[FWM] Backstage: CUT!

[Lycan 01]

"And since I so clearly and plainly stated that I thought you a goldbrick, a goof-off, no good, you felt insulted," Blueshield said in a heavily sarcastic tone. "I made no judgements of you as an individual and your capabilities. Rather, I..."

She hesitated a bit, not as sure of herself now. "...To be truthful, it was about me. I suspected my statement might come across as advocating negligence of one's obligations, and overcorrected. I had no intentions of creating a perception of me as unfaithful to my purpose. It was protecting my own reputation, not an accusation against you."

Prose flashes a crooked little smile, and sticks out a hoof. "Hey now, no worries. No hard feelings?"

"After such dangers
Does the hero fear the grave
Or merely the thought?" Snowstorm asks.

"Then again, something tells me all of us...Hold duties where we face death far too much." She furrows her brow. "Something also tells me swapping to Iambic Pentameter is a little too basic to fully impress you."

Blueshield shook her head. "I was never a specialist with poetic composition myself. I shall refrain from contributing in that area."

"Poetry is poetry," Prose smirks. "And Iambic Pentameter isn't basic, per se. The fact that a pony can be bothered to create or recite any sort of poetry - from lymeric to sonnet - is enough to impress me."

"Also, your haiku had proper meter, but a proper haiku focuses on a specific item, typically highlighted or addressed in the first line, like a butterfly, or a thundercloud, so on and so forth," he tells Snow with a cheeky little smile. "Nice try though."

"Also, to offer a retort..."

"Grim mortality,
Always waiting patiently,
Why fear what must be?" he muses aloofly, throwing out another haiku.

"Or, if you'd prefer something more traditional..." he smirks.

"Death shall come for all in due course.
From bravest hound, to meekest horse.
Those who fear it and those who flee,
Can't escape what must always be.
So why fear what you cannot fight?
Enjoy your time, til coming Night."

His poem concluded, Prose gives another crooked little smirk. "Never been to fond of iambic pentameter, personally. More of a tetrameter kinda stallion..."