BEXLEY BRIAR
Despite the promise that autumn is oncoming, the sun still burns bright overhead, and heat washes over Bexley’s skin as she studies the paintings. In the months that she’s spent in Solterra, the crude ash-figures and swaths of peeling pigment have become familiar, and she’s able to pick them apart even as light pricks at her back, sweat beading across her skin.
When the man speaks, he seems almost nervous - tripping over his own words, unable to meet her eyes. Bexley’s surprised someone so tough-looking would be intimidated by her, but she’s satisfied by it nonetheless, feeling powerful for once. No need to be nervous, she drawls, flicking an amused glance at him. I don’t bite.
Well - that’s not entirely true, not really, but a stranger would have no way of knowing. Bexley’s sharp tongue and penchant for forcefulness are near-invisible to those who don’t know her well. I’m Bexley. And you are?
@booker <3
