contemplating just how they might make up that time within those designated hours they were allowed to ride - his own careful consideration was interrupted only by that soft voice pressing into his very thoughts. A small frown tugged at his features, the Dark Hunter altogether silent for quite some time before offering a vague explanation of sorts. "I have not played the role of his father for some time now." Matteo rarely needed him in that capacity these days - the fae having long since grown and matured beyond requiring his guidance. That compliment, however, brought a ghost of a simper to his features as he nodded ever so slightly in agreement. "He is one of the most patient people I know....he wasn't always so." How the fae had changed from the irresponsible, reckless and impatient boy he had once been! His head shook ever so slightly, the Hunter pushing away those memories. He saw little reason, really, to speak in depth of that relationship he had with the fae. After all, it hardly mattered to Alexander that he was hardly Matteo's biological father. Matteo was his son, all the same.

In the aftermath of that, albeit short, conversation, both equine and rider seemed content to fall to silence. Alexander was all the more attentive to the steadily darkening sky above them as they rode on across those fields of long grass and towards the snow-capped mountains in the far distance. It worried him, the impending storms, and what they might mean for the racers at large, particularly with those streams that dotted their path. He hardly pressed the steed faster, however, still desiring to preserve Frost's endurance should they need it in those final evening hours. The trail, if it could be called that, had only just led them on a descent into a valley when a shout pierced the stillness that surrounded them. Immediately, the Dark Hunter shifted, glancing back behind him at the two women that only encouraged their mounts faster in some attempt to catch up. Alexander hardly slowed for either woman, the man simply waiting until they caught up to the long strides of his own stallion. He was hardly ignorant of the redness in their cheeks, the cold whipping at their skin as they'd rode. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as they asked if he had heard, his head shaking ever so slightly. It was the very mention of his 'friend' and a 'Mongol groom' that caused his grip upon the reins to tighten. Effortlessly, he pieced together what surely must have occurred. Khan, it seemed, had held onto that resentment over the years. A frown crossed his features as Alexander tried to keep his anger in check, the soft press of Frost's words caused a soft sniff of his nose. "So it would seem." The thought was offered towards the ivory stallion as he attempted to appear nothing short of concerned. "Are they okay?" Truly, he had little doubt that Matteo had survived such a scrape unscathed and yet...a part of him was still prone to worry.