when I walk into the room there's nothing you can do
To stop me from making moves
I'm coming for you
The anticipation was all but palpable within that Mongolian camp - each rider had been all but tense at breakfast, ready for the ride ahead as the hour of the race slipped ever closer. Alexander's fingers worked diligently at the lacing of his shoes, those knots tied with the expert precision of a man who'd spent a lifetime in war. What were a few days on the back of the horse to him? He had spent years marching entire armies across a landscape far harsher than the green plains of Mongolia's hills. This should be easy and yet, still, he felt some measure of trepidation that he had not in years. A small frown tugged at the Dark Hunter's features as Matteo shouted his name from outside the tent. Alexander was wholly inclined to ignore the fae as he reached for that GPS device. Those modern technologies forever seemed to be vexing to the near ancient man. How he missed those days when the world was navigated with maps and the stars! A soft exhale left his lips as he pressed those buttons, the device beeping furiously at him in response to each push. How...bloody infuriating...! It was that sudden shout of a singular word that caused the sea color of his irises to snap upward. That parental like connection he held with Matteo was one the fae rarely acknowledged these days unless something gravely unfortunate had occurred. Near immediately, Alexander tucked his riding gloves between his arm and his body, the Dark Hunter striding quickly out of the small hut - only for his gaze to immediately find the figure of the fae.
It took him a moment, admittedly, to note the presence of the Mongolians that had prompted Matteo's sudden shouting. The very moment his gaze fell upon that familiar face, however, his features twisted into a blatant scowl - his abhorrence for the warlord all but visible as the two glared at once another. That poised moment, however, hardly lasted long before the man turned abruptly, barking at his groom as they headed back towards the starting line. Of course Khan would be here. How could he ignore the allure of a race meant to honor him and his creation? Alexander, as much as he hated to admit it, would have done much the same. His gaze turned down to the gloves in his hands as he answered Frost's inquiry of just who the man was, much less the very origin of that clear animosity that Alexander held for the Mongolian. Alexander had only just pulled his second glove upon his hand as Frost inquired if this was the Khan so many statues had been erected for - much to the Macedonian's irritation. "Yes, that Khan." The Dark-Hunter snapped, though his anger was hardly directed at Frost himself. It was that inquiry of why Khan hated him with so intensity that caused his lips to press together ever so slightly, "He dislikes me because I held off his army for seven weeks with a twelve-year-old prince before we were called away." His victory, or rather, what would have been his victory, was a point of clear satisfaction within the conquerer. How he had always regretted leaving that poor little Russian city to defend itself against the horde of filthy Mongols.
With now gloved hands, the Monarch reached up for the rope bridle that hung at Frost's side - only for the horse to abruptly jerk his head upward and pull the bridle out of reach. Alexander's brow rose, his sea-colored irises shifted for even the briefest of moments as Hunter and horse stared at one another. He watched as the ivory steed's head lowered only to bump into the King's front pocket with a demand for an apple he believed he was owed. Alexander scoffed in response, the very restriction of those riding pants surely giving way that very answer even before the Hunter's lips parted. His blatant refusal to provide the treat that his stallion sought prompted the creature's ears to pin backward, that snort all but ignored as Alexander once again reached for Frost's bridle. The deadpan tone to Frost's voice as those thoughts filled his mind was met with a roll of the Monarch's blue-green irises. "Bucephalus was lucky to get any apples when we were marching for months across Ariana." Alexander informed the were-stallion, ten days in comparison to the months his beloved Arabian had carried him across plains and deserts without complaint was...well, nothing. Frost was quickly becoming spoiled - and it was Alexander's fault, one he would surely have to remedy. A genteel tug was all that was necessary for Frost's heavy footfalls to fall into step behind them as Alexander led both Matteo and his steed towards that increasingly chaotic starting line.
Alexander hardly voiced a syllable as Matteo informed the steed of his intention to cross all of Mongolia in but seven days - beating the currently held record. The very suggestion was enough to cause the steed's attention to deviate sharply towards the Macedonian himself. "What is the point of traveling all this way otherwise?" Alexander inquired. Winning was never quite enough for the Dark Hunter - oh no, he was a man determined to go down in legends, whose name would forever be associated with feats near impossible to ever duplicate, especially when Khan himself was here. That very knowledge of his intention, however, seemed to be enough to prompt silence from his stallion as Alexander led them through the crowd of riders and horses that had begun to gather near the starting line. The Monarch was acutely aware of the very flutter of impatience that had gripped his mount - Frost's usually lethargic steps had transitioned into something rarely energetic for the beast. It had taken several more reminders then necessary for Frost to stay behind the pair of men lest they become trampled beneath the Draft's heavy footfalls. He should have anticipated some level of retaliation from his often willful steed and yet, with his thought's elsewhere, Alexander himself was caught off guard by that subtle jab of the very tightness of those riding pants. A frown marred his features, despite the ready laughter from his companion as Alexander rolled his eyes in a hint of irritation. The fabric was a blessing compared to what the ancient King had once worn in battle and yet, for the moment, he chose not to comment upon such a thing.
It was only once Alexander had found his chosen spot that the pair of men seemed to pause. His hands brushed gingerly over his steed's figure, his fingers diligently checking those very straps and fitting of the saddle even despite his implicit trust within his Oracle. After over two centuries, some habits persisted; this one, admittedly, had a way of almost calming the Conquerer, of reassuring himself that he was indeed ready for the hard ride ahead. The blue-green of his irises fluttered away from Frost's riding gear at the sound of Matteo's French lit. The very utterance of the word 'app' however, produced a soft groan of protest. How utterly infuriating those modern devices could be! "Heavens only know, this does not seem very....sportsmanlike." After all, if Matteo could track him, could not Khan get this very same....app and do the same? It was what he would do, that is if Khan's callous ambition had not drastically changed over the years. An almost veiled pointed glimpse was given towards the Mongolian in question before Alexander turned his attention fully upon his son and some...vague...rather awful effort on his part to find the 'store' and find any sort of 'app' that seemed even the slightest bit like what they were looking for. Their attempts, however, were short-lived before Matteo gave up entirely - declaring he'd ask his son or son-in-law to see to what neither men truly had the patience to figure out.
It was, however, Matteo's hushed utterance of the start of that race that quickly ensnared all of his attention. He had already, to some degree, innately begun to suspect both the Arabian mare and piebald Mongolian were unlikely to start well - the two horses nearly screamed of nervousness from the swishing of their tails to the frantic swiveling of their ears. Alexander's gaze swept to each of those riders as Matteo listed them, the Monarch taking careful stock of their horses. His observations so keenly affirmed that which the fae had already suggested and yet, it was endearing that Matteo strove to provide him any hint of an upper hand that he could - particularly when this seemed quite near made for Alexander. It would undoubtedly come down to himself and the Horse Lord himself, of this, Alexander was certain even without Matteo's foresight. "See you at the finish line." The Hunter intoned, even as he reached up for to pull himself onto the large stallion's back. Lightly, his fingers plucked at those roped reigns as he made himself comfortable within the custom made saddle - necessary though the bridle was, Alexander had never been one to terribly rely upon it when it came to his mounts. He could feel the veritable excitement within Frost, the horse altogether impatient as he moved in place, clearly feeding off the very electricity within the air. It was that very eagerness he sought to dispel as he guided Frost towards that visible line painted in the grass.
With the wind blowing towards them, and their sheer proximity to Khan himself, Alexander quickly became aware of the exact same observation his mount did, much at the same moment. His head shook ever so slightly as he provided the warlord in question a singular glance. "I don't know, he was human when I last saw him but that was...almost eight hundred years ago." Alexander murmured to his mount, his hand reached forward to gingerly pat the steed's nape. The horses that surrounded them were near bursting at the seams with that veritable excitement - their riders equally as anxious to get that race on, particularly with the skies already darkening above with the promise of poor weather. The Dark Hunter was aware of the horse beside him as he collided into Frost's shoulder. "Ypomoní, Frost." He muttered in his native tongue, the Greek wholly meant to be calming as Alexander watched the starter move towards the base of his tower. The Monarch's figure tensed, his fingers intertwining in Frost's locks as he leaned forward ever so slightly. "Get ready." The starter climbed to the very top of the tower, his gun pointing in the air. It hardly took long before that gun exploded, the very sound reverberating across the emptiness of those plains and in mere moments, the horses were off.
In a singular poised moment, both horses and rider lunged forward, several of those horses collided into one another, several riders being thrown in the process. He could hear the scream of some frightened mounts behind him as those horses Matteo had identified all but raced forward. The hooves ahead of them tossed up a cloud of dirt, the very likes of which saw even Alexander squint as he encouraged Frost onwards. How....annoyingly difficult it was to simply let those faster horses go and yet, he was playing this for the long run. The ivory steed maneuvered them to the outside of the group - with nothing but the open plains in front of them. Already he could spot Khan ahead of him and yet, for the moment, he allowed Frost that comfortable gallop. After all, they had seven days to catch up with the Mongolian - persistence alone would give them an edge.