BEXLEY BRIAR
Duty has left her. No more Solterran pride to protect, no wounds to be cleaned. The scar that slices from her eye to lip is healed now, hard and off-white, and it’s easy to ignore as long as she’s careful to turn just the right side of her face toward any glass or mirrors, which has become almost second-nature. Under those long lashes Bexley’s blue gaze is near-empty, moving lazily across the court, and from her spot splayed out in the silken shade of a sandstone overhang, she watches the near-empty scene in front of her with detached interests.
Coming from the bustling party scene of Delumine, the Day Court seems drab and quiet now. She’s taken off her jewelry and flower crown, pulled the petals from out of that white hair, washed the kohl from her lashes, and half-dozing in the afternoon light, Bexley is back to her Solterran best: bright gold in the hot light, lazy and unaffected by the world around her. Footsteps pass, and she ignores them. Commoners offer brisk hellos as they walk past, and what she offers back is the mere flick of an ear. Her mind is still turned to the balmy nights of light and fire, to the scent of food cooking, to the taste of iron and alcohol in her throat, and very little will stir her from her reminiscence.
But, eventually, something does.
A pebble bites into Bexley’s shoulder, and her eyes snap open with immediate vengeance. Ow - her head jerks up, chin tilts, and though she cannot hide her surprise at the sheer height of the figure that faces her, no amount of shock can disguise the displeasure that curls her lip. Undeterred, she rises to her feet and shakes off a thin film of dust. They haven’t met before - Gods knows Bex would have remembered it - and so she takes a moment to look the girl up and down, cool-eyed, scrutinous, before leaning casually onto a back leg. There are plenty of other places to be kicking around rocks, you know. A whole fucking desert.
She shakes again, loosing a cascade of white curls from where they’ve been piled up against her shoulder, and with the movement comes a waft of incense smoke still staining her skin from the festival.
Coming from the bustling party scene of Delumine, the Day Court seems drab and quiet now. She’s taken off her jewelry and flower crown, pulled the petals from out of that white hair, washed the kohl from her lashes, and half-dozing in the afternoon light, Bexley is back to her Solterran best: bright gold in the hot light, lazy and unaffected by the world around her. Footsteps pass, and she ignores them. Commoners offer brisk hellos as they walk past, and what she offers back is the mere flick of an ear. Her mind is still turned to the balmy nights of light and fire, to the scent of food cooking, to the taste of iron and alcohol in her throat, and very little will stir her from her reminiscence.
But, eventually, something does.
A pebble bites into Bexley’s shoulder, and her eyes snap open with immediate vengeance. Ow - her head jerks up, chin tilts, and though she cannot hide her surprise at the sheer height of the figure that faces her, no amount of shock can disguise the displeasure that curls her lip. Undeterred, she rises to her feet and shakes off a thin film of dust. They haven’t met before - Gods knows Bex would have remembered it - and so she takes a moment to look the girl up and down, cool-eyed, scrutinous, before leaning casually onto a back leg. There are plenty of other places to be kicking around rocks, you know. A whole fucking desert.
She shakes again, loosing a cascade of white curls from where they’ve been piled up against her shoulder, and with the movement comes a waft of incense smoke still staining her skin from the festival.
@Jaxis <3
