Inthe low light, a hundred wild things: shifting sand and tumbleweeds, the hard fingers of saguaro, shards of silver glitter on the water, all moving incessantly, all uncontained. And within this, Bexley’s body, drowning in braids, in bolts of silk cloth, in a gilded shine that follows her even now, as the sun is only beginning to rise. At her feet the corpses of so many unlit torches, clumps of desert flowers bound with twine.
Maxence has asked her to host a feast, and so she will. Far bigger and more luxurious than those of Dawn or Night, something that will be spoken of for years to come, a gauge against which to measure all other celebrations. Excitement glimmers under her skin. She’s asked Eden to help her, and all the other commoners, and can only hope they’ll show up - but regardless, the day is young, and Bexley is ambitious, unafraid, more powerful than she looks. Suppressing her shiver at the touch of a cold autumn wind, Bex picks up her first torch and sends it deep into the sand, letting out a violent exhale.
TAGGIN DAY COURT HELPERS @vadim @eithne @Eden @Seraphina @rhoswen and anyone else who's willing to help!!
forget the horror here IT'S FUTURE RUST & IT'S FUTURE DUST--
Seraphina would be the first to admit that she knew nothing about celebrations.
The Day Court had them when Zolin was in power, of course – she was just never allowed to attend the luxurious, grandiose events. Invitations were reserved for the most powerful (and corrupt) among the Solterrans. They’d always felt as fickle and pointless as the individuals who threw them to Seraphina, and, in the past, she probably would have dismissed the notion of a celebration with Dusk entirely. However, her new role required her to learn to navigate the world with a softer touch than she’d had in the past, and she could see the use in allowing the members of both courts some time to bond with each other. So long as it went well (and a few choice members of Solterra could control themselves), this party would benefit her efforts for an alliance considerably…
(And perhaps it could provide the Solterrans a bit of levity.)
With that in mind, she made her way to the Oasis at dawn. Seraphina had no formal invitation, but she’d learned to read the court well enough to keep tabs on most of its going-ons. She found the Champion of Community surrounded by a mass of supplies; she didn’t have much of an opinion of Bexley, given how little time she’d spent in her presence, but she seemed to be dedicated. Seraphina approached her quietly, just as she stood up her first torch. “Is there anything I can do to I help?” She asked simply, words rolling off her tongue with a subdued chill. This had been her idea, after all. The least she could do was drag supplies around while the professionals put the event together.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
10-22-2017, 11:06 PM - This post was last modified: 10-22-2017, 11:25 PM by Seraphina
It wasn’t Voltaire’s duty to help, and yet the idea of a task drew him from his watching and toward the golden girl and Seraphina. He was clearly out of place in this gathering, but the blue stallion didn’t let appearances bother him. Where there was work to be done, there Voltaire would be found. He steps toward the gold mare, clearly the organizer of this event, nodding in agreement with Seraphina’s suggestion that he would follow her directions. In an uncharacteristic manner, he cleared his throat to introduce himself to the pair (after all, it wouldn’t kill him to try and be social).
”Voltaire. Let me help you with these torches, just show me where you want them.” Not that he didn’t find the women capable, but he wanted to take on a lion’s share of the heavy lifting, so they wouldn’t be worn out from the labor. After all, this shindig couldn’t go very far without Bexley, so he simply gathered a second torch into his grasp, waiting for instruction on where to place it.
The sun was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Perhaps it was the breeze coming off of the water, or maybe Voltaire was simply in a better mood after taking a pause from the harshness of the Day Court to enjoy the Dawn Court’s Autumn Festival… but either way, the caretaker found himself in pleasant spirits this morning, and eager to take part in something that would draw him closer to his herdmates.
Though he does not really fall under Bexley's dominion, he is too curious not to come help. Besides, he has no tasks besides those he sets for himself and bringing levity to Solterra is something he thinks is brilliant. His spirits have been high of recent, joy easy in his steps. Some of the loneliness has ebbed as he finds his place in the court- or tries to make one for himself. It is this choice, this realization on the mount that he might choose the direction of his life. The new sense of purpose shows in the brightness of his sky eyes and the quick surety of his step. His laughter bells, clear and musical as he skids down the side of a dune in nothing less than a controlled fall and bounds under the shade of the oasis, following the voices and scents of people who have begun to come familiar to him.
"Good morning!" He chimes, dodging around the blue stallion he'd met at the Dawn Festival, thrusting his muzzle into the pile of detritus at Bexley's hooves without another word. He comes up crowned in flowers and eyes bright with mischief. His feminine twin earns the brunt of the expression, his cheer perhaps a bit too much for other people so early in the morning. But he truly wants to help, and he doesn't seem at all put off by their last meeting at the oasis.
"Where would you like these, Bexley? This is going to be brilliant!" His absolute confidence in her ability is perhaps founded on nothing but it is absolute none the less. He knows she will succeed, and he intends to help her however he is able. He might play and tease a bit but he is no shirker of work. The desert born stallion dances as he waits his instructions, as though to some inner music that no one but he hears.
It’s hardly a moment before another figure shows up, and though Bexley’s eyes do not flicker to catch the movement, she can’t help recognizing the quicksilver flash within seconds - Seraphina. Bex lifts her head slowly, looks the emissary over with a estival blue gaze. For a moment the air between them is silent and viscous. For all her socializing and party habits, Seraphina is the one Solterran body Bexley’s never truly interacted with, and fleetingly she wavers, unsure what to say, how to introduce herself, what to expect of the silver-skinned snake.
Then, regaining her vitality, Bex grins too wide and calls out, Good morning. If Seraphina’s really here to help, what’s the use of being bitter or shy? It’s not in Bexley’s blood anyway, not what comes naturally to her, a girl with a loud voice, a penchant for mischief, an exorbitant need for attention. Yes, she starts on a response, if you could -
Only a moment later does someone else appear, a blue flash from thin air, and before Bexley has a chance to greet him he’s offering to put up the torches, a task taken right from the golden girls’ mouth. Blinking in pleasant surprise, she gestures toward the bank of the oasis: Just line them around the edge of the water - Seraphina, could you put a couple under each palm? There are shallow dips she’s cut into the sand where each torch is to be placed, spaced equidistant around the edge of the pond, and Seraphina must be able to handle stamping them down near each tree. With one dished hoof she rolls the pile of torches toward her comrades and flashes them a semi-grateful smile.
At Vadim’s appearance, she stiffens slightly, recalling their last discussion; but he approaches with surprising enthusiasm and an excitement that is painfully, childishly genuine, and Bexley can’t help smiling back at him, surprisingly enchanted by the sight of a friendly face. Help me hang these? She picks up a wreath of wire lined with desert flowers, glassy pebbles, the gray-green leaves of dried-out succulents, and offers one to him almost shyly. Wherever you can fit them, the trees, the boulders.
forget the horror here IT'S FUTURE RUST & IT'S FUTURE DUST--
She considered Bexley in the fragile moment of silence between them, eyes darting down her sleek, golden frame, soft flaxen locks of hair, eyes of brilliant blue – it was impossible to deny that the Champion of Community was a beauty, though Seraphina was, admittedly, far more interested in whether or not the rumors of the girl’s vicious tongue were founded. She knew nothing of Bexley; she’d found the time to speak with the other ranked members of Day, but the two ran in different circles. When the golden girl does respond to her, it is with a smile that feels too wide, though far from unpleasant. “Good morning,” She replied to her greeting, almost idly, and it seemed like the golden girl was about to give her a task when-
Her eyes found the familiar, navy shape of Voltaire, dark coat (like midnight) still so out-of-place among the pale sands of the desert. She offered him a sharp nod of greeting, before her attention returned to Bexley. She followed the golden girl’s line of sight to the bank of the Oasis; Seraphina could just make out the shallow indentations where each torch is to be placed. “Sure,” was her only reply, before she moved to take a pair of torches, then carried them to the bank to begin to drive them in the grooves.
Behind her, she heard the familiar voice of Vadim, who greeted Bexley enthusiastically; still as cheerful as ever, she noted. (It was good to have a bit of levity in Solterra, though – he was certainly a rarity.) Seraphina remained focused on the task at hand, however, offering little more than another nod in greeting – she wasn’t even entirely sure if the sage noticed it. As she worked, she tried to visualize what the Champion of Community was attempting to accomplish with the torches and desert flowers – it was a more natural celebration than she’d ever seen, free of the ritzy glamour she’d always seen in Zolin’s. This was better, she thought; like a breath of fresh air.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
11-13-2017, 08:56 PM - This post was last modified: 11-13-2017, 08:57 PM by Seraphina
The blue stallion paused for a moment as he watched the golden girl catch her words, nodding briskly as she agreed that they should begin placing the torches. Moving toward the water, he began to drive the one from his grasp into the earth, sweating from the toil under the sun… but it was a productive sort of task, and he found himself enjoying the quiet company as he went back for another, and another. Only once all the torches were driven into the earth does he turn back to his companions, offering something of a smile – perhaps the first he’d shared since arriving to the strange lands of Solterra.
I don’t believe we’ve met? He addresses both @Bexley and @Vadim, making an awkward attempt at small talk. Though it was uncharacteristic of him, Voltaire found himself wishing companionship more than ever these days, and wondered if he could allow himself some slivers of happiness in this new world. While it was true that he still had his penance to pay, the blue stallion was finding his way here, even through the trials thrown upon him.
His mind wanders briefly toward Maxence, and the blue stag wonders for the briefest of moments where he’d been taken, or even if he were still alive. A practical creature, he knew that life would move on without the painted king – and though there is a pang of uncertainty, he knows so little of Maxence that his emotions are simply accepting and not sad. Perhaps then, a festival is just what they need to pick up and move forward. Snorting away the sand from his nostrils, he turns back to the mares, ignoring the thoughts that plagued him.
It’s looking pretty good… tell me, what festival are we hosting? He steps beside @Seraphina, curiosity tugging at him as he wonders.
