Things with Octavia were going... interestingly. For one thing, the bengal didn't really know much about what to do with a filly. Sure, Grimm had several hosts over the years who'd ridden and ridden well (not to mention the fact that many of those hosts lived at a time when horses were necessary transportation, Grimm himself included), but none of those hosts were domestic cats. Interesting to note, one host had actually been a horse, but that was also pretty fucking unhelpful. And beyond all of that? Bastille had no interest in actually digging through centuries of memories and lifetimes in an effort to understand his new companion. He would if things got dire, but so far everything was... fine. Yeah, fine was a word for it.

Octavia seemed wholly unimpressed with her stall, which Bast chalked up to it not having a door in place yet, and tended to just follow around behind him in that excited gait of hers. It wasn't exactly a trot, or a walk, but more of a prance. She was a little show-off and absolutely full of herself, frankly. Hell, he knew she liked to play with Arion, but sometimes she would feign disinterest in the colt, put up her little dish nose, and regally walk away from him. What was she, a prom queen playing hard to get? Bastille regularly got in trouble for not paying enough attention to her, including during times when she'd been too busy to respond to him when he tried to get her attention. But no, the second he found something else to do, she was deprived of attention and affection and needed all of his immediately? Yeah, okay.

He had to admit, though, that he did have a soft spot for her. Her first day here, he'd spent most of it wondering when she planned on leaving them once more, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that she wasn't going any where. She seemed to take on the name Octavia readily -- he wondered idly if she'd had a name before that, but she have never corrected him -- and she was more than happy to fall him around, and he was... happy for her presence, actually. She could be a bit of a brat, sure, but she was a constant that he was rapidly getting used to, despite his expectations.

"Come on, O," he huffed as the little Arabian remained rooted to the spot, evidently having decided that she was going to spend the day in the flower field. Which would have been fine by him, except that every time he made to carry on with his day, she let out a scandalized whinny and pranced over to block his exit. Evidently she was staying here, and so was he, indefinitely. "I don't even see what you find so interesting out here. They're just flowers. Same flowers as yesterday, and the day before that. You're not even doing anything," he groaned, eventually just flopping over onto his side. Elated, Octavia circled around him before she was off frolicking in the flowers once more.

Bastille glanced up from his spot in the grass at the sound of Hazel's voice, and found that he wasn't surprised to see her, somehow. She seemed to like Octavia, which wasn't really a shock -- she obviously cared for horses, and half the time when he couldn't find O, he found her prancing happily after Arion and Hazel. Hell, he had assumed he'd lost her favor the first time she'd disappeared and turned up with those two, but she seemed to keep coming back to him eventually. Clearly, he didn't really know what he was doing, but she didn't seem to mind his ignorance or general lack of affinity for horses. Maybe she'd imprinted on him because he found her first, or something. (He didn't think horses imprinted, but oh well.)

"She has a very refined pallet," he drawled, making no move to rise from his sprawled out place. He was defeated, and therefore he would remain where he was, thanks. Besides, he was comfortable. He eyed Arion with amusement as the colt made another attempt on the flowers, and rolled his eyes at Hazel's commentary. "Gee, princess, I hadn't noticed."

He watched as Octavia perked up and preened, evidently pleased to have someone rain attention on her. She tossed her head up, looking positively regal as she made no effort to actually acknowledge Arion. No, she seemed to content to just look lovely and let him fawn over her because she was, in fact, a diva. "Primadonna," Bastille snorted, also not surprised by this behavior. She was an attention-whore, that was for sure, but she also liked to act above them, it seemed.