So you wanna start a war
In the age of icons
So you wanna be immortal
With a loaded gun
In the age of icons
So you wanna be immortal
With a loaded gun
When the meeting was called, Israfel answered.
She arrived early but stood in the back, just as she always did, her posture relaxed but tall. Vermilion eyes scanned the crowd of gathering citizens, watching as familiar faces mingled with strangers. There was a buzz of curiosity that ran like electricity through the air, causing her hair to stand on end, but nothing could have prepared her for the reasons behind why this meeting was called.
Marisol addressed them, and while they had never been close in any sense of the word, the Warden found she appreciated the Commander’s blunt and straightforward handling of this abrupt situation. It made it no easier to hear, however, that Asterion was gone, along with Florentine and Lysander, stolen away by some nefarious means upon the island, far too abruptly and far too soon.
What? Why?
A dangerous ache grasped her heart, causing her breath to hitch and escape between parted, rose-kissed lips. It felt as though she had been kicked in the gut, air unable to be drawn back into gasping lungs even as she stood stock still, a pillar against the battalion of emotions that threatened to cripple her. Vermilion eyes narrowed as she stared hard at Marisol, hoping that by the sheer intensity of her stare she could force out more answers from the Halcyon Commander. Nothing came. It seemed that Marisol was just as perplexed, just as lost as the rest of them.
Murmurs graced the air; some of shock, some in outrage, some of sorrow. It was only natural that the people would react differently, Israfel surmised. Everyone grieved in their own way.
Still she did not wrench her bold, accusing stare from Marisol’s bay shoulders which were surely heavy from the mantle of her new title. A dark, twisted little voice in the back of the Warden’s head wondered just how long the Commander-turned-Sovereign would last. How many sovereigns had she seen, now? How many people had come and go?
Rannveig, Florentine, Asterion, and now? Marisol. It would only be a matter of time.
As the shock of the announcement began to wane, the people found their voices. They spoke, offering their words of support, their promise to continue on in this legacy left behind by so many others set before them, their comments of indifference. Israfel didn’t care, and so she listened, letting the others speak their pretty little promises and words of devotion while she listened with half an ear, waiting and watching, listening and learning. A lot could be learned by remaining silent. That was a lesson she had discovered the hard way, that fools spoke the loudest. Perhaps it was why the loudest of them all, a shrill screech of demanding nonsense that filled the air from a citizen that Israfel had never seen before, urged her to finally break away from her silent sentry.
The Warden strode forward with pinned ears lost amidst gilded strands of hair, the heavy weight of Solaris upon her back boosting her with confidence as she stalked through the crowd, letting her words carry without doubt, without the pointless need to shout and bellow. “By Solis’ left fucking testicle, shut up,” Israfel growled once she was just a few paces away, burning vermilion eyes narrowed at the prissy, obnoxious tawny creature who howled and hounded Marisol like an irate child-thing, “Whatever the hell you’re screeching about can wait.”
Almost violently the Sun Daughter tore her eyes away from the petite dappled buckskin to Marisol, her gaze still burning, smoldering in its intensity. Oh, but she had been here before, staring into the eyes of a new Sovereign. Marisol was just another in her long history. Neutral as she tried to be, the Warden could read her like an open book.
She grinned, rueful and soft. The words that escaped her lips lacked the vehement aggression that they held towards the petite, obnoxious buckskin, but while they also lacked respect for someone so newly ascended, the words were full of understanding. “I’ve seen that look in your eyes twice over, Commander. You can’t hide that from me.” She arched a brow, unabashedly holding Marisol’s slate grey eyes in an unrelenting stare. “Build your council, focus on the people. Seems like you’ve already got that in order. I’ll support where I can, and if you need me to take care of any annoying vermin, I’ll do it.”
Her gaze shifted, glancing momentarily sidelong towards the winged buckskin, before focusing on the former Halcyon Commander. Or was she the current? Did it matter?
“But remember my loyalty lies with the Court, for now.”
Sovereigns came and went, but Terrastella would always remain.
