MINYA
take that look from off your face
you ain't gunna burn my heart out
you ain't gunna burn my heart out
She had watched the girl dance. The creature who looked and moved and danced like a tiger. There was no prey for her here, no deer or antelope she could strike beneath her javelin leaps and dagger lunges. Yet she stole the breath from the crowd. Her every move was sharp, dangerous, it was teeth closing about their throats. Ah, a hunter moved amongst them and they held her upon the stage, they pinned her with lights that made her skin gleam ever brighter, ever more glowing than the sunset orange that blazed angrily from her muscled sides.
Oh she made the crowd her prey and the fires burn in their lungs until they could not breath. Each of them watch her from where they hide like rabbits in the dark. Oh they watch her and think of how she is grace, how she is beauty and they pray that her eyes of glittering gold do not alight upon them.
Minya watches as alcohol burns in her veins and in her throat. Yes she is fire, yes she is the girl to swallow flames down into nothingness. She smiles the wicked glow of sparks that laugh as they leap for cloth and for skin. This lavish girl is a reckless creature, she strikes with her forked tongue and moves, not as a serpent, but as fire does, skipping, dancing hissing her way across the floor. She is sin and she is glory.
But Boudika stops, crashing down upon her stage in finale. She stays crouched as a hunter over her kill. Ribbons fall like blood, rippling down, down from the lights that turn them into rivers running red. They tangle and ooze upon the stage and Minya’s lips are a line of glass cut thin like diamonds, like rubies.
The Scarab girl moves, this creature of ash and steel… she moves like mercury spilled. She cuts with the glittering silver of her gaze. Slowly she casts it across the floor until, oh, it settles upon a hunter. The beat of drums are still resounding in the silk of her heart. It frays at her blood and her bones are percussion to its warrior cry.
Where are her ribbons? Where is the paint that smeared like the ravages of war across her face? Where is the creature that danced like death and enchanted with leonine grace? Boudika is the lion resting beneath the arms of a tree. Shade draws its shadows in and there, smudged like blood, like a phantom of her dark dance, is a bruise of paint darkening her eye.
Her ribbons she leaves behind, along with her hair but her wicked gaze she keeps and into it Minya steps. The fire girl is a flame that dares a lion. She is a torch made to fight back the night. Light falls upon the electric of her hair, it is poison pink, it is acid brighter than bright. It is a lustrous gown that paints her regal, but at night, at night, when even the Scarab moves to sleep, she steals away to feel sand upon her skin, stars in her eyes and set fire at her lips.
And oh that smile she gives Boudika now is the hiss of flame; it is the spark danger. Yet Minya is not made for weapons and fighting. She is silk and beauty and the endless lure of a fitful night. Liquor is gold in her glass and, listen close now, hear how even her glass still sings with a tribe’s hypnotic chant!
Beneath a wash of ebony lashes, Minya gazes at the girl and smiles like sin and the sweetest poison. Oh she may not fight, but her tongue is sharp, it is a weapon forged.
“That was a good performance.” She sings in flames and silk and ice cold lips. Each word is spun in moonlight beautiful, delicate, cold and deceptive.
Never has a girl so snide been so utterly beautiful.
@Boudika| "speaks" | notes: eee <3
