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Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Spring
▶ Temp || 43℉ (8℃) - 70℉ (21℃)
▶ Weather || The weather radar really does seem to be off the charts lately...
I wonder what's going on? (#15-19)


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
A land of absence
and root and stone

Pair of the Season
Bexley and Acton

Quote of the Season
"And all the while her mind, her blood, her fierce and fearless heart was singing, singing, singing." — Shrike in We're under attack!

see here for nominations


Private - hit me like that snare;
Acton — Night Court Citizen Signos: 795
▶ Played by Griffin [PM] Posts: 134 — Threads: 16
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 20 — Atk: 20 — Exp: 34
▶ 5 [Year 497 Summer] Active Magic: Illusion
▶ 15.3 hh Bonded: N/A


How good it felt, the sun hot enough to make his coat shiny with sweat, the sand in his teeth. Acton had never been made for the cold. 

Neither, of course, had Solterra. Just to see it back to the way it ought to be (painfully bright, each eye he met glittering with challenge) felt like a good omen, like maybe everything could go back to normal. Never mind that normal had once meant war

All this to say Acton felt more alive than he had in months as he clattered his way across the bazaar, looking for Bexley. 

He missed her more than he missed the Crows, more than Reichenbach, more than knowing his place in the underbelly hierarchy of the Night Court. He missed her the way he missed who he used to be, before everything went sideways. 

What a relief it was to feel his heart kick back into that battle-drum rhythm the moment he saw her, talking to some poor messenger with a look that could singe a lion. It was a lucky thing whatever business they had concluded by the time Acton arrived at her side; he wasn’t the kind to stand politely by. 

Nor was he worried about the stares of others (more likely that he enjoyed them) as he pressed his muzzle to the crook of her neck like he needed to touch her, breathe her in, just to make sure she was real. 

“Been a while, Goldilocks,” he said at last between his grin, pulling away only enough to meet the bright glass blue of her eye. “Figured you’d been missing me long enough.”

the moth don't care when he sees the flame
he might get burned, but he's in the game


Bexley — Day Court Regent Signos: 445
▶ Played by REDANDBLACK [pm] Posts: 234 — Threads: 24
▶ Female [she/her/hers] Hth: 21 — Atk: 19 — Exp: 46
▶ 6 [Year 497 Spring] Active Magic: Light Manipulation
▶ 15.2 hh Bonded: N/A
one good honest kiss, to feel alright

Watch it, Bexley snaps at the merchant in the corner of the market. The sun glimmers from overhead, lights the whole scene in orange glitter. It’s a familiar feeling. She’s bizarrely pleased that he flinches at she says it: after all this effort to rebuild the court it makes her simmer with anger that courtiers have the nerve to be so reckless, in front of a member of the regime, no less. The regent rolls her shoulders back and glares at him with blue eyes so bright they singe, wearing an expression of disdain that curls her lips and drops her lashes to a moony kind of gaze; then she begins to turn away from him - but of course, not without a scathing remark - if you’re going to sell black market goods you might as well not do it so obviously. If I find you here again, it’s not going to be pretty -

Almost she spits on the pavement, but that’s harsh even for her.

With a scoff Bexley moves away. Her steps are quick on the pavement, her white hair floats around her like a halo; summer is back with a vengeance and the bright eye of the sun casts asunder a favorable glance, returning her to her constant, aureate glory. The whole day feels like a return to a past world, good and organic and nothing new, which, she’s realizing, is the best kind of new to be. Gods know they’ve had enough surprise for a lifetime. Now all that seems to matter is returning to the life Bexley had managed to scrape together when she first arrived -

And what could be more representative of such a life than Acton, appearing in the courtyard like a ghost called to arms by her thoughts of him.

She feels his lips on her neck, his warm breath, smells the jasmine and woodsmoke on his skin and the laziest kind of smile winds its way over her lips, a smile she’s worn infinitely often before. Ah, the misfortune of being in love ; her heart bangs loudly in her chest, she sways on her feet. Bexley leans into his touch, blinks up at him through white-blonde lashes. Didn’t miss you at all, she says, voice rasping from a smirk. Don’t flatter yourself. She bumps a slim shoulder against his without thinking much of the electric spark that shimmers over her skin a second later.


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