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" BEXLEY BRIAR "
Oh, pretty Bexley… A virile disgust rises in Bexley’s head, so strong she could choke on it - hot and acrid and nauseatingly powerful, so that she has to fight the urge to snarl at him, to say something about what feels like pity, like an empathy that she never asked for. How dare he. Pretty Bexley, that’s all she is, and usually she doesn’t mind it, but today is not a “usually” day. Still walking, every inch of that small body trembles with frustration. Muscles locked, blue eyes blazing. Each breath widens what feels like a tear in her chest. Calm-down-Bexley-calm-down. She knows she won’t.
Her head pulses with something horrible. Unnamed, painful. The source of her anger has changed ten times in the past minute, from Camdis’s commiseration the oncoming fall of night to the scratch of grass on her legs to the chill in her bones, it doesn’t matter, what matters is that Bexley’s angry, and when she’s angry, the world is nothing but for that anger. Finding the reason for that anger. Her strides stretch longer, hooves slicing half-circles in the dirt. She feels him catching up to her, walking at her side now, but doesn’t bother to look, knowing she’ll do something stupid if his expression holds anything she doesn’t like, which it’s almost guaranteed to.
I'm Regent. I lead the Night Court in Reichenbach's stead. I am the Runner-Up King and I pray you find yourself in the Night Court instead of slinking around with those hideous, sand slurping wretches in Delumine because, they won't ever deserve someone as invaluable as YOU.
Bexley stops short. His voice is huge, reverberating in her ears a hundred times, and a hundred times again. She can feel it scratching at her bones. Her stomach twists and turns, squeezes, makes her want to cry or collapse or both. Fuck you, she wants to say, You don’t know anything about me. Fuck you, you don’t know anything about me. It goes on a loop in her head, incessant, raucous, until her whole being blisters with the idea of turning on him, how good it would feel to let him know what’s actually happening, since he obviously has no damn clue.
She turns to face him. Her eyes are glassy and fervent, chin raised defiantly, gaze sparkling with an anger as cold and hard as diamonds, but she makes eye contact without shaking, teeth bared in a half-hearted snarl.
Yes, she says finally. It is. But I know Reichenbach, I know you, and I know the Night Court couldn’t handle me. Get your head out of your ass, Bexley snaps. You don’t know where I came from and what I love because it’s sure as hell not Caligo. She takes in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing. I don’t understand. Do you think you own me or something? Honestly - do you?
@camdis they're dramatic TOGETHER I love it
