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" BEXLEY BRIAR "
Bexley is attentive, notices almost instantly the change in Eden’s demeanor as their eyes meet, and the girl shuffles closer, but she doesn’t bother pointing it out - Eden must know, or if she doesn’t, then that’s a point of information in itself. She’s not at all surprised that the girl is intrigued. Bex’s air of self-confidence tends to make her quite good-looking to people, especially strangers, especially people with issues, and that covers almost everyone. A lazy smile drifts over her lips as she watches the warm orange of Eden’s eyes flash and churn. Day Court girls, one and the same.
I'm born of priestesses, their temple is far from here. The stars told my mother and the council… With each word Bexley’s expression of stoicism drains slightly, replaced by a slip upward of her eyebrows, a curious look, a gleam of interest in the indigo eyes, those reddish lashes fluttering to narrow. Weird girl, intriguing - cult kid, Bexley files her into that box for later use, the mechanical sharpness of her brain already categorizing on instinct. Flower child. Warrior, Eden has just self-admitted, and Bex has seen that already, in the ropey stack of her muscles, the solidity of her legs, the fire in her eyes that’s only slightly different from Bexley’s own.
Eden talks and talks. Bexley organizes, clumsy. She adds, unsocialized. Finally: well-meaning. And that’s all that matters, isn’t it, that both of them mean well? Bexley’s categorizations are well-meant, perhaps harsh, but not really mean, and she knows Eden must be harmless, at least in a social context - wouldn’t want to meet her on a battlefield, but here Bexley is in her element and has nothing to lose by making a new friend. She’s already ticking off the possible gains in her head. Protection. Camaraderie. Backup. Well-meaning is what counts at this moment, and this moment is what counts.
Bexley looks Eden up and down for a moment, then says casually, You’re cute. It’s sincere. Personality and otherwise. Thanks, by the way. Social butterfly is one of my many talents. She grins, genuine this time, so that those deep blue eyes crinkle at their edges with the weight of it. You’ll learn. Here - ask a question. Like… She glances carefully at Eden, then nods and offers, Like, what’s your favorite flower? Mine’s lavender. Their homeland is bare at best and doesn’t offer much to look at, but lavender is the one thing that Bexley continues to notice as she roams, stubborn and beautiful in the face of adversity.
@Eden CUTE DORKS WOW
