There is a point, somewhere, or rather a line - drawn much farther than most others, surely, and as easily disturbed as one made in the sand, but a line, nonetheless - where Bexley will have to put aside her pride in order to keep moving forward. She’s known this since the day she was born. Dreaded it, but was fully aware. And, finally, she had crossed it. The exile she had put herself into after that absolute fucking disaster of a meeting had left time for many an hour of sunstroke-induced reflection, and looking back on what had happened made her think here, the line, I’m crossing it - the moment in which she had stood in the sand, perfectly still, dripping with light, and realized that she wouldn’t get as far as she wanted to just by being a bitch. The Day Court was her home, she was perfectly suited to it, but so was everyone else she’d met, meaning every single one of them would be stubborn and hotheaded and self-confident. That meant a complete overhaul. It meant that Bexley was going to have to be, up to a point, genuine about her intentions in the Court. So much for an easy ride. Bex was going to have to change her whole approach, fight tooth and nail to get where she wanted to go.
Not like it matters. The idea of a challenge is more exciting to Bexley than anything else. It just means a little more preparation for a lot more fun. She’s spent the last few days slinking around the court like a feral cat, maybe not hidden, not with that body and that shark-toothed smile, but quieter than she has been in a long time: those indigo eyes glowing with a feral light, the gears of her mind turning incessantly, the muscles under her skin churning like water where they’ve been built up from the last few months of traveling. She’s feminine but not frail, not a cyclone but a thunderstorm. It’s pleasing to know that now there is some extra force in her step. Satisfying to feel the weight of her curls as well as the strength in her shoulders. Her senses are sharper too, and she snaps to attention when she hears Maxence call, though for a moment she doesn’t move, weighing her options. It would be absurd for her to arrive first, but she can’t afford to be anything more than fashionably late. Ears pricked, she waits patiently until someone else’s voice sounds from over the hill, then turns and starts forward.
- council it is then. A wise choice. Bexley emerges snakelike into the clearing, a vision of bleached hooves and hair that remains soundless as she draws to a stop between the two commoners that have arrived ahead of her. She can’t recall their names exactly, but knows she’s seen them before. The woman next to her is beautiful in a stormy sort of way that’s easy to remember, the man on her other side so huge and dark he’s easily committed to memory. After a moment her bruisy blue gaze passes them. She moves to watch Maxence with a slightly sedated interest, pushing down the urge to spring on him, to say something, to flash that sharp and biting tongue, and succeeds in her attempts to be civil. For a moment Bexley is still and entirely quiet. Even though she’s aware that her necklace is showing, slipped into view where it’s usually hidden by her hair, she doesn’t bother moving it back. Instead Bex inhales and holds. When she speaks it’s calm and timed as carefully as a guided bomb.
“I’m here.” That’s all that comes for a long moment, Bexley still staring, statuesque. Then half a smile drifts onto her face, so subtle it could be a reflection of someone else’s grin, or even hers but from some time long ago, muted by weathering, by control, by the golden glow of past experience, mirrored a hundred times in a row like a funhouse. “And I’m going to help. The Day Court deserves better. It’s worth working for, this Court is, so - thank you for helping us start to do that.” Her nostrils flare. It’s the closest Maxence will get to her seal of approval. Bexley’s voice might be carefully controlled, but it’s also undoubtedly sincere. She tilts her head to one side, letting those silky curls waterfall, and, with that smile still light on her face, waits for her next cue.
Every moment planned ahead, every word chosen carefully. Bexley is nothing if not an actress.
this is huge lmfao sorry !!
Not like it matters. The idea of a challenge is more exciting to Bexley than anything else. It just means a little more preparation for a lot more fun. She’s spent the last few days slinking around the court like a feral cat, maybe not hidden, not with that body and that shark-toothed smile, but quieter than she has been in a long time: those indigo eyes glowing with a feral light, the gears of her mind turning incessantly, the muscles under her skin churning like water where they’ve been built up from the last few months of traveling. She’s feminine but not frail, not a cyclone but a thunderstorm. It’s pleasing to know that now there is some extra force in her step. Satisfying to feel the weight of her curls as well as the strength in her shoulders. Her senses are sharper too, and she snaps to attention when she hears Maxence call, though for a moment she doesn’t move, weighing her options. It would be absurd for her to arrive first, but she can’t afford to be anything more than fashionably late. Ears pricked, she waits patiently until someone else’s voice sounds from over the hill, then turns and starts forward.
- council it is then. A wise choice. Bexley emerges snakelike into the clearing, a vision of bleached hooves and hair that remains soundless as she draws to a stop between the two commoners that have arrived ahead of her. She can’t recall their names exactly, but knows she’s seen them before. The woman next to her is beautiful in a stormy sort of way that’s easy to remember, the man on her other side so huge and dark he’s easily committed to memory. After a moment her bruisy blue gaze passes them. She moves to watch Maxence with a slightly sedated interest, pushing down the urge to spring on him, to say something, to flash that sharp and biting tongue, and succeeds in her attempts to be civil. For a moment Bexley is still and entirely quiet. Even though she’s aware that her necklace is showing, slipped into view where it’s usually hidden by her hair, she doesn’t bother moving it back. Instead Bex inhales and holds. When she speaks it’s calm and timed as carefully as a guided bomb.
“I’m here.” That’s all that comes for a long moment, Bexley still staring, statuesque. Then half a smile drifts onto her face, so subtle it could be a reflection of someone else’s grin, or even hers but from some time long ago, muted by weathering, by control, by the golden glow of past experience, mirrored a hundred times in a row like a funhouse. “And I’m going to help. The Day Court deserves better. It’s worth working for, this Court is, so - thank you for helping us start to do that.” Her nostrils flare. It’s the closest Maxence will get to her seal of approval. Bexley’s voice might be carefully controlled, but it’s also undoubtedly sincere. She tilts her head to one side, letting those silky curls waterfall, and, with that smile still light on her face, waits for her next cue.
Every moment planned ahead, every word chosen carefully. Bexley is nothing if not an actress.
this is huge lmfao sorry !!
