your heart is a wild thing
made of stardust and thunder and hurricanes
made of stardust and thunder and hurricanes
Her restlessness was an animal; a beast that tore through every chain she tried to ensnare it with, only for her nervousness to burst forth and break through regardless. She moved with sharp movements and strained grace; her hooves clipping against the stone as she waited. Her impatience was mailable, and thinning; like a lake that had not completely frozen over, and she was desperately trying to balance herself over the icy surface. For a moment, she had half a thought to leave the room entirely, until the heavy oak doors groaned as someone finally entered.
With a shudder of blinks against the darkness growing where the candles did not reach, the stormsinger watched as the newcomer entered the room. He, of most peculiar markings and wings that struck chords of curiosity deep in her bones. But he had never once struck fear in her, not even when she first noticed the lack of ears that were so befitting to their kin. His quietness was something she knew well in herself; the need for aloneness that also ran through her blood and bones a comfort where the buzz of crowds could never achieve, not fully. The nervous energy running rampant in her blood had her buzzing as she halted, only momentarily, as her gaze adjusted to allow her new company in the circular war room. "Evening, my Lord," she replied, her voice even, with a respectful dip of her crown, before she rose and her gaze met Lothaire's.
Not more than a few moments had passed before the doors groaned again. Her mending heart thundered in her chest, loud and expectant and threatening for everyone to hear. In a rush of shadows and smoke, and warmth like burning embers, a most familiar figure entered not long after the Night Court's Emissary. She did not have to lift her gaze to see the darkness of his features, or tilt her ears to hear the tinkling of golden trinkets in his hair, or the coins banded around one, muscular leg. Pain shattered through her like a crackle of lightning, but with a sharp intake of breath, Aislinn buried it, and buried it deep. The ache that had once rioted through her, tearing her to pieces and into something she did not recognize, was now chained. Contained. Controlled. Her emotions a roil of storm clouds, she did her best to remain ever neutral. Her heart once broken by he, but still, she did not hate him. Never.. for how could she blame him for what his heart had decided on its own accord, when her own was beginning to do the same?
"My King," she sighed, softly, but strongly. Her eyes momentarily shut as she bowed her head in greeting, before her orbs fell back on the scattered maps. His wildness was now molded into fierce passion, and yes, even love; for they were gathered here to discuss the protection of a country that was all near and dear to every heart and soul in the room. She was about to breathe life to answer to his words, when the great doors opened and a group of unknown warriors flooded in, all hushed voices and averted gazes. The oxygen in her throat caught as she realized she did not find familiarity in a single face, nor a name. A problem that needed fixing, but not now. Her nervousness now morphing into impatience, and slight annoyance. "Hurry in and bolt the door behind you," she ordered through gritted teeth, "you do not come in late after your King, do you understand?" The Champion's gaze of blue flames could have reflected lightning in the darkness, but instead they bore into the younger protectors with a sternness that her mother, Freya, could have easily matched. Quick nods answered her as she rose her chin, the nervousness in her veins slowly churning into confidence. "Good. Now, let's begin."
With more even breaths, she strode around the room, her orbs roving over the maps and clay figurines positioned on the table. The firelight caught every strand of her carefully plaited hair, every plume of her great wings as she tucked them close to her body for warmth. Shadows cast across the round table, as her vocal chords tightened and rumbled. "Our Court is strong, but not as strong as it has the potential to be," she started, huffing hot air through her nostrils. Her gaze flickered upwards, meeting Reichenbach's of molten silver, and Lothaire's of unending obsidian. "I fear you may be right, my King. There is tension facing us directly from our northern borders. The Pass is an advantage, yes, but we need something more if -- Calligo forbid -- the tension turns to war."
She stepped closer to the edge of the table, then, and with the delicate tendrils of her mind, Aislinn plucked several clay pieces from the table and placed them into new spots to denote her plans. More defenses to the north, along the mountain pass, and the possibility of enemies lying hidden in the sands of a desert not far from their own borders. "Our warriors need more training. A daily regime to strengthen them, hone them. More patrols, of the city and it's outer borders.. Rostislav should be able to help with this. He is beyond capable. Plus, do we have any knowledge on what Maxence's intentions are? Rostislav might, maybe know but.." she spoke, her voice more even; prepared, as she detailed her plans, before her voice tapered. Her gaze was bright with blue flames as she met each face in the room, her orbs steady and unmoving until she looked to both Reichenbach and Lothaire. Suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath, she broke her gaze to look once more around the room. Too quiet, too small.. a most welcome and warm presence now obviously missing from their gathered ranks. "Wait," she shuddered, before her orbs widened in worry and shock, "where is Rostislav?"
@lothaire @reichenbach speed thread omg
the rest of the warriors are all npc!
"Aislinn speech."
