"Sire," he said, nodding at Russell as he approached and faking levity as best he could in the meantime. It was hardly a masterful performance. Hermes usually avoided acknowledging Russell's lineage for the most part.
He shifted his sandaled feet up enough against the wall of the stall he was perched on enough for the man to see his toenails. "I was absolutely pampered. It was lovely." Not a lie. Not technically. The polish on his nails was a deep grey olive, one that would have brought out the green in his eyes if his fingers had been painted or he somehow felt like wearing eyeliner in that shade. He didn't. It was far too much effort for a day he truly had planned on spending with the horses.