MADE A GRAVEYARD FROM THE BONE-WHITE AFTERNOON
❀
Bexley is not in the slightest surprised by the smirk that overturns the strangers’ lips. Anyone arrogant and dumb enough to think a path through the Mors would be their best bet entering Novus is bound to wear a smirk like that instead of a smile, is bound to carry his arrogance as easily as he carries that little skull around his neck. She does not miss the way his expression slacks as she scrutinizes it, nor the forced ease with which he picks that smirk back up.
It is a trick she recognizes intimately.
They stand gold-and-silver, a yin and yang kind of scenery, perfect opposites steaming in the sand. Despite the incessant temperature dip in lands outside Solterra - Bexley has seen firsthand how hoarfroast has begun to salt the bluegrass on the plains - but the Day Court remains stubbornly untouched by cold winds or clouds or even the barest freckles of rain. She’s used to it by now. The gold of her skin only shines brighter in the incessant sun, never mind how much it’s cursed her.
The stranger ahead of her seems slightly less accustomed to the arid heat. His short tail swishes agitatedly against his rump, those pink eyes watch her with luminous intensity. A lesser girl might be weathered by the way he looks at her, too-casual, almost dangerous, but Bexley has never been a lesser girl. She tilts her head to the side and lets those white curls waterfall, lets her expression fall to a indelible face of relaxation. Something like a smile washes over her lips.
"Sure you can," Bexley chirps back. The bright bird-tweet of her voice seems almost too much in contrast to the dry expression on her face, but she finesses the discrepancy easily, casually - a practiced illusionist doing what she does best. Connecting the bridge between arrogance and knowledge, warmth and corrosion. Mischief glimmers like starshine in those blue eyes. "Bexley. Nice to meet you, Max -" she bites out the nickname with an impish kind of smile. "And welcome to the Day Court."
@Maximus
