[P] ALL SIGNS SAY REPENT.

[Bexley]

BEXLEY BRIAR

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Girls can be guns, Bexley thinks, as she wanders the desert. She would know - she is one. She has been. Smoking at the barrel from a bullet just shot off, a grip iridescent, made of white pearl. Deadly and beautiful. Makes the boys salivate. It’s entrancing to think about, herself as a weapon, as a knife-hilt, a force to be reckoned with.

In reality she is just a girl, fluorescent gold in the stormy-gray sadness of the winter desert. A watery shape that moves and twists in frighteningly nonlinear fashion. With Seraphina away and the court in a state of deep-freeze lethargy, Bexley has found herself increasingly more irritable, more shut-off, more suspicious; she glares at the bodies that pass her in Court, swathes the windows of her room in velvet to block out their eyes, lets flowers wilt and swiftly dry on her sill, her body buzzing constantly and consistently with the warm touch of liquor and fruit wine. As abrasive as ever. 

Bex treks across the Mors alone, humming something tuneless under her breath, simultaneously grateful for and frustrated by her solitude. But her aloneness vanishes as abruptly as it found her. At the edge of the world - the place where so many grains of sand meet the bleached gray-blue of the sky - a figure appears, slender and dark on the horizon. Bexley’s ear flicks, but her step does not falter. A moment later, a stride closer, she raises her head in almost-happy surprise: Rhos!

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@rhoswen <3 

[Rhoswen]

 Something had changed. Rhos had always known herself to be a forest fire: alight, fluid, insatiable. But he had drowned her in those pools of brilliant blue, dousing her flames with his waves of temperance and shadow; and so she had become a candle, lit in the dark, waiting for his touch. It had always been there - that dull ache in the marrow of her bones, lying in wait for the moment she had finally stumbled upon; the moment she realised she loved the very man she had tried so hard to leave behind. And so, Rhoswen knew it could not be love that had brought about this change, at least not directly. It felt like an undulating wave buried deep within the grave of her stomach, ceaselessly singing to her hymns in a language she couldn't quite understand. Until one morning, when she rose to the oh-so familiar sensation of nausea, and then, only then, Rhos had felt that initial throe of fear.

It could not be. 

As a young girl, Rhos' mother had always told her wild, red-haired daughter to be careful - careful of the men with searching hands and nefarious intentions, and she had listened. Boys had passed her by like ferris wheels' at the fair: bright and novel, but ultimately fleeting. Never had she lingered long enough for them to slip their fingers around her waist. Until Raum. But that, of course, was different. Perhaps, for a girl with a smile like hers, it was surprising that he had been her first. So when the nausea came, Rhos could not help the tide of disbelief spiralling up her throat: just how bad was her luck? That she should find herself with child from the one and only time she had given herself to another being. The thought made her chest tighten like a snare, dread creeping into every corner and crevice. 

A million threads churned in her head. What would Raum say? Would he try to drag them back to Denocte? What would the court say!? A murmur, "I'm fucked." There was no other way to put it. 

The scent of a fellow Solterran snapped Solis' daughter back into the present, auburn cheeks glinting in the sunlight as she turned to face the owner of such a lilting perfume. Bexley appeared before her eyes, pristine as ever, and Rhos wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or concerned. "Hey, you."

@Bexley she's not showing yet or anything but yass preggers rhos  

[Bexley]

BEXLEY BRIAR

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The previously insubstantial figure sharpens and slims. Curves of red make soft marks against the sky, the round silk of the limbs and body connect, and Bexley grins, recognizing it fully, a surge of relief blooming in her chest. Her muscles tingle and joy blossoms, cool and unexpected, no intense it nearly nauseates, deep in those ivory bird-bones. Rhoswen, the little devil - an ethereal figure she makes in the deep blue sky, as always. It’s been a long time since they’ve crossed paths, longer still since they had a full-length conversation, and Bexley is utterly relieved to finally find herself in proximity to a friend rather than an enemy.

Sun burning a golden pool across her back, lashes tight against the flare of the sun, Bexley begins to move forward across the dunes, curves hooves kicking up sprays of red-yellow sand that she does not bother giving her attention to. She is blissfully unaware of Rhoswen’s turmoil. blind to the severity of the situation about to come to fruition, a little girl whose excitement to see her friend has overwhelmed what are  usually sharp and strategic senses. A blossom of aureate skin and white hair, Bex trots casually toward the Solterran, batting her eyelashes as she goes. Hey, she calls back, a genuine, toothy smile cutting into her cheeks as she nudges Rhoswen’s nose in a casual tease. Been a while.  Where’ve you disappeared to?

There’s a strange smell in the air, something new and metallic. So subtle it might be honestly ethereal. Bexley inhales and holds the breath - is unable to place the mood, the electric crawl suddenly up her spine, and frowns in a state of mild concern.

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@rhoswen <3